Saturday, February 25th

196.)

Like usual, Blossom slept through Amy leaving the bed. And like usual, Blossom woke up early in the morning and padded out into the kitchen, looking flawless despite having her ruffled hair and her disheveled hoodie.

"Good morning, cupcake; what's for breakfast?" she asked around a yawn.

Amy's lack of response wasn't that surprising, but things seemed off. She was more into her baking than usual, more like when Blossom first saw her do it. So with a bit of caution, she approached Amy and took her hands.

It was like a lightning strike. It was like a time skip in a story. I was in one place, and then I wasn't. The house was still pretty dark, but the sky outside told stories of a coming sunrise. There were hundreds of biscuits organized in trays on the countertops. And Blossom's hands were in mine.

My first instinct: pull away. Blossom didn't let go.

My second instinct: yell at her. I didn't.

My third instinct: stop. And once I stopped, all the weight of my exhaustion came pouring over me like a waterfall. My eyes were heavy and unfocused. My head hurt and my mouth was dry. I'd tasted a lot of biscuits, but I hadn't had a single sip of water.

"Sorry..." I managed to mutter. Because I didn't know what else to say.

"You're good, babes; you look dehydrated." This was something Blossom could tell mostly from many, many, many nights of drunkenness. "I'm gonna get some water into you, and then we're gonna sit on the sofa. You can put your head in my lap. Sound good?"

"Um..." Where was I in the process? Was the oven on? Did I have biscuits in there? I couldn't remember... I tried to pause and sift through the recent actions I'd taken, but they were fuzzy and I couldn't be sure if I did something recently or not. Thankfully, Blossom had handled this situation more than enough times.

"I've got it. I'll turn off the oven. Go take a seat, okay?"

"Sure..." Walking to the couch felt like swimming through water. I sat down and I closed my eyes without thinking. Everything after that happened in blinks. A glass of water in my hand. Drinking it. Resting my head on a pillow. Blossom's hand on my back.

When I opened my eyes again, the room was bathed in midday sunlight. I felt nauseous and groggy. Not enough sleep, maybe? But I was so thirsty. I found that glass of water on the coffee table in front of me, so I reached out and took a long drink.

"You finish that one up and I'll refill it," Blossom said. Her voice sounded like it was coming from the kitchen. "You're super dehydrated, babes; but I got you. I Instacarted some Pedialyte, so let me know when your tummy can handle that much sweetness."

Spoken like a girl who'd dealt with a thousand hangovers.

I sat up a little and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. I felt awful, but I was getting used to the emotional guilt that came with all-night baking at Blossom's place. Leaving her alone in bed. Messing up her kitchen and having her clean it up afterward. How powerless I was to control any of it; how pathetic I must have looked to her. Okay, so maybe I wasn't entirely used to it.

"Sorry," I said again, because that seemed like a great start to any conversation that I was a part of.

"You're good, cupcake. You just let me take care of you, and we'll call it even; sound good?" Blossom knew by now that it was pointless to argue with someone who was filled with depression and self-loathing.

"Sounds like you're getting the rough end of the deal there," I sighed. But I was determined not to make Blossom's life any harder than it had to be, so I left it at that.

"You haven't baked this much in a while," Blossom said, handing Amy a biscuit and a glass of water.

"Yeah..." I took a bite; it was really good. But I knew Blossom was worried about me, so I tried to put her mind at ease a little. "I'm just slipping up on my therapy stuff. Maybe it's not working very well. I feel like I don't even want to follow Stephanie's advice..."

"Well, you don't have to. Buuuuut it's the dentist principle, isn't it? You don't have to do what she says, but maybe it's easier to just do it so you don't have to explain why you didn't the next time you see her?"

Yeah, I'd probably have to explain what happened. Or, I could just... not. But then what's the point of even going to therapy? Ugh...

"I wanna write today," I mumbled. I wanted to do something I was good at. I wanted to not be a fucking mess for a few hours.

"Then you should write today, " Blossom affirmed simply, nodding her head. "So how can I make that happen? What can I do to help?"

"I dunno. I just need to eat something and I can get started. But first I'm gonna take a shower." Once again my clothes - and by proxy, Blossom's couch - was dusted in flour. Why couldn't I have a less messy hobby? Insert diaper joke here.

The shower was warm and refreshing. It made me feel a lot less groggy, and the biscuits I ate afterward made me a lot less nauseous. Blossom had already vacuumed up the couch with a little hand vac she had in the utility room, so I sat back down in my spot and opened my laptop.

Writing was a welcome reprieve. I left the last chapter of Academy M on a cliffhanger, when Judith kissed Maria. I worried that I would have trouble finding my way back into the scene, but the momentum of coming back to something that had already started seemed to work to my advantage.

I stopped for half an hour to eat dinner with Blossom. She asked how my writing was going, and I did my best to engage. When I was away from my laptop or a stovetop, I felt the malaise crash over me like the ocean waves down by the beach. But they weren't icy cold or salty; they were warm and lulling, dragging me further and further away from the world. In a not-good way.

I finished writing Mistake Six. Then I started Mistake Seven, because it was interesting. Maria finally left Academy M. I was time-skipping a lot, struggling to stay in one spot for too long. But there was still so much story to tell; I couldn't keep going at a snail's pace. I had to move things along.

At the end of Mistake Seven, I ran into a problem. I didn't want to time-skip again, but the story was already at twenty thousand words. That was almost the whole length of the shortest Academy Works story, and over half the length of the longest one. Was my pacing off?

I wrote the first paragraph of Mistake Eight a few times, but I kept second guessing myself. I needed to think on it. Maybe Blossom would have some advice.

"Two chapters this time," I said, passing Blossom my laptop. Her eyes lit up with excitement. At least I had something to give her after barely talking to her all week.

***

[Academy M: Mistake 6]

(If you are following Academy Works, please read Ch.6 [linked above] and return here to continue the story. If Ch.7 has been released, it is recommended that you DO NOT read it at this time.)