I stay in the training room pretty much for the next few days. I don't dare face my family. Queenie left, and I can't help but feel empty. We've been through so much together, including the episode with the Chess Pieces. I seemed to have thought that we killed them all, but a small feeling inside me says "danger still".
I haven't been able to do much training at all, because of the pain that arouses in my shoulders whenever I try to cock a bow back. Thanks to Bex, who pounced on my with claws the sized of my knives. She hasn't been good either, cause Zoe, in panic shot an arrow in her back. Although I'm not sure of any of my family's physical, or mental, state. I know Zoe's overwhelmed, and Annabeth is in between excited to be in Hogwarts, and depressed because of everything that's happened in such a short week. That week felt like months. Brynna was trying to stay strong for us, but that failed when Zoe denied her Queenie's side of the room. Mom just hasn't spoken to anyone. Aunt Rogue tried to keep the house up, along side Tom, but it's an impossible job for two people. Nobody really has come down here except Zoe and Bex. Aunt doesn't know what to say to me. Is it a thank you for coming, or a angry cry for disobeying her and almost getting myself killed?
I've forgotten about everything that happened. All I've had time for is Queenie. What is she doing now? I shake my head, but the idea just bounces around my brain, expanding the more I try to diminish it. I've made up the lost pounds since not eating all week in heart wrenching thoughts.
It seems like everything I've ever known, the brick wall I've built around me and my fears, has come tumbling down. Each brick rolling and breaking against each other on top of me, fighting to see who can hurt me the most. I heard mom upstairs on day, talking to Aunt, saying something about a doctor. The truth is, nobody could tell me what is wrong with me when I don't even feel it. I feel normal on the inside, the outside is as broken as my wall.
I've sharpened every knife in the basement, thrown them for hours with just my left hand, who wasn't hurt too bad, and attempted some sort of one handed combat, which resulted in a slap to the face by a dummy. I think I've ran a thousand miles within a three day period, and I'm still working on that number. Why not improve the bottom half when the top is so dysfunctional it can't figure out right from wrong.