Room 302 [Monday afternoon]
It was miserable to be angry and upset and heartbroken, under totally normal circumstances. It was even more miserable, somehow, to be angry and upset and heartbroken when school was out for break. It had been a cruel twist of fate that Celia had found the incriminating letter in Ichabod's room the very day before she was to take her last exam, and as a result she'd spent the weekend already in a desperately bored sort of depression.
She'd tried to read to take her mind off it, but something would remind her of what she'd already read, and she'd be back to brooding angrily over nothing. She'd already shattered and repaired several tea cups, and had finally resorted to plastic mugs over the weekend.
There were, perhaps, possibly more constructive ways for her to have taken the news that her boyfriend was engaged. Maybe she could have approached him about it, instead of adopting 'Avoiding Ichabod' as her primary activity over the last few days, in lieu of studying or reading or anything she liked. Maybe she could have talked to someone else about it, instead of brooding and pouting and trying to work out increasingly implausible explanations. (Maybe he was a spy, and so was this Mary. Maybe the letter was a code, and the...perfume some sort of additional cipher!)
She could have probably handled a lot of this better. But as talented and bright as Celia generally tended to be, she was also still very much sixteen, and this was very much the first time she'd allowed her heart to be broken. So she was given to acting like a teenager about it, which was why she was stretched out on her bed today, ostensibly reading some twentieth century poetry. Of course, the fact that the light had started flickering probably spelled out a bit how little she was paying attention to the words, and how much her mind had strayed. But at least she hadn't actually burned out the bulb, yet?
(It was possibly only a matter of time, the way she was brooding, now.)
[open door and post, super-grumpy girl within, and SP for me! EDIT: and just warning here that the Alana thread has a bit of a discussion of physical abuse.]
She'd tried to read to take her mind off it, but something would remind her of what she'd already read, and she'd be back to brooding angrily over nothing. She'd already shattered and repaired several tea cups, and had finally resorted to plastic mugs over the weekend.
There were, perhaps, possibly more constructive ways for her to have taken the news that her boyfriend was engaged. Maybe she could have approached him about it, instead of adopting 'Avoiding Ichabod' as her primary activity over the last few days, in lieu of studying or reading or anything she liked. Maybe she could have talked to someone else about it, instead of brooding and pouting and trying to work out increasingly implausible explanations. (Maybe he was a spy, and so was this Mary. Maybe the letter was a code, and the...perfume some sort of additional cipher!)
She could have probably handled a lot of this better. But as talented and bright as Celia generally tended to be, she was also still very much sixteen, and this was very much the first time she'd allowed her heart to be broken. So she was given to acting like a teenager about it, which was why she was stretched out on her bed today, ostensibly reading some twentieth century poetry. Of course, the fact that the light had started flickering probably spelled out a bit how little she was paying attention to the words, and how much her mind had strayed. But at least she hadn't actually burned out the bulb, yet?
(It was possibly only a matter of time, the way she was brooding, now.)
[open door and post, super-grumpy girl within, and SP for me! EDIT: and just warning here that the Alana thread has a bit of a discussion of physical abuse.]