Post by Kenzie on Jun 26, 2015 12:38:44 GMT -5
”No. I’ve got it. Thanks for the offer, but you have a class to teach.”
”But—but I can always be late—“
”I’m fine. I’ll get a college professor to help me if I need to. Bye, Susan.” Arthur hung up his new iPhone, pulling it away from his ear, staring at the device. Arthur didn’t really want an iPhone, but his sister insisted, saying that since his old phone was stolen by the robbers she wanted to upgrade it. It seemed a little excessive of an upgrade to him, though. Arthur didn’t use apps very often or feel any need for them—except for on particularly addicting little bubble game he found on the app store—but otherwise, nothing! His phone buzzed loudly from a text, and he saw Susan had sent okay, have a nice day at school, luv u! with a bunch of little heart emoticons afterwards. Arthur didn’t bother to reply, knowing Susan was already late for her class as it was and sighed, adjusting the brown messenger bag over his shoulder.
It was kind of dangerous, carrying all his notebooks while needing a crutch to walk, but he’d deal with it. His bag wasn’t too heavy anyway. He wasn’t a baby, and his leg would heal in time. But for now…
Arthur sent a glare down to his right knee. He knew underneath the dark jeans he was wearing his knee and the area just below were wrapped tightly in gauze, the wound on his leg hurting to move. He couldn’t put any pressure on that leg at all and bending the knee? Forget it. His knee was relaxed in a slightly bent position, one that didn’t hurt, but if he dared move that leg of his an inch he’d be in a world of pain.
The walk to the school building that his business course was in was excruciatingly awkward. The robbery had only been a week and a half ago, and since there were victims of shootings, everyone and their fucking mother was chit-chatting about how this could have happened, why the boys got shot, who the robbers were, ect. Arthur was reduced to a limping mess, who could barely dress himself in the mornings, let alone lug his ass across campus to his classes. He was late to his first class of the year yesterday and vowed not to make the same mistake again, so now he had left a half hour early, giving him plenty of time and then some to get to the second floor of… he glanced at his iPhone’s notepad. Michaelson building. Wherever the fuck that was.
Arthur nearly tripped when he reached a directory and saw the building he was looking for was dead ahead. Except there were stairs leading up the building—no ramp in sight. He fumed. The fuck kind of fancy school didn’t have ramps for the disabled?! He was going to bitch the fuck out of the main office. Not only for himself but for anyone else more permanently injured than he was. At least in his case, he’d heal in a few weeks.
Arthur approached the building, noticing people staring at him. He stared back, before he came to the edge of the stairs and shifted gears, holding onto the railing instead of his crutch, wrapping his arms around it to try to hoist himself up the stairs without bending his knee.
He looked… ridiculous, to say the least. It was almost like watching a caterpillar try to inch its way up the stairs. His brown messenger bag dangled straight down as the only leg Arthur could move kept jumping up to the next step as he kept all of his body weight on the railing. For once he was appreciative of how small he was—if he was any taller, his legs would be longer and he would have had no choice but to bend both his knees to accomplish this. Sure, in the climb up he’d felt a stinging pain ascend his spine from the bullet wound on his leg, but otherwise it worked relatively well.
Arthur still refused to ask anyone for help, even when he clearly could have used it to save himself about 5 minutes of agony and shame. Then again, no one exactly offered to help him… but Arthur’s face was what most called a ‘resting bitch face’… meaning he looked angry all the time, and generally unapproachable.
Arthur limped his way into the classroom he had to sit in. he glanced at the board, saw Professor Lockwood written on it, and realized this was the right class. He took one of the seats closest to the door, for the sake of making it easier to limp away when class ended. He groaned and leaned his head back, catching his breath. The purple plaid shirt he was wearing had gotten wrinkled in the climb up the front stairs but he didn’t particularly care. A few other early birds glanced over at Arthur’s disheveled and sloppy appearance, knowing the robbery had happened a week and a half ago, and that he’d bene one of the victims of bullets. Some of them tried to say things but Arthur didn’t listen and just waited for the class to start, his tired eyes dully focused on the clock.
He hadn’t slept at all last night, not that he really slept well any night since the robbery happened. He closed his eyes and sighed, flopping his messenger back up on the table before he leaned forward and rested his forehead against, it, looking like he was sleeping, his shot leg stretched out so that he didn’t bend it and his crutch lied beside his desk, propped up.
