Then the inevitable happens as I should have known it would. I bump into something, or more surely, someone. For a split second, I wonder about the muscles on this person, as it feels quite hard, but as I truly look up from the book, I see it’s a cast.
The girl is wearing a camera, and a cast on her arm. Fracture in her…Ulna? Radius? It seems too low to be the Humerus.
I want to praise myself for finishing the chapter on the upper body first, but then remind myself of manors.
“Oh! I’m sorry!” I say to her. The girl is a Princess. Princess Galice Schreave to be precise, daughter of Prince Cole and Princess Aileen, Prince Cole being the cousin of King Haiden. She has a brother, Collin, a sister, Adara, and yet another sister, who’s called Kal. This space in my mind was reserved for Latin names for muscles, but the Selection had other plans, it seems.
She almost drops the camera she’s holding, forgotten to use the useful safety strap she could have put around her neck, but manages to hug it to her chest in time before it drops to the ground.
“Sorry, my mistake,” she answers politely. The upbringing, I’m sure.
It’s impossible to recall whose fault it was, so I shouldn’t bother to say it is in fact, my fault, but being polite is what I must be, as well. Certainly to Royalty. Certainly considering she’s wearing a cast, and a camera which could probably pay for my nonexisting degree I work so dedicate for.
I close the book I’m holding, one I don’t dare to call mine but want to, and put it under my arm.
“Well, I think I would be in the wrong considering…” I point at her cast, now wondering if it was a nice fracture or maybe a messy one, tiny pieces of the bones shattered from being whole, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No, I’m afraid I already had my arm broken,” she replies, attempting a joke. Her attempt succeeds, making me chuckle.
“Yeah, I figured. I just meant if it didn’t shift or anything,” I say, knowing that could mess up the healing process, but I assume her joke answers my question that she’s not experiencing any pain of it, “I’m Fitz, by the way, nice to meet you Princess.”
I should probably extend my hand, yet I don’t want to trouble her any further, her cast on one hand and a camera in the other, she literally has her hands full as it is. As I fully take in her face, it takes up my focus.
A face reveals a lot. Hers shows kindness at first, her eyes open and bright, waiting to give love to the people she thinks deserve it. A warm glow grace her cheeks, healthy, full of life. Yet the little twitch at her eyelid gives it away. She hides beneath the surface, beneath a polite and hopeful smile, perhaps, though I’m not sure. It makes me worry as if she’s a patient even if I tell myself not too.
I make a lot of people my semi-patients. It’s a terrible thing to do. I’ve not yet been able to stop myself from it.
“Are you okay?” I ask eventually, a diagnosis still being put together in my head. Eye twitch, slight dark circles under her eyes, fracture in Ulna/Radius(?) most likely not related.
“Fitz, a pleasure,” she answers, ignoring my question so far, though I’m sure she’ll get to it eventually, “I’m Gal, though I guess you already know that.”
She shortens her name, making it sound almost as if she’s not Royalty at all, almost like a common name. Placing a strand of hair behind her ear, she continues. “And I’m fine really. It’s a good cast.”
She underlines her statement with a smile, knocking on the cast with her knuckles as to prove how strong it is as it can even survive her knocking.
I ignore her excuse, continuing my fake research, furrowing my brows like the doctor I feel at the moment. Stress. A tiny spasm at the eyelid is most of the times caused by stress. Related to a lack of sleep, and as known, stress and lack of sleep are related like a close family, one causing the other. You, Princess Galice Schreave, are hereby diagnosed with stress. The cause is unknown, since I have been given not enough information to define a proper cause. But with some more information, I could.
“Are you sure? Your right eyelid is showing tiny spasms…That’s a sign of stress…Are you experiencing any other problems?”
I tilt my head to the left, as if that should make it easier for me to find a cause to solve my puzzle. Or actually, her puzzle. Or maybe she’s the puzzle?
She blinks faster, most likely in surprise, and it seems almost as if that would make the spasm dissapear.
“Oh…uh…That’s…” She shakes her head after the stutter. Stutter is a sign of nerves, whereas it is possible to say the patient is hiding the through cause of their illness…which in this case isn’t an illness. Come on, back to reality Doctor Fitz. “How do you know that?” she asks, “and I’m not experiencing any other problems…”
“Okay good,” I answer with an awkward smile. My nerves are not to hide a true cause of any illness, my nerves are just emberassement. I’m still human, and she’s Royalty, I can’t blame myself. “Sorry, that may have sounded freaky…I uh, I like studying those kind of things,” I say as to explain my somewhat weird behaviour.
“Tiny spasms?” She smirks at her own joke, as Ben laughs at all of his own jokes, way louder. I chuckle again all the same.
“No, no, medical stuff, the human body and all that.”
“Oh, that’s great, smart guy right there,” she says with a small smile on her lips.
“Well, not really…Only self taught so far,” I elaborate, before nodding in the direction of the camera she’s still holding tight, “You are a photographer?”
No, she’s a Princess, you moron. So far for looking smart.
“That’s what I try yes.”
Instantly, she raises her camera and snaps a random picture of me. I restrain myself from taking a step back, but still blink my eyes repeatedly as the act surprised me and leaves me flustered.
“And by the way,” she continues, pulling my focus back to the conversation, “I’m pretty sure being self taught only further proves how smart you are.”
I shrug as to wave her compliment away. “Won’t get far without my degree,” I counter, “So what do you do with the pictures? Except for burning the one you just took,” I joke back with a smirk.
“No burning pictures! I keep them. They can have various uses…” she responds mysterious, making me chuckle once more, “Why wouldn’t you be able to get a degree though?”
My smile fails a little at the question.
“Oh…uh…not yet, I’m getting there though.”
“I’m sure you’ll end up being a great doctor…Unless you end up being a king consort of course,” she says, and with good reason, but somehow it didn’t cross my mind. I’m here for Princess Raena, or actually more the experience, the food…the money. I’m here for the cousin of this girl in front of me, I remind myself, since it doesn’t feel like I’m talking to a Royal. A normal reaction would require more nerves, more politeness, more a formal interaction than this.
“Oh that,” I say, shaking my head slightly, “I don’t think that will be the case, but sure, who knows,” I blurt out.
Just two seconds ago I reminded myself she is a royal, the Princess her cousin, and now I say this?
“Oh shit, I probably shouldn’t be telling you that…” I pull my face into an awkward expression, while I wonder what is wrong with my short-term memory at the moment. Watch your mouth Fitz.
She narrows her eyes at me, and I try to ignore how it makes me feel embarrassed. I realise her spasm stopped.
I rub the back of my neck, the body’s natural reaction to feeling uncomfortable, I know, but do it anyway.
“Eh, since you’re her friend? So I shouldn’t tell you that I don’t like her.” I throw the words out again, making one mistake after another, which is unusual. Correct this. Say the right words. Formal. Polite. Stop implying stupid things, even if you don’t feel anything for the Princess yet.
“I mean, it could still happen but…”
“Wait, what do you mean you don’t like her? What are you here for then?” she asks questioning my intentions, making me assume she cares for her cousin.
I pause, folding my hands behind my back, formulating the best possible sentence to correct this wrong. I could, in theory, still fall in love with the Princess, and I could, in the meantime, gladly enjoy the books this library has to offer and explore the knowledge I can’t afford.
“Well,” I start, “I don’t think any of these guys liked her from the start, I think it’s biologically impossible to be in love with someone you’ve only seen on a screen…So I guess it means I don’t like her yet.”
I almost smile at my own response, glad to save myself. I am not done here yet, there’s too many books waiting and too many people living to examine.
“Oh,” she says relaxing slightly, “Okay then, that’s fine. I thought you meant something else.”
I shift on my feet just a tiny bit, another sign of discomfort. I analyse my reason to feel this, and assume it’s because I don’t want to look like a person who would intentionally hurt the Princess. I wouldn’t. I just don’t know if we’d work, or if we ever will. No one has yet, for me. I’ve always been more focussed on my goal, getting my degree, and giving a girl a yellow rose isn’t part of that.
“Yes, well…” I let out, tugging at the book under my arm, putting it under my other arm now.
It pulls her attention to it.
“Um, can I see that?” she asks, pointing to it.
My hands instinctively close around the book. I don’t need to be reminded that I’m a former Six, that I can’t afford a book like this.
“I borrowed it, from the library. I didn’t do anything wrong,” I defend. As I say it, it dawns me that my attitude is misplaced. Not at all polite or formal, and not at all doing justice to how interesting our conversation started.
I shake my head, rolling my shoulders to soften my stance. “Sorry, I mean…Sure.”
She takes it as I hand it over, not taking her eyes off me. She’s analysing me, I realise, because I do that often so myself.
“What makes you think I’m accusing you of doing something wrong?”
She doesn’t await my answer directly, instead scanning pages as she flips through the book, but eventually raises her raised eyebrows at me, looking through her thick lashes. Analysing me again.
I wonder what her diagnosis would be.
I shrug as to discard the topic. It’s no big deal, not important. It’s not as bad as it used to be, but it’s still there.
“The castes are gone, but they’re not really, so it’s a habit.”
“Right…” she answers, perhaps slightly embarrassed to be reminded of the doing of her ancestors. She seems like a person who would feel responsible for their actions even if they’re long dead. She looks at the book to hide it. “I wasn’t aware of your caste though…”
“Nothing some fancy clothes and some food can’t fix,” I joke, knowing Ben has a hard time finding me on the report every time so far because of the changed look.
She silently nods, pursing her lips.
Assumption correct.
She feels responsibility for the decisions of others.
“I’m sorry it has to be like that for you.”
“It’s not that bad really,” I reply with a shrug, “The food here makes up for everything.” A smile shows on my lips before I continue. “Seriously though, how are you all not fat yet?”
“Because we have self control? Good metabolism?”
“I have one of those, and it’s not the first when it comes to food,” I reply with a smirk.
“Seems like it,” she answers, “Aren’t you the guy always making heart eyes at your food during dinner?”
She’s joking but I feel caught still. Not only have I been exposed as the food praising person I am, but also I’ve been watched, noticed, while I haven’t been doing anything to try to get attention.
I play along nonetheless, pulling an innocent face.
“What…no…maybe…It’s just good okay!”
She laughs a little at that, and I notice the melody of her laugh is pleasing. My mind thinking it is only caused by air going passed her vocal chords is ruining it though.
“Yes, Baguette is a good cook. The best I think.”
“He must be! I don’t get why I’m the only one who’s making heart eyes, I mean, the ice cream? I know I should know better, knowing how unhealthy it is and the effects of sugar and fat but, I can’t help it,” I say with a smile.
“Ice cream?” she asks before continuing, “Who cares about sugar! Eating some every now and then doesn’t kill anyone!” she argues.
I try to pull another innocent face, enjoying this play.
“Every now and then…Sure.”
“Oh no…” she replies with faked disappointment, gladly taking on the role, “Fitz how much do you take? It is dangerous!”
I laugh in response, “That’s exactly why I want to be a doctor! So I can find a cure and eat ice cream for every meal!”
She pulls her face into another act, almost as if I’m a hero to all, “Saving millions of people around the world.”
In return, I paint a serious expression on my face, showing how terrible this ‘burden’ is to live with. “I know…It’s my calling,” I say.
“Clearly,” she responds. With a smile, the same as on my own lips, she hands me the book back. “You know you can take more than one book from the library at the same time, right?” she says as I close my hands on the cover again.
I lift up my gaze in surprise. More?
“Really?” I answer not hiding the surprise, but quickly realising I should. Normal people wouldn’t be this excited or astonished by this. So, I clear my throat, “I-I knew that.”
She raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it, “I highly doubt that.”
Somehow I still find this amusing, and above all, our conversation seemed to have relaxed her. Her spasm is gone, even if that doesn’t necessarily mean the stress is as well. Still, it’s the best I could do for my semi-patient.
I open the book again on the page where I was, a skeleton with Latin names greeting me. “Well, I guess we’ll never know,” I reply with a mischievous grin, “It was a pleasure, Princess.”
I nod in her direction, as she rolls her eyes back at me.
“A pleasure as well, Sir Fitz.”
'Doctor Fitz’, it corrects in my mind. I take in her face one last time, my final diagnosis forming.
With that opinion in mind, I walk away with my nose in the book again, to begin my silent mumbling of Latin names once more.
