Brooke stepped into the common room, her drawing pad in hand. Her long, baggy camo pajama bottoms and her black long-sleeved shirt conceled her lean frame. Her long blonde hair was pulled loosly back into a braid, going almost all the way down to the small of her back. Making sure she had her key on the bracelet she constantly had on, even if she didn't feel like wearing it. Moving like a ghost into the common room, she noticed that she was not alone. Oh, uh, hello. Her voice was soft, but she leveled it adequetly to reach the ears of the other girl. She nodded slightly and made her way over to one of the small couches against the wall, flicking on the lamp.

Looking down at the paper, she tried to think of something to draw, she knew that the only picture she knew by heart was the one of her lying unconcious on the floor, covered in bruises and blood, her flute grasped firmly in her hand. Shaking her head softly, she looked down at the blank page and then back up. The girl she'd noticed was playing some sort of video game, but wasn't moving often. Picking up her pencil, Brooke let it flow like water over the page, slowly, lines began to appear. The outline of the girl sitting on the couch, in front of the TV was still unrecognizable, but still there. Glancing up ever so often when Brooke would hear a noise come from the video game girl, she would capture some new detail on the page.

The main part of the drawing was beginning to form, you could tell that it was somebody sitting on a couch watching TV, but Brooke was no where near done. She had some of her art displayed all over the place, at her former school was the picture of her the night that she'd almost died, the principal had begged for a copy of the only thing she'd drawn while she'd been in the hospital, they needed some art for a memorial they were doing for a child abuse corner of the office, her picture was on that board now. Shaking her head gently, Brooke kept drawing, she often drew things that she saw, sometimes of a frisby game that the guys were playing, or sometimes of a teacher grading papers, all of those drawings eventually landed on the desk or in the locker of the subject. Brooke grew emersed in the art, her hand touching the page ever so lightly, leaving faint and dark lines in different areas, her hair had begun to form, but it was still a long way from being done.

Brooke set her pencil down when the led finally broke off. Muttering to herself, she crossed the room to the tiny kitchen. Please say they have a real knife in here... She didn't have a pencil sharpener anymore. Setting the notebook beside her, she dug around in the drawer. Sifting through everything they had in the drawer, she pulled out some of the most random things; a Bush bobblehead, a diper, two books, a fake dubloon, a tiny drum, a fork... Rolling her eyes, she closed the drawer and moved to the next one, even more random crap; a memory chip, a vile of something, a bag labled 'Frank's Snowball, DO NOT TOUCH', a pen. Muttering to herself, she glanced over her shoulder when she heard the girl say something. I wasn- It took her a moment to realize that she wasn't talking to her, simply to the TV.

Looking back to the search for a knife, she moved onto another drawer. The same; a soap carving of George Washington, a MCR CD, nail polish remover, no lid. , tape, a picture of a dog with a memorial script on the back, the body of a Lava Lamp, and some glue. She reached all the way to the back, thinking that mabey there was something back there. She felt cold metal, a knife blade? She was moving her hand along the blade to find the hild when she heard a scream. Instinctivly, Brooke's hand tightened, right around the blade. DAMN IT! She hissed, yanking her hand out of the drawer. A long scratch ran along her palm, blood slowly revealing itself.

Cursing under her breath, she looked around the kitchenette for a sink or a rag. A tiny rag was sitting on the other side, bitting her lip, she closed her hand, just to hear her make a squeak of pain. Releasing her hand, she looked back down at her hand. The blood covered her pail skin, that was all it took her to feel dizzy. This isn't gonna b- She crumpled to the ground. Yes, Brooke fainted at the sight of blood, ironic.

Brooke saw stars dancing in front of her eyes, the little dots turned into spirals and then just random shapes. She felt herself open her eyes, but the darkness remained. Crap, am I blind? She thought to herself. Blinking a few times, she watched the darkness disappear and was replaced with the face of the girl who'd been playing videogames. She was laying on the floor, she knew that much, but she couldn't tell why. Then she saw the small puddle of blood on the linolium ground and felt another wave of dizziness. She heard the girl questioning her frantically, but she couldn't bring herself to say anything.

She remained still for a moment and then spoke. I'm fine. She paused to cough for a moment, covering her mouth with her non-injured hand. I just pass out at the sight of blood. She tried to prop herself up on her elbow, but fell back against the linolium, hard. Fainting spells always left her a bit worn out, she wasn't all that sure why, but they did. Pressing her face against the cold floor, she felt her flooded head cool off a bit, it felt better to lay against the floor than some hospital bed, that, and they'd ask about the scars. Looking back up at the videogame girl, she smilled a little. I'm Brooke, by the way. She would have held out her hand, except for the fact that it was covered in blood. She tried to laugh a little, but it didn't work too well, it made her feel dizzy again.

Looking around the kitchenette, she spotted a glass and a first aid kit. Would you mind doing one thing for me real fast? She paused, rubbing her head and trying to pull herself into a sitting position. Would you mind putting a little water in that glass and handing me the first aid kit? She wouldn't mind if the girl refused, but she needed to stop the bleeding in her hand, and get some water. Looking down at the ground, she blocked out the sight of the small droplets of blood next to her hand, and focused on the generic pattern of the floor. It was common for her to pass out at the sight of blood, even if it wasn't her own. A side effect of staying in the ICU at the hospital in Seattle, you saw a lot of blood. Without even thinking about the scars, she rolled her shirt sleeves up to her elbow, to allow her to cool off easier.

Brooke laughed inside when she saw the girl kick off her shoes, they didn't look at all comfortable, but then again, Brooke simply wore converse, tennis shoes, and no shoes. It suited her. It seemed like all Brooke had to do was nod ever so often, Nina sure liked to talk...but that was fine with Brooke, it saved her from having to say much. Pleasure to meet you, Nina. Her voice was soft, hardly audible, but it was there. She was sitting up now, resting her head on her knees, her grey-green eyes just watching.

Nodding simply, she murmered a quiet thanks when Nina brought her a cup of water and the first-aid kit. Picking the glass up, she took a small sip, feeling her head begin to clear almost instantly. Setting it down beside her, she moved the first-aid kit closer to her side, fumbling with the latch, she opened it. She spotted the gauze almost instantly, fishing it out with her non-injured hand, she set it in her lap. Looking up when she heard Nina speak again. Oh, uh, this is going to sound really stupid, but I don't have a pencil sharpener so I went looking for a knife. Well, I saw one at the back of the drawer and then I heard something - She decided to leave out that what she'd heard was Nina's scream - And subconciously, my hand clenched, right around the blade... She sighed and began wrapping her hand in the guaze, flinching whenever it would hit a tender spot. She couldn't help but laugh a little when she saw her notebook sitting perched on the counter, I have no clue how I can draw almost every day and not have a damn pencil sharpener. She shook her head a little and looked down at her hand, the guaze was wrapped around the gash, and tucked in on itself.