Revenge sounds fun at first, but then you're three years into it with no friends and a reputation and you just have to think-was it worth it?

That's the exact thought running through Abigail Armstrong's mind as she watches the students coming back for another year at the academy. Loud, bubbling voices trickle through the hallway, accompanied by stomping feet and the roll, roll, trip of suitcase wheels along the hardwood floors. She sits on her bed-already pristinely made, of course-and watches through the half-opened blinds of her window. Some stop in front of it, looking at maps or greeting friends, but all continue without so much as a second glance toward her lonely room.

She had burned all of her bridges a long time ago, it seemed. When Sammy had gotten into his accident, when things were really bad, she'd shut out even the people who had stayed with her. When they sat with her, brought her coffee and consoled her, she had nodded her downturned head and looked away. Who were these people, anyway, who thought they could take her place at his bedside vigil?

It had been a long summer. Abigail had watched vacations and friends driving the long distances to meet through social media posts on her phone. She had spent the holiday driving to her therapist, whom she had willingly agreed to meet when things with Sammy's incident had seemed to be spiraling at a pace she couldn't handle.

But really, in all actuality, was it her fault that nobody was there? That she was the one by his side, day in and day out, while his 'friends' went on their holidays and posted silly Instagram photos as if nothing had ever happened? As if he were right alongside them as he should have been?

She'd lapsed from the grace of his friends one morning, after scanning through yet another bout of holiday photos. They'd come stumbling in during the early morning hours, around nine or ten in the morning. Abigail had just relieved his mother from her post so that she could get them some coffee, and was alone in the room ready to face her day. She was writing-an activity imposed on her by Isa, which she actually didn't mind so much anymore. Almost an entire journal full in the short two weeks he'd been in the hospital, she'd rehashed every thought, look, and sensation she felt. Every moment in each day in what was now nearly a year of their relationship, written in multiple pens on the lined pages of the Moleskine given to her as a 'welcome back, now here's what you have to do' present from Isa.

She shut her journal abruptly upon hearing the noise, glaring up from her morning peace to find them ambling in, an apologetic Kat at their lead. Then came Christian, and Tara, and a host of faces she barely recognized. There were six of them in total; six bodies to crowd the room, six voices to bounce off linoleum tiles and white walls, six presences to disrupt the peace of her morning.

Christian and three of his friends-lanky, foolish guys as they were-left trails of saltwater wherever they walked, smelling up the room with the salty bite of the ocean air. She glared at them in turn, shaking her head at them in disbelief.

"And you brought the ocean in because…?"

"We were just out surfing and decided to stop by, is it really that bad?" Kat turns first to Abigail in question, then to the boys she's glaring at with an ice cold stare. She watches droplets of water hit the floor, a nearly inaudible splash, and covers her forehead in embarrassment.

"Oi, you never dried your hair!" She glares at the boys then too, but the corners of her lips are upturned in a sneaky smirk. Abigail bites her tongue, focusing on the consistency of Sammy's heart monitor. One…two…three…four… She counts along with it, evening her breathing as red clouds her vision. Kat, Tara, Christian, and their posse step closer to his bed, eyes scanning along his motionless figure in pity. Kat sits on the edge of the bed, just staring, and sniffs a bit.

"I still can't believe this." It's silent now, save the familiar humming inside the hospital walls, and Abigail feels, for the first time since their stumbling in, a total emotional synch with her former best friend.

"I can't either." The brunette replies from her place in her chair. Her voice is low, barely recognizable to the way she once was. "But things look hopeful-at least, that's what the doctor's said yesterday. It's all completely inconceivable until he wakes up, though. Until he's unhooked from those monitors and back to being Sammy again, I don't know if I can believe a word they say."

There's a noticeably awkward silence in the room then, a few of the guys deciding to head out and leave Sammy's closer friends to their privacy. She looks among them, the friends he'd managed to make and keep in their short two years at the academy; loyal, trusting, fun-loving…friends he'd do anything for. Then her eyes lock on the falling droplets of salt-ridden water as they litter the floor with their moisture.

His friends. The ones who swear they'll always be by his side. The ones he'd live for, die for…the friends who still went around for holiday-on surf trips and bushwalks and grand adventures-all while the one who planned these grand events lay motionless in a hospital bed. It was almost too much, the anger that burned inside of her now, and she kept one hand in the bag beside her chair, popping bubble-wrap bubbles and focusing her breathing, just as she was taught.

"…wish he could have seen the swell I caught this morning-he would've loved it!" They were chatting now, nodding in agreement and recounting the morning as if it actually mattered to them what he would have thought about the waves. It didn't-to Abigail anyway. Who were these people, she thought, who were all talk and no action? Who left him lying in a bed while they continued on with their lives as normal?

"It's really not fair, is it?" She's terse now, out of her range of control and unable to mask the impending anger she's about to dole out. "It's not fair that he has to lay here, unconscious and possibly dying, while his friends continue on their summer holiday as if he's just decided he can't go. He missed the greatest opportunity of his life because of this idiot driver who couldn't even stop to see if he was alright, and you're acting like nothing even happened!"

It's the first time she's spoken with such intensity, such ferocity since the morning after his accident, when she'd stumbled into Isa's office, dry-heaving and stumbling over her words. And they had no idea. Looking among them, from Tara's irritancy to Christian's blank stare, right on to Kat's heaving breaths of unfiltered offence.

"How dare you," She begins, inching toward Abigail with an outstretched finger. "What gives you the right to sit there and attack us for not being here? How would you know what Sammy would want? I know, he respects you and he loved you and he wanted us all to be friends. But how can I even begin to be friends with someone who's sitting here day in and day out pretending like she actually cares? What kind of right do you have to call us out on anything? Who are you to Sammy that we're not?!"

It's like everything freezes; in one fleeting moment, Abigail's jaw is stuck unhinged, her eyes widened and accusatory, ready to throw words back in Kat's face. But the thrumming of the monitor makes her pause. One...two…three..four…and she sucks in a breath before her eyes well with unwelcomed tears.

"I can't…I'm not…" She chokes out syllables between breaths, attempting to suck the tears back out of sight where they belong. "There are things that you don't know either, Kat. Ever take that into consideration? I love him. And he loves me too. And some things happened that brought us back together that night, before the accident. But those are things that are between us, and that will stay between us. I don't have to prove myself to you anymore; to any of you. I don't care one way or the other if you think that I'm just playing some game with you. This isn't first year anymore, we're not children. And I'm going to stay here with him and support him not because it's some wild dying wish of his, but because I need to be here."

"People cope in different ways, Abigail. You can sit, and you can need to be stuck in this hospital, or in a studio, but I can't. I'm going to spend my holiday the way I need to, so don't come accusing me of being anything less than what I am, which is his best friend."

…

She'd burned all of her bridges a long time ago, so when she heard the rolling of suitcases approach her door before stopping by her bedside she froze, praying that the worst wouldn't come.

A pair of long, thin legs meets her downcast eyes first, feet clad in grey high top Converse. She follows the legs up to a colorful, Aztec printed romper and a sleeveless jean vest. Tons of chunky jewelry dangle around her neck, and then her eyes meet bouncy blonde curls, springing just above her shoulders. She isn't sure how to feel until the blonde steps forward, holding her arms out for a hug.

"It's good to see you here, Abbi. How are you holding up?" Abigail welcomes the embrace with a barely managed smile, just the corners of her lips tilting up while her eyes fail to make the same attempts. Nevertheless it feels nice, looking back at blue eyes that are genuine instead of accusatory. As if she knows just what went on that summer that made her so alienated.

"I'm holding, I guess. Thanks for asking, Grace."

"Never got around to telling you I'm your new roommate. Guess it's been kind of crazy around here…" She pauses briefly, one hand moving to hold the other. Her gaze falls to the floor, and it's the first time Abigail has ever seen Grace Whitney-wild, effervescent, free spirit of a dancer-look more ashamed of herself. "I really hope you're not angry at me-about the Prix, I mean. I tried to explain myself to the others, and there was this awful shouting match, and-"

"Stop," Abigail looks up with a harsh expression, standing so that she can rest her hands on her companion's shoulders. "I understand. Completely. You don't need to explain yourself to me. I'm not going to blame you for making a choice."

Two deep breaths and then Grace smiles her familiar, always-a-little-mischievous smile, reaching back to pull her suitcase into her room.

"Well then, welcome to third year. This could be fun, the two of us being roomies. And if anybody has anything to say to you don't worry, I've got your back. We've gotta stick this one out together. Allies in the bloody third year war, right?"

Abigail smiles and makes her way out into the hallway, pulling another one of Grace's suitcases into their room. It feels nice, laughing again. And as they rearrange the room she thinks that maybe third year won't be so bad after all.