Ciell tore through the halls on a bruised leg, doing the best to keep the blood of her now-open arm wound from spilling onto the floor. The students she'd been sparring with likely wouldn't take too well to her running off, and she was certain her mother would be very cross. After five rounds and an ill-thought-out punch, her bandaged arm had gotten worse, and the pain had been enough to make her realized she couldn't go on any further.

And so she ran, and fast at that despite the bruised leg. Her whole body was sore, she wasn't about to let one injury cripple her, and the arm wound could wait until she got back to her room. The lift was slow to arrive, and when at last it did and she stepped inside, the other students rounded the corner. Ciell knew they saw her, but they couldn't know what floor she'd be on, not off the top of their heads. If they searched, sure, they'd find her, but would they? The one's she'd beaten up might, but the others would likely give up, which if worse came to worse, would at least even the odds a tad more. 

The doors opened to her floor, and some small part of her was relieved to see that no one was present for the moment. The last thing she needed was for someone to see her beaten and bruised, limping with a bloody arm. She hurried to her room and locked the door behind her, immediately going for the sink and peeling the bandages off of her skin. They came off red and sticky, but at least the arm was intact. What wounds the shattered monitor had caused were now much more open, bleeding from the trauma of its use. The water she ran it under stung, and before she could think to compose herself she half-screamed in pain. Her free hand flew to her mouth. No. No one, absolutely [i]no one[/i] would hear her scream, not in agony. As she washed the wounds her whole body shook, but she kept her teeth clamped together and every slow whine of pain turned to bitter hisses. If she was going to expect guests, she'd need to be in presentable shape. Tomorrow when it would be safe to roam the halls, she'd go get stitches, but for tonight an extra layer of gauze would have to do. If it came down to it, she'd keep the arm close, and avoid using it at all.

Ciell sat down on the bed, breathless and sweating, both from the exhaustion and the pain. Her arm pulsed like a beacon, sending throbs of shock through her every few moments. But even while she stayed there, waiting for the potential second round of attack, she did not hate her opponents. She did not hate her mother, she did not hate the speaker over the intercom or the screens broadcasting her failure, she didn't even hate Hayden. Instead she focused all of that anger and contempt inward at herself, where it belonged, where it could be useful like a fuel. She began to wish for the other students to come, wished they would knock on her door and demand she open up to continue their rounds, because even though she was angry at herself, the outlet they would receive would be far worse than any internal struggle she endured. And so Ciell sat, watching the door, listening to the hallway for any footsteps or voices. Even if no one came, she would wait all god damn night.