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His lips curved into a sad half-smile. “I know you’re hurting. I’m not about to ask you for something that will only make it worse.”
I looked down at my hands, wringing them nervously as I did, my tongue tied. “I’ve been hurting for a very long time. I’ve been hurting all my life. And that may never change.” Frost took a tentative step towards me and carefully touched my shoulder, not enough to upset me, but just enough to give me the strength to look him in the eye through my unshed tears. “Frost, I want to know what it’s like to be happy. To not hurt anymore. I want to live again.”
His browed creased, lips tight, he took another tiny step towards me. When he spoke again, his breath brushed against my face. “And?”
“And I hate myself for telling you this because I’ve never done something more selfish in my life. But, I…” I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood and brought one hand up to rest on his cupping my shoulder. His fingers were warm and comforting, a sharp contrast to the icy wind. “I can’t do it alone.”
He shut his eyes slowly and took a long, deep breath as he thought. I felt my stomach contract, as though it were turning into a black hole inside of me. “What are you asking me for?” he asked.
A blast of wind roared through my sweaters and I shuddered, tightening my grip on his hand. “I’m asking you to help me be with you,” I at last answered.
Frost opened his eyes, his irises blue pools of uncertainty and confusion. “Are you sure?”
I nodded sharply, shivering from the cold and the emotional rollercoaster inside me. “I want this, Frost, I do. I’m just…it will not be easy. For either of us. So, I’ll understand if you won’t or if we try and you let me go. Just tell me.”
He stared down at me sadly for a few brief seconds, letting my words sink in, then he gently drew me into him, wrapping his arms around me in a sweet embrace. I let my palms and my cheek rest against his chest and took in the warmth of his body, the meaning of the embrace. And then, he whispered in my ear, “I’m yours.”
----
Red everywhere again…bloody walls, bloody light fixtures, blood-soaked, swampy carpet, a blood-stained door open less than an inch ajar, but less than an inch is still just enough to draw me forth….
I place my bloodied hand flush against the pane and slowly push it open. White, blinding light explodes around me, sending violet and red splotches streaming across my vision, making my eyes bleed, and a malicious chuckle I know too well erupts around me. Nina Faucett’s wild green eyes flash across my retinas as she stares down at me with that sadistic glare I’ve seen far too many times. “You just wait, bitch,” she snarls, laughing even as she does. “This is only the beginning.”
Faces, hundreds of faces, swarm around me, laughing and pointing just as I remember them, as I’ll always remember them. “Just think how they’ll laugh when you’re dead. Someday, orphan, someday I’ll kill you.”
I awoke in a cold sweat, shuddering and grimacing. I shook off the nightmare and beat at the mattress, screaming not in the usual fear, but in hate and frustration.
Because six years after high school graduation, just like my foster-father, that bitch was still punishing me for something I had never done.
‘Oh, sure. I’ll believe that! It’s all your fault, you stupid orphan! And I will destroy you for it!’
----
The next morning, I showered, dressed, and ate a slice of toast, then made my way to the library, flashdrive safely stowed in my front pocket. Outside on the street, the December wind howled like a pack of rabid wolves, clawing and tearing at my weak substitute for a jacket, three layers of sweaters, and my exposed hands and face. As I watched my feet walking forward, my arms wrapped tightly around my midsection in a vain attempt to conserve heat, I vowed to get a jacket. Tuesday was payday at the restaurant. I could stop at Goodwill and find something reasonable for the oncoming winter on Wednesday morning. If I didn’t get one soon, I would contract hypothermia with all the walking I did or worse, Frost would lecture me and buy me one himself.
Frost and I had agreed to see each other that night in hopes that he wouldn’t be called in to the station. He had offered coffee and a movie, surprising me. With all we had been through and knowing that for some bizarre reason I still hadn’t worked out he had strong feelings for me already, I had assumed he’d insist on dinner. For God’s sake, we had slept together…literally.Onlyliterally. I shook myself in an attempt to clear the feelings of guilt, regret and confusion regarding that night. One part of me longed to feel his arms wrapped tightly around me again, to savor the warmth of his cheek pressed against mine, to lose control and kiss him until I couldn’t breathe. That part was horrified by my reaction when I had awoken in his arms and caused a flaring up of my torn muscles in the panic. I hated myself for the look in his eyes when I had told him I’d warned him he would only be hurt by trying to be with me. Another part of me was filled with a sick feeling and regret that I had kissed him and come so close to losing control in his arms. Not my fear, nor my concussion had been able to make me forget how badly I had wanted him and how seriously I had weighed my expected regret against needing his touch. Even just thinking about that night, walking down the street, I felt heat burn across my face and chest as a searing red blush spread along my skin. I did not know what to think and I didn’t know what he had thought.
That was a whole other issue. I had no idea what Frost was thinking. I didn’t know why he wanted to try to fix me, much less make a masochistic attempt at a relationship with me. I didn’t know how he felt about that night, the way we’d kissed, the way I had panicked and flinched from his hands the way I would from a stranger. Well, that last I did know. I had seen the pain in his eyes.
I didn’t know what to do. I wished that night had never happened and I wished it would happen again and I wished so many things that I knew were impossible.
I entered the library and gave a cursory glance at the newspapers displayed on the front desk as I passed. I almost continued walking, but just as I had turned away and started towards the computers, something clicked in my mind and I froze mid-step, my heart skipping a beat. My eyelids fell shut and I counted to ten, then did it again, trying to calm my erratic pulse as I did. It couldn’t be. Feeling ill, I slowly turned and looked to the paper that had caught my attention. The headline leapt out at me instantly, as though it were written in blood.‘Wife of Faucett Corp CEO Allegedly Commits Suicide’.
My mouth had gone dry. Shivering, I stepped towards the counter and unfolded the paper gingerly.
‘Yesterday afternoon at 4:50 p.m., Alana Faucett was found after she reportedly threw herself from the window of the Faucetts’ sixth floor apartment penthouse. Police are investigating to confirm that Faucett’s death was indeed a suicide. Alana Faucett is the wife of prominent businessman Todd Faucett and mother of two daughters, Nina (24) and Gigi (21). Formal obituary and information regarding service will be released soon.’
I gritted my teeth and tightened my eyes shut as hard as I could, trying to internalize the wild emotions raging inside me. Wicked memories ravaged my mind; images flashed across my retinas like the slashing of a knife. Words echoed in my ears seemingly so loud that my skull began to ache.“Someday I’ll kill you….” “If you tell, I’ll make you wish you were burning in Hell with your parents….” “Poe, I’m so sorry…I made such a mistake….” “She’ll be next….”
Guilt over something I had not done or asked for washed over me like a tidal wave, beating me into the floor. Fear and pain joined it to drive me deep into the earth, into the silence and suffocation. Slowly, I began to breathe again and opened my eyes, carefully, calmly refolding the paper and leaving it behind as I started once more towards the computers, the steel door crashing down in my mind, shutting their words and the haunting memories away.
Breathing deeply and comfortably, I descended into my usual seat before a computer terminal and, much the same as I imagined others before me doing, I let my writing chase away the remnants of the pain I bore.
Part Three
“…"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! –
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
