The last snowdrop

Chapter 1

SIENA

Snow is perceived as cold and beautiful at the same time, a cutting-edge blade that symbolises the arrival of winter and it is so picturesque in photos.

For me snow is always been soft, a way of cleansing my sins from my skin and to feel the thrill of life coursing through my body.

I never thought that it will mean a new beginning for me, a place to bury my past and my secrets hoping that no one will see the rotten part under such a beautiful layer of fresh snow.

The most vivid memory of that day is blood dripping down my fingertips on the white canvas of snow, my hands soaked in the scarlet poison digging into the ground to push my body forward.

That day I let the snowflakes wash the blood away for hours till my body became numb and cold to the touch, that day I had given up so quickly on myself. That day I was just tired of suffering for months at end, endless torture every second of everyday. It did not break my skin or my pretty face, as he used to call me, but it broke something deep inside.

I was a spoiled girl when this nightmare started and though that everything was at my disposal, but I soon found out how even a single breath of fresh air could feel better than any gift.

I had to drag my body for miles in the cold forest in the middle of nowhere and when they found me, his blood was long gone from my skin, but not the bruises he left behind. Till this day whenever I shift at night I can feel the places where my ribs where broken or where the indent from his punch lies on my left hip.

Every year on this day I drown the memories in some cheap but effective bottle of gin, the need to feel numb again is so pressing that I have to drown the demons in my mind just for one day more.

I stare at the glass in front of me, this small bar was the first one I could find refuge in before I could feel like suffocating. After 10 years I still relapse some days in this feeling and I allow myself to do it in certain limits. It is good to remember how long I have come from that small broken doll that barely hanged on life.

I never allowed anyone in my life once I started living like Rumi, I could not put the burden of my pain on other. I am too broken for anyone and they ways that I choose to cope are unusual, but I am not ashamed of the way that I decide to put myself together.

I feel him before I can see him sitting next to me, his hand has several rings and is holding a glass of golden poison that he brings slowly to his lips.

"Do you usually stare at strangers in bars or am I the first one?"

"I was staring at the drink more than you, it looks intriguing."

"Are you even of legal age to drink doll?"

"Oh yes, I am 70 but I age very gracefully. I could be your grandmother."

"Don't play with me doll. I have a kink for older women."

"Who hurt you?"

His laugh it so deep that it resonates throughout my body like cold water, his hand moves towards me and grabs my chin to turn my head towards him.

"You are right now."

"Then you know nothing of the world out there, everyone has a demon that they fight to keep at bay. Maybe I will let mine bite you."

"Who hurt you doll?"

"I did. Have a fun night strange guy that I just met at the bar."

I get up from my chair and take my phone form the table, he is still observing every action that my body does. I turn to look at him and notice his amber eyes staring at me, they are so firm and in a weird way they feel safe. They feel familiar, a feeling I had long forgotten.