Of Love and Death.

The Future Chapter 17b: Snow is Thicker Than Water Pt. 3

There was supposed to be something where you weren't supposed to have a mirror in your room, right? Payne wasn't quite sure where he heard that. He wasn't even sure if it was true. But he'd heard it somewhere. Why this, of all things, was what he thought about when he couldn't sleep, he didn't know.

Half rolling over in bed, Payne reached out his hand. Very slowly, he turned on the lamp. There was almost no click sound as the light exploded outward, barely reaching across the room. Because he wasn't allowed to have a strong lamp. The pink-haired blader shut his eyes for a few seconds, giving them a moment to adjust to the orange glow.

Flicking his eyes open, the very first thing that Payne did was look at his clock. Which read...approximately 3:46 A.M.. Earlier than he'd been hoping. But he'd expected that much. Not even bothering to sigh, he rested his head back on his pillow. And, of course, found himself staring at his reflection in the mirror.

The glass was busted along the edges, framed in wood that had cracked a million times. Little bits of ice covered the mirror, partly obscuring and distorting Payne's face. But he could still see himself. His dark eyes had a spark in them. But not like the kind that comes with passion or fire or hope. Just the kind that came from the light reflecting off of his irises.

Dark circles framed Payne's eyes, in stark contrast from his deathly pale skin. Did he really have to drive home this point anymore? He looked awful. He just looked awful with flat hair that was fraying at the ends. He'd been forcing himself to hold it together. Come and gel his hair, concealer, whatever worked to make himself look like a functioning member of society.

But that facade always fell away at night. After Payne showered it felt like all of the illusions had been washed away. Melted like ice. Sitting up partly, he swung his feet out from under his comforters. The three of them that he had, so that he didn't literally freeze to death. That seemed to be the recurring theme of his life. Doing whatever he could not to freeze to death.

Whether that was wearing a coat around Payne's own house. Or tiptoeing around his mom on a bad day. Or spying on two people who were literally his cousins with instructions to wait until they had a planned time they would both be alone. And then inform Cold about it so that she could come and murder them.

Stepping up to the window, Payne wiped away the ice that had formed a thin film across the glass. Outside, he saw just the same scene he'd been expecting. The yard outside was covered in feet of snow. With more still falling down from the sky. He hadn't checked the weather or the TV at all. But he could only imagine how confused all of the meteorologists were right now.

Shutting his eyes, Payne gave up. He gave up. Just gave up. Collapsing onto the window, he slid down against the wall. Grabbing some blanket or pillow or sweatshirt he'd left piled on the floor, the boy pressed it to his mouth. Muffling and silencing and destroying whatever sobs were escaping him. Pouring out of him like rain on a spring night. Almost a thunderstorm. Almost strong enough to break.

But not quite. Just barely restrained by the still lingering chill of winter. Crushed into a box that it couldn't escape. Or else it would lash out too much, and rage like a hurricane. Unable to be stopped by anyone or anything. And then it would burn itself out and crash to the ground to be trampled and lashed with scars from ice on its back from the last time it tried to rebel against that winter chill, eight years ago.

Payne had gotten very good at listening to what he was told.

A small bit of light glowed. Filling in for the dimness of Payne's lamp. It caught his attention, even from within his tears. He bolted his head up, terrified that his door had been opened. That she'd let in the light from the hallway and was standing over him.