HIS FROST BITE (A MICHAL MRÁZIK FAN FICTION)

Chapter 8: Her

Michal

The last forty-eight hours had been a marathon of preparation, as I took it upon myself to gear up for my third year well in advance. Shopping has never been my forte, but having my mother by my side turned a typically tedious task into something almost enjoyable. Truth be told, I couldn't imagine tackling the endless aisles and choices without her sage advice and patient demeanor.

Once we had checked off the last item on our list, we indulged in a well-deserved break, savoring the cheesy goodness of pizza at a cozy pizzeria nestled in the downtown area. The small establishment was a welcome haven from the frigid air that nipped at our faces outside.

Once we made it back home, I couldn't help but feel the exhaustion from the day's endeavors. I locked the door behind me and let my body fall onto the bed, the softness of the mattress embracing me. Despite my efforts to blend in with the hustle and bustle of everyday life, my mind was stubbornly fixated on a moment that felt anything but ordinary-the kiss that Tara and I shared amidst the laughter and chill of the ice rink.

As I lay there, enveloped in the quiet of my room, I couldn't help but replay the kiss over and over in my head. It was a moment that felt like a turning point, a soft collision that had somehow managed to stir something deep within me. I've always prided myself on being grounded, on being a man who faces reality head-on, but this was a sensation that refused to be ignored-a gentle yet powerful tug at the strings of my heart.

Aah, what a girl. I couldn't help but smile at the mere thought of her. Those large, round green eyes that seemed to see right through me, her effortless pirouettes and jumps on the ice-it was as if every day revealed a new layer of her, each one making her more irresistible than the last. She stirred in me a torrent of emotions I hadn't felt in ages.

Compelled by a force I couldn't resist, I reached for my phone and pulled up our Instagram chat, only to find myself scrolling through her profile instead. There it was, her latest post: a photo of a painting with the caption,

"Finally done after three months."

An artist too? I shook my head in wonder. Seriously, what couldn't this girl do?

A text suddenly popped up on my screen. I glance at the text from Stassie, and a heavy sense of dread settles in the pit of my stomach. The bubble of comfort and security I had wrapped myself in suddenly feels like it's being engulfed by a dark, suffocating cloud. It explodes, leaving me gasping for air, a heavy sigh escaping my lips.

Stassie and I have been through so much together over the past five years. She was my rock when I was new to New Falls, a town where I had few friends. I was there for her during her darkest times, especially when her brother had a fallout with her entire family. We've shared so many intimate moments, including the loss of our virginity to each other. But lately, our relationship has been strained, and our frequent fights are pushing me away. It feels like we're from different planets, unable to understand each other.

Yesterday, she accused me of being controlling, and I asked her to involve me more in her life so we could act like a real couple. Since then, we haven't spoken. Now, she's apologizing, but I can't bring myself to reply. Instead, I toss myself aside and seek solace in the distraction of movies on my laptop.

I spent most of the week with Dean, Scott, and Ethan, immersing myself in the world of hockey and even succumbing to a night at the club, though Scott and I made an early exit.

After a few days, I finally made my way to Stassie's house. She had reached out to my mom, concocting a flimsy excuse for not contacting me directly, knowing full well that I had been avoiding her. As I arrived, I found her waiting at the gate, her apologies pouring forth. Stepping inside, I was taken aback to encounter her brother, Derek, whom I hadn't seen in nearly a year.

"Hi dork, you're growing taller lately," he greeted me, and I offered a nonchalant shrug. He had playfully dubbed me with that moniker ever since my high school braces, and he seemed determined to ensure it stuck.

"I hope you're going to be here all week; I want to shoot a vlog with you in it," Stassie suddenly announced to her brother.

"Hey, I want to show you something," Stassie tugged at my hand, leading me to her bedroom. It had been some time since I had been in there, and I noticed she had rearranged the room, with a floor-to-ceiling mirror now adorning one wall.

"When did this happen?" I inquired, and she met my gaze.

"Last week, but that's not why I brought you in here," she said, locking the door. My attention was still fixed on the room's renovations, and I failed to grasp her intentions. Suddenly, she began unbuttoning her shirt, and I understood her desires.

"We can't do this with him in the house," I protested, referring to her brother.

"We can be quiet," she suggested, but I shook my head.

"No," I insisted. "That never used to bother you before," she countered, and I made my way to the door.

"I know, but can we not," I implored, and she sighed.

"Fine, grandpa," she retorted before leaving me alone in her bedroom.

As I stood in the midst of the bustling house, the weight of Stassie's invitation hung in the air, beckoning me to join them for a movie.

"Are you watching with us, baby?"

But my mind was elsewhere, consumed by the enigmatic pull of someone so distant yet so profoundly impactful. Tara Larsson.

How could someone sitting so far from me have an impact on me without even touching me or evening talking to me?

I couldn't bring myself to stay in the same room with Stassie and Tara, not after what had transpired on that ice rink between Tara and I.

With a quiet departure, I slipped away, barely registering Stassie's open arms reaching out to me.

Outside, I fumbled for my cellphone, seeking solace in the distraction it offered. I realised I had left it back inside the Duncan house. As I made my way through the house, the sound of Tara's laughter followed me, a constant reminder of her presence. In the kitchen, I found her laughing at Derek's jokes, since when was he a comedian?. His presence grated on my nerves, his attempts at humor falling flat in my eyes. What did he know about humor? He wasn't even that funny. Somwthing about Tara finding him funny annoyed the shit out of me.

With a heavy heart, I turned away, seeking refuge upstairs, I found the cellphone and left. The weight of my emotions threatened to overwhelm me. It was clear-I couldn't bear to witness Tara's enchantment by another, not when my own feelings for her lay bare and unspoken.