Broken Ice

Chapter 1: On The Bridge

It was a perfect night to disappear. The sky was a deep blue, with millions of stars to gaze upon, with calm winds passing by that could lift me into the sky as it carried some of the year's first snowflakes. It was objectively beautiful, but I felt little of it.

As I watched the water rush below the bridge, crashing against the beams holding it up, I felt tremors wreak my body, climbing up and down the raised bumps filled with chill on the skin not covered by my thick coat.

If only I were a fairy. I could end my bi-weekly routine of coming to the Brooklyn Bridge to test the thin patience Clara held in place for me.

However, a rustle stole the plans from my mind and I turned to see a fairly tall figure in a thick black coat. Michael Thomas.

I furrowed my brows and squinted, trying to wade through the blurriness of my teary eyes. They had the same short, perfectly mussed blond hair with a pair of chocolate brown eyes.

But they were so different, too. Those same eyes, once sharp, were dulled with remorse. His shoulders, now curved, told stories of defeat far different from the Michael I had seen. His hand held a thin, white cigarette to his pink lips.

"Michael?" I blurted out. His head whipped to face me, the cigarette threatening to fall to the ground from the force of his surprise.

His eyebrows jumped before he composed himself, putting on a mask and blocking out my every look into the true Michael Thomas.

"Gi-Gianna," His lips parted to reveal a Hollywood smile, "What're you doin' here?" His thick New York accent wasn't uncommon, so deep in Brooklyn's depths, but even after nearly three years, I still combed over people's every word.

"Not much," I said, frantically wiping my tear-streaked cheeks so he wouldn't see them.

But, of course, he did. Concern marred his features, pulling his lips tight in worry. "Why're you cryin'? Is everythin' okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," I dismissed, "What about you?" I laughed, "Is your coach okay with late-night cigarette breaks?"

He sighed, pulling the cigarette out and killing the flame on the bridge's railing. "He's fine with it if he doesn't know."

"Okay." What do I say now? I felt the urge to give in to my curiosity clawing at my heels, especially as the silence grew.

Instead, I said, "Could I have one? I saw surprise return to his face, and I was shocked I'd said it, too. I never smoked nor had any plans to, especially with skating. But for once, I didn't want to follow a plan. I needed to forget about every plan I ever made.

He gently shook the box, allowing me to pull a cigarette, the white portion with the logo "Lucky Ones" revealing itself. "Thanks."

He lit its end for me. "Put it to your lips," I followed his instructions, heart racing, "Now breathe in slowly. It's gonna be strong the first time." I slowly took in the smoky air before entering a coughing fit, gasping for clean air.

Micheal burst out laughing. After I calmed down a little, I turned to him, glaring. "Sorry, sorry," He apologized, holding his chest. "It's just, god, you looked like you were goin' to die."

"Har har." Although my glare didn't falter, I felt a new feeling rush over me at the sound of Michael's loud, booming laughter. It wasn't the sadness or emptiness I faced when I came to the bridge, or the pain and disgust I felt after my first cigarette, but a tiny spark of joy.

"Here, I'll take it." I gave him the cigarette, and he immediately placed it between his lips.

My cheeks flushed, turning hot and red. "What are you doing?" I reach and try to take it out of his mouth, but he grabs my wrist gently.

"No point being wasteful." Popular guys are so weird.

"Fine, if that's what you want."

"That is what I want."

"Well, okay."

"Great." We spent the rest of the night in comfortable silence.

________

Hello!

I was working on a new book for NaNoWriMo this year and ended early so I thought, "why not post it?"

Hope you enjoyed the first chapter!