When Time Ran Crooked

24 hours, 41 minutes and 39 seconds until

I don't remember when they came, just that I was hot.

Rather, we were hot. Claude covered me, his skin coating each and every one of my orifices like he was a layer of moist air. His mouth was everywhere-- discovering each freckle and scar and fading stretch mark as if they were a new, undiscovered constellation in the sky wandering before his innocent eyes. He murmured sweet nothings, switching in and out of French, mumbling my name as if it were his favorite line of poetry. He was hot like a day at the beach. The time was moving like a day at the beach, a hazy afternoon that seemed to fly by, as everything blurred together in some rhythmic motion of Claude and hot.

And then we heard the crunch of ice cracking.

Instantly, we pulled apart. Our heavy breaths mingled in the air, as, for whatever reason, I tugged our fort (it had collapsed a long time ago) upwards to cover my chest. As if Claude hadn't already seen (among other things) my breasts. I felt Claude's hand, fingers splayed out like a star, pressed against my lower back. The air against my skin felt cold.

"What is it?" I asked Claude, even though I figured he probably had no idea.

But he wasn't looking at me as a smile coated his face, his lips swollen and red from kissing. "Safety."

I followed the direction of his eyes. Claude stared out of the back most window, where the snow quickly disappeared. Two figures, heavily bundled-up, swept it back ferociously, snow dusting their shoulders as lightly as feathers. As hope. One of them waved at us, and I knew he wasn't just a figment of my imagination . . . My imagination would not imagine something so good happening.

It was going to be okay. Everything was going to be okay.

Yet, for some reason, those words didn't seem to mean anything. It was like when you say a word, any random word, over and over again and the world just seems to melt into this random string of vowels and constants and space. Suddenly, there was so much space between Claude and I, like two parentheses with nothing to say in between. And I felt cold. I had never been so cold.

Claude started laughing next to me, pulling me in for a hug. His chuckles tangled in my hair as he combed it back, searching for my expression. His eyes were blue like shots of lightning. "Nous sommes en sécurité. Bea, nous allons être d'accord."

I rolled my eyes at him, barely hearing or seeing or feeling him. "For the last time, Claude, I don't speak European."

I expected some witty retort, but Claude continued to laugh. He pressed a soft kiss to my collarbone, his lips ghosting against my skin like it was the future. Like it was more. Claude's words tattooed themselves to my body, each syllable like another mark stretching across my torso. "Nous sommes ensemble, Bea. Je ne vais pas lâcher. Pas toi."

"You know, just because you kissed me doesn't mean I'm suddenly fluent in French," I teased him, weakly smiling at him. It felt like a lie.

His hands found my hips. "Bea-"

Tap. Tap.

We both looked up. It was the people at the window, making a sweeping motion at us with their hands.

"We need to move aside," Claude explained, quickly decoding their hand motions. "They probably need to break the window to get us out."

"My insurance provider is just going to love me this year," I mumbled, rising from my seat. I grabbed a pair of jeans and a shirt from our fort pile with me as I climbed over into the passenger drive seat. Just because Claude got to see me in my bra and underwear, didn't mean everyone else got to.