All This Time

12 ⦿ in which i fall

December 22, 2010 3:00 p.m.

Levi shrugs amiably, then wanders off. As he approaches, Diana's head jerks up with the alert senses of a guard dog. Her face immediately falls when she sees it's just Levi and her attention returns to her phone.

Wolf clears his throat, drawing my attention back to him. His face looks stern and his eyebrows have drawn together in reproach. "You shouldn't have gone off with him." He shoves his hands into his pockets. "How do you think that looked?"

"Well, I wasn't going to fight her for the front seat," I point out, wrapping my arms around myself. Even though I slipped on my gloves in the car, I still feel incredibly chilled.

He sighs, as if I'm missing the point. "I'm just saying, Charlotte. It doesn't look like we're dating if you're jumping into cars with Levi like a Bond girl."

"It also doesn't look like we're dating if we stand here having a couple's fight while everyone else is off having fun," I point out, stamping my feet on the ground, trying to revive some circulation. I'm suddenly reminded how much I loathe the cold. My toes feel cold even inside my socks and my nose feels like it's about to start dripping. Even my eye lashes feel stiff and frozen. More importantly, Wolf looks completely at home in these frozen surroundings. His cheeks are a little pink, but his eyes look bright and sparkle like diamonds. The faintest of smiles is playing on his lips and I realize with growing indignation that the foul little cockroach is laughing at me. "Is my discomfort amusing to you?" I snap, rubbing my arms with ferocious vigor.

"You're right, girlfriend," he drawls out. "Let's go rub how in love we are in Diana's face." Without waiting for my response, he places a proprietary hand on my back and starts steering me in the direction of the bazaar.

Even though a second ago I was feeling numb, his hand makes my entire body feel flushed with heat. We fall into step easily as we cross the icy parking lot. I dare a glance at him, trying not to get caught. Everything about him confuses me, and I hate that he has this weird, compelling power over me. He's using me and I'm letting myself be used. This isn't me. He makes me feel weak and I don't even want to hate him for it.

As though he can sense I'm thinking about him, he catches my eye and the corner of his mouth lifts in a smile. Wait, an actual smile? One that was directed at me without my having to smile at him first?

And then I'm falling.

One of the things about slipping on ice is that it happens in an instant. There's a horrible feeling in your stomach when your brain realizes what's about to happen and that you won't be able to stop it. You try to stop yourself from falling, try to straighten your legs, try to throw your hands out in front of you to break your fall - but at this point, there's pretty much nothing that you can do except let it happen.

Uncle Quinn, my mother's youngest brother, committed suicide at age twenty-nine. At the funeral, the older relatives remarked what a shame it was that he had believed there was nothing to live for, but how considerate of him not to do something messy like blow his brains out all over his expensive paintings and carpets. A prolific poet of no small fame, Quinn's suicide surprised no one. He was the kind of person who always found a reason to be unhappy. He was unhappy in love, unhappy with his writing, unhappy with life.

He had killed himself with a thick cord of rope hung from his ceiling fan. When everyone had been talking about what a shame it was, all I could think was whether he had spent his last few minutes of consciousness clawing at the rope. Killing yourself was like falling, I had thought then. When the end is near, there's nothing you can do to stop it. Oh, you can fight it, but it'll still get you in the end. You're terrified because you know it's going to hurt, and as humans, we're hardwired to avoid pain.