We drive down the endless stretch of snow dusted highway, the unfamiliar sight of a white-blanketed desert coming off as rather confusing to us. As a gas station becomes visible in the distance, Hiyori speeds up a bit, pushing just past the speed limit.
There are rarely any other cars among us, so it's easy to make our way towards the gas station without any trouble. The pale blue sky is now empty. Without the unrelenting flurry of snowflakes and luminous, grey storm clouds, the atmosphere seems to sag down, and be punctured by the gnarled red peaks of the Arizonan desert.
We finally start to slow down as we turn into the parking lot of the station, the SUV an intimidating black against the white ground. Hiyori parks the car, turns off the ignition, then slams her door shut as soon as her short legs touch the ground. I unbuckle my seatbelt.
She yanks my door open and pulls me out of my safe haven. I gasp as the cold air pushes against my face, trying to suffocate me. She lets go of my arm with an annoyed expression on her face. She waves her arm in a vicious arc, slicing through the chilly air with some imaginary force.
The wind dies down, and I'm able to breathe again. "What was that?" I gasp. She frowns. "No telling. Could be nature, could be a Shadow." I shudder as I hear that word. "Shadow." I hug myself as memories of Torren come flooding back like a tidal wave. I shake my head as if to clear it of the terrible memories.
Hiyori leads me to the back of the car. "Stand here." She orders. Her assertiveness scares me. The new attitude she boasts is so unlike the timid woman I knew that snuck me scraps of food because I was slowly starving to death. I chuckle to myself. My train of thought is already leading me to thinking that the asylum is in the past, but I've just escaped not even a n hour ago. The thought of having to go back to that place makes me want to cry.
She wheels around me and pops the trunk open. She quickly snatches up a large grey duffel bag, slinging the strap over her shoulder. She grunts with the effort of carrying such heavy material, and I automatically reach out to try and help her. She shoots me a look that makes me withdrawal my outstretched hand as if I've been scalded.
She smiles sweetly, then shuffles along in front of me. She glances over her shoulder and gestures for me to follow her. I awkwardly shift around behind her, my muscles tensing up in preparation to steady her every time the bag shifts or she adjusts the strap. She stops as if she's forgotten something, then wheels around to face me. "Think fast!" She yells.
She chuckles as the bag slams into me. I gasp and try to catch the bag before it falls. I sigh then shake my head, grinning. I think I like this side of her the best.
She shuffles over to the SUV and bangs on Finn's door. He rolls down his window. "Do your stuff!" She gripes, squinting up at him. He smirks, then mockingly salutes. A small part of me cringes at the familiar notion. I turn away and focus on a gasp pump.
The building itself is drab looking, with a sunken roof and a large window plastered with fliers and advertisement. A neon sign hangs pitifully from the front sliding door, glowing a sickly yellow and displaying the word open. The "e" is barely legible, so it looks like the sign says opn. "Sounds like a sport's channel."
I jump as Hiyori pops up beside me. "Alright, let's go. Away to the bathrooms!" She whoops. I giggle. "As you wish, oh-so-confusing one." Is this a new side of me? Why am I acting so... Silly?
I follow her to a rusty door than clings to the side of the gas station. I cringe at the sight of the abomination of a door, and shudder at what must lie ahead of us in the actual bathroom.
Hiyori stands, waiting. "Any day, now." She sniggers. I sigh loudly, then kick the door open. There's toilet paper strewn over the floor, which is sticky and occupied by some suspicious substance that reminds me of sludge and cow muck. The sink is rimmed with grayish-green grime. The faucet drips continuously. I don't have the guts to glance at the toilet.
Hiyori pushes me inside, then once again bears the burden of the bag by snatching it from my grasp. She fishes a roll of paper towels out of the bag, rips off a few squares, and wipes down the counter. It's pretty disgusting. Fortunately, an abandon trash can sits by the toilet. She tosses the soiled paper towels in the gross container.
"We'll start with your hair." She says. She sets her bags on the somewhat cleaner counter, stuffs the paper towels back inside, and pulls out a black case.
I cringe when she pulls out a silver pair of scissors. How long has it been since I've had my hair cut?
YOU ARE READING
Sub Zero
General FictionWhen Crystal Smith was just a child, tragedy tore her family apart and drove her mother into a period of depression. To dull the pain, Ellie Smith began drinking and eventually became an abusive alcoholic. Crystal was truly alone, with no siblings...
