Dark

Chapter 2

"Lost and insecure, you found me, you found me. Lying on the floor, surround me, surround me. Why'd you have to wait? Where were you? Where were you? Just a little late, you found me, you found me." - You Found Me by The Fray

Chapter 2

     Ice has spiderwebbed across the once-black lake. I remember it in the summer, when ink-dark waves would splash across our feet. I remember a laugh, mine I think, and the taste of something sweet. But I don't want to think about summer, because summer was Him, and it's too painful. Now the ice encases the memories.

I lace up the well-worn boots, surprised to find that they are still molded to my feet. It's been a while, after all. Years, in fact, but I still remember the way that the cold would sting my skin and my muscles would ache and I would fly across the ice, free. Or at least as free as you can be when your whole life is a lie. Some mornings I would wake up with my legs begging me to skate again. I would make it to the edge of the lake before my body would turn upon itself and I would remember the pain it once was in. But today, I don't care. Perhaps I need the pain to remind me what's real and what's not. The voice of the demon still reverberates around my mind, and I need to escape, I need to fly. I push off from the grass and glide. I wobble at first, and tilt precariously, but then I find my balance. Tentatively, I stretch my left leg behind me, toes pointed. The sheet of glass beneath my feet is suddenly a stage. I speed up a little, relishing in the feeling of the wind painting my face. My muscles cry out in satisfaction as  I begin crossovers. The feeling of being on the ice again is so satisfying that I almost want to laugh. Almost. I align my skates in T-position and push of, sailing through the air before spinning in tight circles across the ice. I bend down and reach my leg in front of me, still spinning. I'm somewhat in awe of what abilities my body has retained. I leap across the ice once more, but this time, my toe pick catches and I slam to the ground, my cheek slapping against the cold. I'm flushed and frustrated as I pick myself up, brushing the crystalline flakes that have collected on my knees and elbows. I try the leap again, but my fall has off-set me, now I'm distracted, and when I land, I feel myself tip backwards. Training kicks in and I throw my weight forward as hard as I can, landing on my hands. Perspiration has gathered on the forehead and I'm breathing hard, but my body has been craving this, and I push it harder. I get back on my feet, sailing in wide loops across the surface. As I near the center of the lake, I hear a crack beneath my feet. Instinctively, I freeze. I step forward, gently. Crack. Panic begins to set it. I can feel the ice weakening beneath my feet and know it's only a matter of time. I try to keep a level head but memories keep swirling back, and I'm afraid, so afraid. When the ice shatters and gives way beneath my feet, I don't even cry out. As I plunge into the water as black as pitch, I don't struggle. As cold numbness spreads through my body, I don't fight it. And that's what scares me the most. I'm instantly surrounded by blackness and I can't see a thing. The frigidity seeps under my skin and I'm helpless to stop it. Shapes are moving in the swirling water, and before I see them, or have time to question why, I know. They have come for me. But when the first demon appears, it's different. It's skin is pale, icy blue, and stiff, crackling as it swirls towards me. It's eyes are blank, milky white spheres, with bloated lips and grasping, scraping hands. Small hands. The hands of a child.  I don't wonder how it's here, why now. As it's hands reach round my throat, strong arms grasp me and haul me onto sturdy ground. I still don't fight, I just lie there as my savior drags me towards the grass.

     "Spit out." he says. I groan in question.

      "The water, spit it out." he says, placing his hands on my chest and pushing down hard. Water surges out of my lungs and down my front. I'm gasping for air, I need it, need to feel it's cleanliness fill my lungs. I roll over onto my stomach and cough up more water. I'm not sure how long I was under for, if the demon was real or just a hallucination. Oxygen floods my emptied lungs and I gasp gratefully. A pair of boots, muddy and clearly worn, stomp around in front of me. The pair of boots belong to a pair of legs, long and muscular. The legs belong to a torso, well-built and clad in nothing but a plain white T-shirt. And attached to that is a face, angular, chiseled, with traces of stubble along the jawline and a strong, Roman nose. Above said nose are two eyes, deep, endless blue. The entirety of this magnificent face is framed in thick, dark hair, meticulously styled into messy curls. He is probably about seventeen, and beautiful. And I wish I never had to look upon that perfect, masculine face again or hear his voice, deep and rich, like milk chocolate, say my name,  as though he doesn't know the impact that five letters can have. "Toria..." his full, perfect lips whisper. Toria. For a moment, I'm not sure if he means me. Years of trying to forget yourself tend to have some effect. But his eyes stare deeply into mine, and I remember, and I wish I didn't.