Breathe

5

Before I start, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to ZappyZoroark for her individual, undivided support to the novel and myself. Even though this is more of an unorganized mess than a novel, it's greatly appreciated! Thank you!

Breathe.

Inhaling sharply, my nostrils flared as the cold air pricked my nose. I grimaced in agitation, before raising the collar of my jacket to cover my face to filter the freezing atmosphere from my breath. With that, my panicked breathing—reluctantly—slowed in unison with my pace, steadying to a light tread in the thin layer of snow that coated the edge of the road in a blanket of white. Even being paved no more than earlier in the morning, snow had quickly piled on the streets, obscuring any view of the pavement below. This far out in the country with road's that stretched into the distance endlessly, the city didn't have the supply nor time to spare for salting any of the rural roads.

Occasionally, a car would whisk by, trudging its way through the snow to reach the ski resort nearby—as indicated by snowboards and skis alike strapped to their roofs. It was the only attraction that made this place somewhat sought after by the general populace traveling from the larger cities, after all. There wasn't much else out here worth seeing . . . unless one was interested in miles of barren land.

Time seemed to slow—or fly by, for that matter; I didn't really have an accurate sense of it as I aimlessly wandered up the spiraling path of the road. The trees' canopy's looming over the street blocked whatever little sunlight was left shaded behind the clouds, and my legs seemed to move robotically—on their own, taking the burden upon themselves to continue the treck as my mind wandered elsewhere.

The once few trees lining the side of the road swelled into a lush forest of pines. Fallen remains of trees, long dead, littered the ground, with roots and twigs bulging from the snow. Bits of snow clung to the tops of branches, and with every gust of wind, chunks toppled over and splattered against the snow-ridden ground.

Soon, the line between reality and imagination blurred, as my body felt unnaturally light and the sting of the cold faded from the forefront of my senses. My body was weightless as I hiked down the path; my every move viewed in third-person as I felt disconnected from myself.

"Veronica . . ."

"Ethan," I muttered, breathless. My head turned, as if I was to see him offer me a friendly wave at any moment. Little to my surprise, he was nowhere in sight, though I still felt a heavy weight placed on my shoulders as if I had high hopes to be diminished . . . had I?

He'd been the one who turned on my back, so why did I still look forward to the day when I could be with him again?

Right then, the familiar touch of his skin warmed my neck. Or, at least I thought it was as it danced across; it was too recognizable to be forgotten. Relief overwhelmed my body, and I reached a hand behind to trace its path in reminiscence. It was only him and I—I and him . . . nobody else. Nothing stood between us and our happiness . . .

His chin rested on my shoulder as he uttered the very words I'd been longing to hear, "Veronica, I love you—"

No. He didn't. He lied—and to my very face with the sentence that hurt the very most:

"Lyra, I love you more than anyone in the entire world."

Her very name arose a feeling of disgust in my stomach. Lyra. How could I have not noticed? He'd seemed distant with his past few replies on the Poké-Phone and oddly vague—he'd always been the one to be upfront about things . . . but now?—acting so secluded in his calls—it all made sense.

Lyra—he'd found another girl to love. And I had just being a hopeless dreamer, with my head so far up in the clouds that I was oblivious to the facts.

I cocked my head to the sky and laughed at my incompetence. The unfamiliar sun peeking through the clouds had warmed my skin at its touch, and the rest was an over-exaggerated figment of my imagination.

Pathetic and desperate now, aren't I? Am I going insane?

I lowered my head to the ground in shame and kicked at a piece of rock. It rebounded over twigs and snow before it skidded to an abrupt halt as it collided with the bark of a tree. I continued on my way, before pausing mid-stride.

Wait.

The road was gone. It was replaced with a snowy trail . . . in the woods—the road nowhere in sight.

It was then the burning sensation in my fingertips returned, flushing scarlet red; it was as if pins and needles dug their way into my skin like I was their voodo doll to inflict pain. Grimacing, I stumbled backwards, grasping them in pain, before I tripped on what I could've only imagined being a hidden root and slipped—falling awkwardly on my back. Searing pain coursed through my back when fresh cuts sprouted on my skin and twigs ripped through my shirt; burs catching on loose fabric. I stifled a wail.

Unfamiliar terrain surrounded me. Where'd the road go? As I heaved myself to my feet, clutching my scarf, all there was were forest. Forest—barren forests void of life. Had I wandered off the road? It wasn't like me to loose my cool like that . . . ever.

Trees stretched as far as I could see, and droplets of freezing water dripped from the melting snow on trees up above. I begged this wasn't hunting ground, or private property—for that's what all the forests seemed to be, excluding the designated regional forests, but those were on the other side of town. Where was the way home? The way to downtown? Hell, even the way to the road? I had more questions than answers. For once, an unfamiliar urge surrounded me, and I don't recall ever feeling it before.

I want to go home.