Snow

31 | this is all it is

❝guess this is the winter.
our bodies are young and blue.❞

||

IT ONLY TAKES ONE DAY.

En un día, I'm nothing.

I barely exist—in echoes of trembling cries and throbbing muscles, aching, shaking, shivering in a cold sweat, curled into my backseat and crawling out of my skin.

Everything hurts.

En un día, I'm standing in front of his door with no one else to turn to and nowhere else to go.

I barely say a thing—in a silent plea of stinging eyes and burning cheeks, choking, sobbing, fumbling in a desperate descent, motionless on his threshold and begging to brace the freeze.

Everything is cold.

En un día, I'm back in his arms.

I barely care—in a fragile facade of subtle sighs and smoky kisses, suffocating, surrendering, sinking in a hazy veil of darkness, seized by a snowstorm and hoping nothing will ever end.

Everything is... right.

Those icy fingertips trace over my cheekbone. Delicadamente. Like dainty snowflake kisses, stroking, softening, soothing. I close my eyes and exhale deeply. As the smoke tethers us together, tangling the tension into a tender touch, the world stills.

"I didn't mean it," he says softly.

"I know."

"Did I..." His fingers sweep down to my split lip. "Did I..."

"No."

A sigh, twisting into the wisps of smoke, kissing my cheeks with a promise of destruction. A breathless apology. "I'm sorry, Neva."

"I know," I repeat quietly. Blankly.

All the sensations are lost, replaced by a crippling hunger and the devastating craving for something; it only lingers in his soft-spoken guilt and the shame it stirs in the pit of my stomach. It's a fragile feeling, like I'm strung together by those icy words and blows, and as each moment passes, the fragmented nightmare fades into a distantly dizzy dream.

I forget it.

I guess I always have been good at that.

Forgetting.

But when I open my eyes, él todavía está allí. Todavía estamos aquí.

Somehow surrendering to another noche silenciosa, defeated, beaten to a bloody pulp and broken into a million shards of ice.

"I'll take care of your window."

I muster up a weak smile. "Gracias."

"You— no puedo... I..."

My gaze falls to his fingertips, to those inked knuckles... inching across my wrist... gently... as if I'm made of glass.

"I just..." Hesitation steals the soft words for half a heartbeat, but then he's tipping my chin up to meet his gaze, a tender confession glinting across the surface of that deadly black ice. "I... I love you, Neva."

I freeze.

For one second, I think about running. I think about driving across the country... or fleeing for another border... or going home.

It comes in flashes, vibrant and promising, but fleeting. Something green or orange, lush landscapes and sunset scenery, palm trees and white-hot sand sifting through my fingers.