Snow

19 | worth millions

❝i was gonna lie and steal
my way to the stars;
i was gonna do it from the front seat
of your unregistered car.❞

❘❘

IT FEELS LIKE THE START of another storm—a featherlight breeze fluttering through loose strands, kissing sweaty skin, and tethering us to the ocean. As the sweep of salty air rifts through the window, the afternoon ebbs and flows; it meets the shore and sinks into a low tide I can sluggishly wade through. 

A long, lukewarm shower had helped me drift off the edge, and then somehow lovingly caressed me into the endless summer high I'm still riding. It's distant, vague, almost foggy, slipping slowly, only hanging by a single strand of leftover euphoria. I barely remember the time between, the miles that brought me here, or the conversations that pulled us to the coast.

Julian is driving—with a hand on the steering wheel and a hand on my knee. The view of his profile is almost surrealista, cutting through a wash of colors I've never seen him in. As the ash-grey siding and the deep green skyline of trees pass by, the hazy blue sky stretches above us para siempre.

We can see el cielo, and for a fearless fraction of a heartbeat, we can touch it too.

His fingertips inch higher, curling into my inner thigh. I blink and fall into the palm of his hand, suddenly staring at that inked rose. "Ay, mami, did Rachel say something to you?"

I swallow hard and pull my gaze from his wandering hand. The beginning of a smirk meets the corner of his lips, but he doesn't look at me. "Rachel? About what?"

"No sé." Julian shrugs. "Looked at me weird when we left."

"Oh." I hadn't noticed. I hadn't cared.

"¿Le dijiste algo?"

My brows furrow. "¿Sobre esto? No."

"Anything about the coke," he says, those dark eyes flickering to me. "Don't tell her if you can't trust her. There's a rocky history there."

"Rachel?" I blink in surprise. "With cocaine?"

Julian steers his gaze back to the road, snickering playfully. "You didn't hear it from me."

With the weight of a thousand secrets, those last few words shift us into silence. The fleeting conversation is dead, and as a moment stretches into a mile, I nearly choke on the salty hesitation. I can't help but steal a second glance at Julian, desperate to decipher anything concrete about the loose grin he wears or the hazy brown of his eyes. Something tugs at my heart when he doesn't look at me, but I shut it down. I catch my bottom lip between my teeth; I seal the flurry of anxiety in my chest, letting it flutter and thrash against my heart violently.

Nothing feels real.

All my thoughts start to erode with the trace of sunlight and sand, wearing away with the restlessness of a ride to Far Rockaway. All the feelings fade. 

As I close my eyes, I try to find a way back to it, but my heart climbs up my throat, tying all the worry into a knot. All I can hear is his breathing: soft and slow, so close, so close, so close, hitching every time his fingers reach the hem of my shorts. Julian traces to my knee and back, repeating the pattern without faltering or stilling. 

I can almost taste it—the lies that live behind his lips.

With every swift skim of skin against skin, an unease sinks to my bones. Julian is restless, and it's making me fucking crazy. My eyes flutter open. "What is your plan, Jules?"