Snow

22 | don't lie, neva

❝you say i'm changing. sorry, i didn't know
i had to stay the same.❞

❘❘

IT DOESN'T HIT ME. I sniff, but it's been thirty minutes since I stopped the bleeding and twenty minutes since I swept the entire conversation away with a breathless inhale of snow. I don't feel the same, and I don't know if I'll ever feel the same.

As I coast over the Williamsburg Bridge, my heart rocks with every single slow jar of the J train. White light blurs; it bounces off silvery surfaces, edges and rims, tracing its way back to my stinging eyes in an assault of grit and grime. An uncomfortable feeling gnaws at my limbs, itching and scratching every inch of exposed skin. Why does everything feel muted...or dull?

We're crawling slow, and I'm sinking fast. A skyline of glittering buildings stare through scratched subway windows, somehow lost in the monochrome sky that paints the city into a storm. I try to hone in on it—on sharp edges of rooftops and faint lights of high rise apartments, all the little things that could keep me from falling, falling, falling.

It's only murky water beneath the bridge, clouded, hazy, almost completely dark, and I know if I crash into the waves, I'll never come up for air.

My head feels heavy; my heart feels heavy. All the lines of light start to blur, between water and windows and walls, and as my eyelids start to fall, I surrender to an inevitable defeat.

I didn't want to feel like this. This wasn't what I wanted.

❘❘

Everything screeches.

It's metal against metal, steel wheels against a steel rail, scraping and grating, grinding into a pealing scream that drills through my skull and reverberates into a million echoing riptides.

I jerk, hiss in pain, throw my head back and collide with something hard.

"Hijo de puta," I curse, blinking groggily. What the fuck?

Everything is fiery and fierce, a fluorescent sea of subway seats and Hinge ads, swimming in my vision. A dark skyline looms beyond the windows of the J train.

Fuck. I need to get my shit together.

As I sit up straighter, my fingers fly to the small, black purse still sitting in my lap. I clutch it tighter. My heart stirs, a short burst of anxiety capturing it in a chokehold.

There are only a few people left in the train. I could just...

No, no, no.

Slowly, the train starts again. Above my head, the blinking schedule tells me that we're leaving Broadway Junction, running in the opposite direction from when I got on. Back to Manhattan.

Abandoning all thoughts of snow and sleep, I stand on shaky legs.

When I make it off the train, it almost feels like I'm sleepwalking through sleepless streets. There are people everywhere, sitting and smoking, talking and touching, and I somehow wander through Brooklyn alone. There's something about that truth that tugs at my heart. I still can't find infinite cocaine company, so my feet drag me to her.

I meet her gaze the second I step into the bar. Decked out in black, a halo of pastel hair framing her face, Emmy is beautiful. Tan hermosa que me duele.

"Ay mami," she says softly, circling the bar to meet me in a hug. "¿Qué pasa? I feel like I haven't seen you in forever."

When she pulls away, I collapse back into her. I don't want to let her go. Quiero abrazarla—o quiero que me abrace. I can't tell and I don't care. A soft smile catches her lips, and then she reels me in for another embrace. As her fingers thread through my hair delicately, every nerve unravels within me, releasing and falling away.