❝well i know full well that you are
the patron saint of sucking cock.❞
❘❘
IT'S A COLD EMBRACE—trembling fingers lacing around metal, seizing a silent weapon in sweaty palms.
Tendrils of smoke kiss my cheeks, hazy and heavy, somehow lost in the crisp air of a nearly November night. Something about it is serene, like counting stars and minutes and seconds, watching faint wisps tangle until sighs and smoky exhales become synonymous. It's a quiet comfort, a dwindling cigarette that keeps me from remembering I'm alone, stuck in slow-motion, staring out a foggy windshield, and wishing I was... wishing I was... alive.
But here I am, sitting stiff and still, fighting off a sleepy surrender of a fading high. Estoy vivo, in the most volatile way, desperate and dreaming of something else. Anything else.
As the ember burns, time drags.
It gets colder.
A strand of whistling wind snakes through the car when I crack the window, chilling my fingertips. I shiver, but toss my cigarette and close it. Esto es lo que quiero; I want winter.
The lights are dim from a block away, fluttering faintly, a ghostly glow that paints the sidewalk with a warmth of what used to be a safe haven.
My finger toys with the trigger.
What am I really going to do?
A flurry of anxiety drifts through my chest. My gaze falls to the gun in my hand, all the hazy memories flooding back with raspy threats and deadly warnings.
"If someone doesn't fucking pay you, go get it yourself, Neva."
The cold, hard metal sifts in my palm.
"You can't pay me if you're dead, but remember, if you don't pay me, I'll kill you."
My breath hitches. I can't... I can't kill him. I'm not...
Frantically, I drop the gun into the passenger seat and shake my head, desperate to steady my shaky hands. No, I can't fucking kill him.
Dread churns in my gut. Gnawing on my bottom lip, I reach for the purse beside the gun, dig out one of those little bags, and then yank my key from the ignition.
I take a hit.
I take another.
I sniff.
My heart hits the roof of my car, taking flight, fluttering and fighting to break free with a million fucking fragmented feelings. It lights my blood, springs to my fingertips with something raw and reckless; I can feel it riding through my veins, dark and alluring, with that intoxicatingly sensual promise—an infinite invincibility.
Maybe it's the only way I can do this because maybe, just maybe, it's the only thing that's real.
It's the only way I feel real.
Untouchable.
Puedo hacer cualquier cosa.
I tuck the gun into my glove box carefully, almost lovingly. No necesito armas o palabras; I can do this unflinchingly, with a graceful smile and fluttering lashes. Blindingly bulletproof, dressed into icy armor and ready for battle. Like a wraith of vengeance and confidence, seeking retribution in a late night dive bar, dizzy with the delirious sensations of something... something...
But when I see her, I freeze. A hairline fracture splinters the sheet of ice, la protección, the beautifully constructed delusion of fearlessness.
YOU ARE READING
Snow
RomanceWhen Neva Álvarez moves to Queens, she's merely biding her time between bartending and dodging her brother's phone calls before her final year at NYU, and with the summer dwindling to an end, it's difficult not to find herself drawn to her new next...
