Snow

40 | being alive and addicted is better than being dead, princesita

❝what they call love is a risk;
'cause you will always get hit out of nowhere
by some wave and end up on your own.❞

❘❘

DEAD. JESSE. HEROIN.

Only shards of the conversation resonate. As Emmy rambles on in quick, short bursts of panic, a ringing fills my ears, a buzz, a thrum of fluttering disbelief and dread.

Fentanyl. Heroin. Yesterday morning. Not breathing.

My breath catches in my throat. Wide eyed, I turn to Rachel, limply lowering my phone. Our eyes clash, and in a fierce, furious whirlwind of disgust, it hits me.

That impossible possibility of dying.

"Someone... someone..." I mutter numbly, still trying to form the words, trying to make sense of everything wrong that used to be right. "Someone died."

Her green eyes darken. "Who?"

"Neva?" A trace of worry laces through Emmy's voice, muffled by my palm. "Neva, ¿estás ahí?"

Shakily, I hang up on Emmy. "I... I have to... I have to go."

I need to get my shit from their apartment and just run. Tengo que hacer algo. Anything. As I stride past Rachel to slip on my shoes, my gaze stays on the floor—on the faint intrusion of red and blue lights, trembling across wooden panels, fading, fading, fading.

My knees buckle. Chingados. Extending an arm, I reach for the doorframe to steady myself. "I just... I need to..." My palm slides down to the doorknob, desperate to escape the hazy glow and the heavy heat, to get the fuck out of here, to find a new home, to breathe fresh air.

"Neva." A hand wraps around my forearm before I can wrench the door open. "Where are you going?"

No sé.

I need to get my shit because if they... if they...

"Don't go up there, Neva."

Fuck her. I need to. Because everything is falling apart, and I can't go down with them. No puedo. As I tear my arm from her grasp, stumbling back, my fingers tighten around the knob. "You don't understand!" I snap, facing her with warm cheeks. Flustered. "If there's anything that ties me to Jesse or... Rio... or Julian, I'll b—"

"No." Rachel shakes her head. "You need to stay away from them."

I grind my teeth together in frustration. "Exactly. I need to get the fuck away from them. Ahora mismo. En este momento."

And then I push past her, yank the door open, and stagger down the stairs. When the door slams shut, it echoes between my ears, leaving a hollow sound of silence in its wake. Still dressed in sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt, fumbling with my phone in the dark hallway, I swing the front door open a—

A rush of cold hair hits me. Biting into my cheeks, whipping into my hair, chilling every inch of exposed skin, it tears through my body violently.

Fuck.

A shiver wracks down my spine. Trembling in the dry, icy air, I clutch my phone tightly. My fingers slide and swipe, blurring, tapping that one contact with a breathless plea.

I need him to answer.

And he does.

"Neva?"

I slump against the door, exhaling in relief. For one surreal second, the sound of his voice is soothing. Tan tierno, tan amoroso, tan cariñoso.