The Lobby

Cold (Part I)

Look, ion care if you don't like the ship. It's original. Close this book right now if you have a problem.

Feeling hypnotized by the words that you said,

Don't lie to me, just get in my head.

When the morning comes, you're still in my bed,

But it's so, so cold.

She watched him, her chest blazing with fury. Fury and something else. Something she couldn't explain. He glided effortlessly over the ice, not acknowledging her presence. He spun in a perfect circle, dancing on the ice like the pro skater he was, and she felt jealousy fill her. Along with that other thing.

The ice was supposed to be her domain. She was supposed to be the queen. None were supposed to best her. She watched him again, giving him all her attention. Taking mental notes of his postures, his movements, which were like those of a panther. Quick, and graceful.

She hadn't pegged him as a skater when she had first laid eyes on him at the ice rink. She'd thought of him as a swimmer. He had the build for it. And she'd been right. He did swim. Except, none knew about it. Just her.

When he had first beaten her in the test, he had become her father's star pupil. He had taken her place. And she hated him for that. She had observed that he stayed back as the lessons were over. Each night, he flew on the ice with passion, and although she wouldn't accept it, he was was more flexible, agile, and better on the ice than she was.

And that was when it had began. Every single week, every single night, after he father Boreas ended the lessons. He stayed behind to practise in solitude. And so had she. (Well, she didn't do any practicing. Just watching.)

It had been five months now. Each night, she sat under the shadows of the entrance, where she could see him but he couldn't see her. She had watched him each night, never making a sound. It was always quiet. Except for his movement and small huffs of air, all was silent. And she liked it that way. At first it had been with contempt and anger with which she watched him. And then that had slowly developed into jealousy. And that feeling barged in a few months after observing him. She didn't know what it was. Admiration? Awe? She didn't want to know. She wanted to get rid of this feeling, but at the same time she didn't. He made her feel warm. And she hated that.

She let out an inaudible sigh, and looked on at him. His skated twirled on the eyes and a she watched, she deduced that he was making a pattern on the ice. She didn't know whether to be jealous or impressed. Only the best of the best could mange this and she hated the fact that he and not her was classified in that category. She hated the fact that she was feeling anything at all. She had her suspicions though. But she hoped it wasn't true. She was the Ice Queen. Immune to feeling. Immune to the curse of love. But even she was having a hard time believing that.

Her brown eyes flickered over to his face. His hair was matted with sweat, but he still looked beautiful. His sea green eyes were filled with passion, something rarely seen these days. Finally, he made his last curve on the ice. And then he stopped. She couldn't help but marvel. He had made a flower. On the ice.

She didn't know where the bottle came from, but he was emptying its contents over his head, like the water was his lifeline. He relished the feeling the water gave him, she could tell. It was as if the liquid rejuvenated him. Healed him.

He'd taken out another water bottle, and this time he was chugging it down his throat. After a while, he closed it. He didn't look at her. He didn't acknowledge her. But his deep voice resonated through the ice rink.