Page 161 of Tracking Snow

A hesitation rolls through me. It’s Seven’s.

His feelings haven’t been clear like the others. Whatever he thinks, he’s been keeping it to himself.

The room dissolves as I retreat inward, yet I still feel Snow patiently holding my hand, her fingers interlaced with mine.

I’m tired of fighting for dominance, Seven confesses in a low tone.

The words land so hard and heavy I can’t think for a few long moments.

But it’s not like we’re going to be any less conflicted as one person instead of seven, Six points out, playing devil’s advocate as always, though I’m not sure he’s really made up his mind about staying split.

We’ve developed a flow, a way of being that works for us, Seven continues. But I’m tired of pushing different parts of us backward while someone else gets the front. It dulls everything. Food. Sleep. Snow.

I turn outward again, and the room comes back into focus on Snow, who is still sitting beside me holding my hand and patiently waiting for us to figure our shit out. In that moment, Seven stops holding himself back, and his longing opens through us so clearly it almost hurts.

He wants cold air in his lungs, sunlight on his face, Snow’s fingers in his hair and her mouth against his. He wants the world to hit him full force instead of reaching him through whoever happens to be leading. He wants to be there for all of it.

That lands somewhere deep.

How many times have we shoved one of us backward while someone else got the full hit of living? I’ve never dwelled on it because it was necessary, or maybe because I’m the one who usually got to take lead. But Seven had been buried the deepest for the longest, robbed of visibility, influence, touch, taste, all the sharp immediacy of being the one at the front.

Agreement begins to creep between the seven of us. Three and Five don’t say anything, but they’ve spent plenty of time tucked behind the rest of us too.

What if taking the petal doesn’t erase any of us? What if it means none of us ever has to watch from the back again?

And then we could also stop fighting over who gets to lick Snow to orgasm, Four grumbles.

No kidding, Two snorts in salty agreement.

They’re referring to our last fight. Seven muscled his way right through all of us and turned her into a screaming, shuddering mess on the bed, then hogged her the entire night despite our insistence that he needed to share.

Not that any of us hated the show. Snow’s sweat-slicked body, curled toes, and sexy little noises had made watching Seven toss her around every which way which was enviable.

But that’s the clincher, isn’t it?

We watched him. We envied him. Snow’s pleasure had been happening through our own body, and somehow most of us had still been standing outside it looking in.

The rest of our lives, we’ll be fighting over who gets to bite into an apple and actually taste the juice, Six says.

Who gets to enjoy sleeping in a real bed, Two adds, earning Three’s hearty agreement.

Or who gets to be with her, Five says quietly.

Pain shoots through all seven of us.

If we become one, isn’t that proving Mother right? Six asks. That changing ourselves means some part of us still believes she was right about what we are?

Only if we’re doing it for her, Four says. And the split was never her problem as much as the powers. Blackthorn already told us the petal won’t strip those. It’ll only unify us.

Five pushes closer. When Snow thought she was human, she always wanted magic. No matter how many people told her she should be satisfied without it, some part of her knew something was missing. His voice softens. That’s how I feel. Like I’m not allowed to want to be whole with you again because wanting it means I hate what we are now. But I don’t. I just...want this too.

The ache that moves through my bones is unmistakable. We’ve learned how to live like this. We’ve stopped treating ourselves like something shameful, and we know how to move around one another without every day becoming a war. But maybe accepting ourselves doesn’t mean we have to stay exactly as we are forever.

Shame still rises hot in my throat.

“Snow?” I ask.

Her gaze immediately finds mine.