Page 79 of These Tears

‘Are you cold?’ he asks, almost offhandedly.

A snarky comment bubbles up, but the circumstances drown it out.

‘Yes,’ I whisper.

Gloves on, snowsuit zipped up, he crowds me as he hands me the lighter bag.

‘Come here,’ he whispers. No warnings and no growling. Simply an arm around me as he draws me against his side. ‘Keep close. Stay behind my shoulder. I can block some of the wind.’

I don’t know what to do with this. But I let him claim me again.

And it feels like the last intake of breath before the world shuts off.

We walk for a little while longer.

The forest smells of resin, utterly indifferent to human fear.

The travel bag drops into the snow with a muffled whump then.

My gaze falls to it beside our feet.

‘Why—’

I barely have time to meet his eyes.

The arm around my waist shifts, his other hand coming up from the other side, white cloth sealing over my nose and mouth. He crushes my back to his chest as he holds the cloth there.

I claw and fight and scream, but the fabric soaks up the sound.

The chemical sweetness burns the back of my throat. The first breaths only make me cough harder, panic tearing through me as I buck against him.

The dizziness comes over me in a slow, sickening drag. My arms grow clumsy. My fingers stop obeying me.

The world tilts.

I’m sinking.

Down.

Deeper.

Lower.

Until the sky overhead loses colour and shape, and the glaciers of his eyes are the last thing the darkness swallows.

15

Silence is a special sound. It’s not always the peaceful kind. This one thunders in my ears while my body surfaces slowly.

My first breath feels too heavy, as though someone has forced it into my lungs.

When my eyes finally open, the room tilts, and I turn onto my side to retch up nothing but chemical-tasting breath.

My mouth is dry enough for my lips to split. My tongue feels thick and useless. Whatever he used on me has left my body awake while my mind keeps trying to claw its way back. Thoughts rebound so violently I fall to my back again. Something soft gives beneath me.

I palm the surface. It’s warm – not snow.

My eyes drift over the blur above me, struggling to make sense of the flat, motionless shape until it slowly resolves into a ceiling.