Page 29 of Something So Strong

Going to prison isn’t an escape. And his death wouldn’t have been a fulfilling enough torment. No, I need to exist on my own, and the only thing that gets me out of bed every morning is hoping that living another day with no help from him hammers one more nail in his coffin. Though, as the song goes, only the good die young. So, like father like son, we’ll probably go on living until the end of time because it seems I can’t let a single person into my life without fucking something up…

I shiver as a gust of wind howls through my window, though I’m not sure how much of it is from the cold and how much is because of the excessive amount of nicotine in my system.

Taking a final drag, I hold in the smoke as I grind the cigarette butt against the outside of the windowsill before putting it into an empty jar and screwing the lid back on. Releasing my breath, I catch a tiny figure running through the parking lot below me for at least the fifteenth time since my chain-smoking session began.

Tiny is an inaccurate way of describing her, though. Skin and bone and agony would be more fitting.

“Get your ass inside, Andy. It’s too cold for this shit!” I call out to her, but she jogs on like she doesn’t hear me. Because she’s stubborn, volatile, dying from the inside out, and making herself suffer is the only thing that keeps her body striving for its next breath. It’s also the reason I haven’t slept with her. The thought crossed my mind, but one look into those sorrow-filled eyes of hers and I knew it was out of the question. And that, ladies and gentlemen, might be the most selfless thing I’ve ever done.

Putting the emotional well-being of someone else over my innate desire for instant gratification is not something I’m known for. And let me tell you, little Andy could have ticked off a lot of boxes on my fetish checklist. Barely five feet tall, light as a feather, the tongue of a demon. Do I need to go on? But the reality is, we’re too similar. The only true difference between us is that I’ve learned to keep my emotions on the inside. Neatly tucked away in a little box where they fester and rattle around and are known only to me.

“Goddamn it, Andy. Enough is enough!” I scream at her, but she sprints past this time. Gathering more and more speed with every stride.

I’d give her a good slap in the face if I didn’t think it would trigger some homicidal monster inside her, but I’m sure it awoke last night, anyway. Which probably has something to do with the reason she’s running around in barely any clothing in minus-zero temperatures.

Expecting to see her lap back around within minutes, I wait with bated breath to hurl another threat at her to quit before she hurts herself. But the minutes pass by and there’s no sign of Andy.

An unease in my chest has me heading for my door.

Down the stairs, I dash to her floor and bang on her door. “Andy! Are you in there?”

There’s no reply and no sound to hint she’s in there either.

Backtracking, I’m in the lobby within seconds.

Even on her day off, Alma is at her desk. Feet up on it as she watches the common room TV.

“Did Andy come back in?” I ask hurriedly as I run to the door.

“No.” Alma sits up quickly. “I didn’t even know she was out.”

“Fuck,” I swear under my breath and dash outside.

In front of the building, I search left and right before sprinting in the direction Andy had been running. With no sign of her in the parking lot, I scan the empty expanse of asphalt that leads to the back of the main resort building. Finding it barren as well, I race to the back of the property where man-made meets nature and piles of plowed snow sit in heaps just in front of the tree line. There, in the distance, I see two skinny black-covered legs poking out from the wall of white.

“Andy!” I bellow, picking up speed.

The sight is triggering, and I see myself in the snow. Pants around my knees. Too many different parts of me leaking blood for me to list. And I can feel the pain again. Every trauma point aching as if still fresh. My broken hands—the tattooed bones are real, not made of ink. It’s not until I swipe the fingertips of my right hand over my left and study them that I realize I’m not bleeding. It’s not then. I’m eight years on and hundreds of miles away.

In a flash, I’m on my knees, scooping Andy’s tiny body into my arms.

She’s cold, so cold. Her bare arms are freezing and covered in snow. I brush some of it away before feeling for a pulse. My fingers are so cold I struggle to find it, but it’s there.

“Wake up!” I shout, tapping her face. But she still doesn’t respond, so I shake her—her body flailing like a rag doll. “Wake up, Andy! You stupid woman!” I yell and slap her in the face. Like electricity to Frankenstein’s brain, her lifeless form jolts with an instinct to kill. “It’s Kai. Don’t fight me,” I yell, laying her on the pavement and out of my hold.

In shock, her eyes shoot open, and she stares up at me in confusion.

“Can I touch you?” I ask, trying to sound calm even though anxiety is still flowing through me.

“I’m fine,” she whines, trying to push herself up. But her eyes lose focus as her consciousness fades.

“No, you’re not!” I scold, catching her before her head bashes against the asphalt. “You’re freezing, and I’m picking you up. So don’t kick me,” I tell her. And this time she’s too weak to fight back.

Holding her securely against my chest, I run back towards our building entrance. Calling out to Alma as I go.

“What the hell happened?” she gasps, meeting me at the door.

“She’s been running for a while. I told her to stop, but…” The eyes I give Alma tell her everything she needs to know; it’s Andy, and she doesn’t listen to a goddamn thing anyone says.

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