Page 2 of Frosted Torment

And honestly, I felt better after quitting them anyway. Weed soothed my nerves far better than any prescription, so I wrung out my hands, needing to find my vape.

As I turned around, dancing prisms of orange and purple swept through my apartment as afternoon sunlight streamed in. I turned and smiled at the rainbow edges dancing along the patio door. Beyond, snow-covered mountains and frosted grass gleamed.

A frigid gust of Montana’s December air burst through the cracked door, soothing me. I reveled in it as I stepped forward, bracing my arms in the doorway. The chill kissed my skin, and my bones vibrated against winter’s caress.

I fought to hold my ground as my nipples peaked into icy tips. If the piercing wind could reach my heart, it would kill the pain dwelling beneath. Though my bravery lasted only seconds before my hands slipped and I tumbled over the nameless man, catching myself on the couch.

My rash decision now bore instant regret, as it often did. Rugby guy ran with my old college crew, so not a total stranger, I told myself, grasping at straws. Caramel skin glowing in the sunlight, full lips slightly parted, and long lashes rested on olive cheeks. Despite being no match for Lex Sazerac and his captivating gray eyes, I couldn’t help but let my eyes linger on the current erection in front of me.

Lex only had eyes for impossibly beautiful women. They graced fashion spreads, did cocaine in the morning, and partied all night. Except he never touched any of it and treated his body as if it were a temple.

He stood by his rule not to date his sister’s friends either. Despite only being two years older than me, being his sister’sbestfriend became my greatest obstacle. So, I settled for cheap thrills with random guys.

“Hey,” I said, nudging Mr. Rugby with my foot a couple oftimes, and he let out a soft moan. “You’ve gotta go. I have plans.”

He grabbed himself over the sheet, then stretched with a grin when he saw my bare chest. “I have one more birthday gift for you, Noa.”

Gross. Definitely a mistake.

“I appreciate the offer,” I said, sucking air through my teeth. “But it’s not happening.”

I yanked on my favorite worn hoodie draped over the arm of the couch, covering my naked skin. My eyes scoured under the couch for my vape until I spotted it tucked against the wall. Meanwhile, Mr. Rugby stomped into the bathroom like a sullen child, the chiseled curves of his ass flexing as he walked.

He griped from the other room as I exhaled a puff of sweet blueberry vapor, leaving a sugary taste on my tongue. The scent never failed to make me smile.

Needing music, I stood to put on a record. But I noticed the old shoebox where I kept mementos and news clippings about the fire that destroyed my childhood home, scattered across the floor. I didn’t remember taking it out.

I shook my head and replaced each treasure with caution. The cops never found the arsonists who burned my family home, with my mom inside. But they weren’t looking for any either.

They ruled her death a suicide. They claimed the fire began in her bedroom, where she locked herself in with bottles of alcohol and pills. Erratic at times, yes, but not an alcoholic. Anger resurfaced at their ignorance, or was it incompetence?

As I reorganized the scraps of my past, I noticed an old bracelet my mother had gifted me. It hid under some fadedphotographs of my Gran Sasha, whom I had never met. My mom said the jewelry was a family heirloom. She warned me to never lose it, but it looked like a rusty, beaten-up junkyard relic.

I tried scrubbing away the tarnish once, to no avail. It wasn’t a great accessory, much like myself. Something unwanted, like a discarded fixture in my disappointing life. Even so, I didn’t want to lose this link to my mom, so I slid it onto my wrist, vowing to do better.

Mr. Rugby emerged from the bathroom, as if entitled to more from me. I turned to see him yank his jeans up off the floor and pull them on without zipping them. The sharp V of muscle above his hip dipped south, and I fidgeted with my shorts.

The sight stirred a hunger inside me. But I wouldn’t gratify his undeserved satisfaction. As he grabbed the doorknob and glanced back, I offered a wave before he pulled it shut, applying unnecessary force.

Another long, soothing drag of vape entered my lungs, and I closed my eyes, remembering my purpose. Find the ones who killed my mother and kill them. One crime scene photo showed two figures of light that weren’t reflections of the flames, despite the police claiming it was a camera glitch. I called bullshit then and now.

I knew better, with Uno and Dos whispering truths in my ear, but it didn’t matter how much I begged for a different answer. The police closed the case. With no family left, I moved to my godparents’ farm. By sixteen, my life was a dull, anxious routine, with an endless supply of anxiety meds.

As the new girl in a small town, shoving and teasing about my scarred face became everyone’s new favorite game. With mydeep onyx eyes, some even called me a demon. I did my best to ignore it and kept to myself.

My free time was spent searching for answers about my mom and the fire, only to hit one dead end after another. The spirits had no useful info. Either I didn’t ask the right questions, or they didn’t want to get involved.

I let out an exhausted groan and set the shoebox of my past on the counter next to my vape, then decided to put on a vintage Tom Petty album. My body melted into the thrifted orange corduroy couch serving as my bed. Despite a couple of cigarette burns and cat scratches along the side, its soft embrace was worth it.

I found peace wrapped in the lemon-colored goose-down comforter trimmed in tiny white pom-poms that Ivy forced into my hands before we went out last night. Though something darker would have suited my soul, I couldn’t shred her gift even if it wasn’t my exact taste.

A sudden knock interrupted my brief moment of self-care, jolting me upright. I glanced around, confirming Mr. Rugby hadn’t left anything behind. I rushed to check my calendar for a tarot reading I had forgotten, but found no client scheduled

And no way any of them knew my home address. Worry lines creased my forehead. Who the hell was at my door?

“Get lost,” I snapped, then tilted my head back, squeezing my eyes shut.

Ivy’s sing-song voice called out to me. “Come on, Noa. My hands are full!”

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