Page 6 of Slay All The Way

I look around, half-expecting to see someone watching me from through the dense crowds of people, but all I see are families and couples enjoying the festivities.Bitch, you are seriously going crazy.I shake my head, trying to dismiss the thought, but the idea lingers, feeding a strange curiosity deep within me.

I turn back to Mark, but he’s still distracted, of course. I take a deep breath, trying to push my frustration aside. I can’t let him ruin this for me. This is supposed to be a magical time, and I’m going to make the most of it, even if it feels like I’m doing it alone.

“Let’s go check out the ice sculptures!” I suggest, trying to inject some enthusiasm into my voice. “They’re supposed to be amazing this year!”

He nods absently, not really paying attention. “Sure, sounds fun,” he mumbles, still tapping away at his screen.

I lead the way, my heart heavy but determined to enjoy the festival. The icy sculptures are magnificent, glimmering under the string lights that cast a warm glow around us. Families are gathered around, taking pictures and admiring the craftsmanship.

I wander closer to a beautiful carving of a Christmas tree, the intricate details making it look almost lifelike. I lean in closer, running my fingers over the smooth surface, and for a moment, Iforget about the tension with Mark. The beauty of the sculptures captivates me.

Suddenly, I feel that sensation again—the watchful eyes. My heart races, and I glance around, but everyone is engrossed in their own conversations, oblivious to me.

Then I see him.

A man standing a few yards away, his figure slightly obscured by the crowd. He’s dressed in a Santa suit, but there’s something about him that sends a thrill of unease down my spine. I can’t see his face, but I feel his gaze on me, piercing through the laughter and chatter surrounding us.

I quickly look away, focusing on the ice sculpture again, but I can’t shake the feeling that he’s watching me. My heart races as I try to push the thought aside, but it’s there, tugging at my mind like a dark secret waiting to be uncovered.

“Alaska, you coming?” Mark calls out, pulling me back to reality.

I turn back to him, forcing a smile as I walk over. “Yeah, sorry. I got distracted.”

“Let’s head to the food stalls,” he says, finally pocketing his phone.

“Sure,” I reply, trying to ignore the lingering sensation of being watched.

We grab some snacks—caramel popcorn, gingerbread cookies—and sit down at one of the outdoor tables. I’m nibbling on a cookie, but my mind keeps drifting back to that man in the Santa suit. I glance around, but he’s gone now, lost in the crowd. A part of me is relieved, but another part—the part that’s been starved for attention—feels a strange longing for the thrill he represented.

Mark starts scrolling through his phone again, and I take a deep breath, trying to rein in my frustration. I can’t let him ruin this for me. I take a sip of hot chocolate, the warmth slidingdown my throat, and I resolve to enjoy the festival, even if it feels like I’m doing it solo.

As we finish our snacks, I spot a booth with glittering ornaments hanging from strings, and I can’t resist the urge to check them out. “I’ll be right back,” I say, standing up.

“Okay,” he replies, barely looking up from his phone.

I walk over to the booth, my eyes scanning the colorful decorations, but something catches my eye—a small, intricately designed ornament. It looks familiar, almost like the ones my parent’s and I used to decorate the family tree with when I was a kid.

I admire the necklace, a delicate crystal ornament pendant that catches the twinkling market lights, the edges shimmering like the first snowfall of the season. It dangles from a simple chain, but something about it feels special like it holds a bit of magic within its fragile form. I reach out, fingers brushing against the cold metal, imagining how it would look resting against my skin, how it might make me feel—a reminder that even in all this loneliness, there is beauty.

Just as I’m about to hold it up for a closer look, I hear footsteps behind me.

“Alaska,” Mark’s voice cuts through my thoughts, sharp and dismissive. I turn, finding him staring at me with that usual look of mild disinterest. His tall frame towers over me, his dark hair neatly slicked back, and his tailored coat seems out of place among the cozy, rustic setting of the market. His lips curl into a faint smirk, though not in the warm, affectionate way I used to crave—it’s more a self-satisfied, patronizing expression that makes my stomach twist.

“You don’t need that,” he says, glancing at the necklace with barely concealed disdain. “It’s probably cheap. You’ve got better jewelry back home.”

I drop my hand, the thrill of the moment immediately deflating. “I just thought it was cute,” I mutter, forcing a smile, feeling small under his critical gaze.

“Cute?” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Please, I’ve bought you stuff a hundred times nicer. This place doesn’t exactly scream quality, does it?”

He’s still holding his phone in one hand, his eyes flicking down to the screen as if I’m not even worth his full attention. His well-maintained appearance—clean-shaven, sharp jawline, and always perfectly groomed—makes him seem like someone who belongs in a boardroom, not a quaint holiday market in the middle of nowhere. I used to love that about him, how polished he always looked. Now, it just feels like another layer between us, like he’s always too busy or too important for anything beyond surface-level interactions.

It’s fucking annoying.

I shove my hands into my pockets, trying to hide the sting of disappointment. “Yeah, you’re right,” I reply, but the words taste bitter. The necklace, and the moment I had with it, slips away.

“Come on, we should get out of here. There’s nothing worth seeing.” He gestures dismissively at the market as if the whole scene—the families, the couples, the festive spirit—is beneath him.

“Okay,” I say quietly, falling in step beside him as we leave. The warmth of the market fades behind me, but the coldness between us only seems to grow.

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