Page 5 of Slay All The Way

I never understood it, not really. But now. Now I get it.

I fade into the trees, the night swallowing me whole, but my mind is already racing ahead to what’s next. Soon, I’ll haveher. I’ll melt her down and rebuild her to be everything she was meant to be.

She’ll know her worth. She’ll know stupid Mark never deserved her.

No, soon, my little snowflake... soon you’ll be mine.

3

ALASKA

Let It Snow - Civil Youth

Iwake up to the faint sound of snow falling outside the cabin, a soft, almost magical sound that fills the air. The room is dimly lit, the soft glow from the Christmas lights strung across the window creating a warm, inviting ambiance. But as I stretch and let the warmth of the blankets seep into my skin, I can’t shake the weight on my chest.

I glance over at Mark, sprawled out on the bed, his face illuminated by the harsh blue light of his phone. He’s been on that thing since we arrived, scrolling and tapping away, and I can’t help but feel a pang of frustration deep in my gut. This was supposed to beourgetaway, a time to reconnect, but all he seems to care about is whatever is happening on that stupid screen.

“Mark,” I say, trying to keep my voice light, though irritation seeps through. “Can you put that down for a second? I’d love to talk about our plans for the day.”

He doesn’t even look up, just mumbles something indistinguishable, his fingers still dancing across the glass. Thedistance between us feels like an abyss, a gaping hole that I can’t seem to bridge no matter how hard I try. I sigh, throwing the covers off and swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. The chill of the wooden floor sends a shiver up my spine, but I push through it. I need to shake this feeling of isolation.

I head to the small kitchen area, the aroma of coffee brewing in the air. The little cabin is cozy, with a rustic charm that makes me feel warm inside, but I can’t help but think it’s wasted on us. I pour myself a mug, trying to focus on the warmth spreading through my fingers, the steam rising like little spirits in the cool morning air. I take a sip, letting the rich flavor wash over my tongue, but it doesn’t quite cut through the annoyance bubbling inside me.

It’s more than him just being glued to the phone. I can’t shake the feeling that Mark is hiding something from me. The way he glances at his phone, the secretive smirks and chuckles he stifles—it’s all too familiar. I remember the late nights spent waiting for him to come home, the excuses he made that didn’t quite add up. My heart races and my body trembles at the thought, and I feel a familiar unease settle in my stomach.

“Are you going to spend the whole day on that thing?” I call out, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Just a few more minutes,” he replies, his tone dismissive as usual. “I’ll be right there.”

I roll my eyes, but he can’t see me. I know he won’t be right there. He’s never right there. The distance between us isn’t just physical; it feels emotional, too, and I can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy creeping in. Jealous of whatever—or whoever—he’s giving his attention to instead of me.

I finish my coffee and decide to step outside, hoping the cold air will clear my head. I pull on my coat and step out onto the porch, the snow crunching softly underfoot. As I pull my coat tighter around me I glance around, taking in the scene—the cabin nestled in the woods, the bare trees, and the blanket of untouched snow. It’s peaceful, almost too peaceful. A shiver runs down my spine, though I can’t tell if it’s from the cold or something else, something lurking beneath the surface of this calm.

I take a deep breath, my exhale fogging up the air in front of me, and just as I’m about to turn back, the cabin door creaks open behind me. I turn to see Mark stepping out, phone still glued to his hand, as usual. “What are you doing out here?” he asks, not really interested, his eyes flicking from the screen only briefly.

“Just needed some air,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s beautiful out here.”

He nods absentmindedly, his attention already back on whatever’s captivating him online. “Yeah, nice. You ready to go?”

I hesitate, wanting to say something, anything that might spark a real conversation between us. But I know better by now. “Yeah, just—” I pause, glancing around the empty landscape. I swallow my frustration. “I thought maybe we could explore the market more today. Some of the shops were still setting up yesterday, and I’d really like to grab us something nice for dinner.”

“Sure, whatever,” he mutters, barely looking up.

A familiar wave of disappointment washes over me, but I push it aside. This trip was supposed to be special, but instead, it feels like I’m on my own, dragging Mark along as a ghost of what we used to be. “Okay,” I say quietly, forcing a smile. “I’ll go get ready.”

We walk through the market in town, the snow crunching beneath our feet. The air is filled with the smell of cinnamon and roasted chestnuts when we weave through the stalls. Christmas music drifts softly from speakers scattered around the square, and children’s laughter echoes in the cold air. This is my favorite time of year, but honestly, this year it feels hollow with Mark at my side.

As we wander through the maze of vendors selling everything from handmade crafts to freshly baked pastries, I try to focus on the joy around me—the vibrant patterns of stockings and tree skirts, the twinkling lights decorating the stalls. “Look at that one!” I point toward a particularly colorful display, hoping to share a moment with him. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Mark glances up for a fraction of a second, his attention immediately drifting back to his screen. “Yeah, nice,” he mutters, barely acknowledging me.

I force a smile, though inside, irritation simmers. It’s like I’m fucking invisible. I turn my gaze back to the market, watching families huddle together, laughing and pointing out trinkets to each other. There’s something so wholesome about it, so full of life. Yet here I am, standing beside someone who doesn’t even seem to realize I’m there.

As we continue walking, the scent of fresh pine and spiced cider fills the air, but the weight of Mark’s indifference presses down on me. I wish I could lose myself in the holiday spirit, in the magic of the season, but with him constantly on his phone, I can’t shake the growing sense of isolation. I steal a glance at him, wondering if this is going to be my life from now on—me, craving connection, and him, more interested in a screen than in me.

I sigh, shoving my hands deeper into my pockets, as I force myself to focus on the sights and sounds of the market. Children run by, their laughter like music, their cheeks flushed pink from the cold. I can’t help but smile at their joy, the innocence of it all.The market feels so alive, so warm and festive, and yet, standing here next to Mark, I’ve never felt so alone.

As we pass a booth selling hot chocolate, I grab a cup, the warmth spreading through my hands. I take a sip, letting the sweetness coat my tongue, but it does little to lift my spirits. I scan the crowd, feeling that lingering sensation of being watched again. It sends a shiver down my spine, but this time it feels different—not just fear but a thrill, an excitement I can’t quite place.

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