Page 50 of Born of Ice

Yet here it is. Clear as a day.

I’m the problem. I’m always the problem.

As if summoned by my dark energy, my phone rings with that unknown number to add to my misery and grip the small device tightly.

Answer it.Just answer it, tell him to go to hell along with his client and that’s it.

But I don’t.

I never do.

Because it’s yet another reminder of all that is wrong in my life, another chapter I can’t seem to close.

Why the fuck does he get to make me feel this guilt? Why? Hasn’t he done enough?

I send the phone into the cushion of the couch and force my fingers to stab the keyboard. This is what's on the agenda tonight, not my own issues.

Somehow, typing in her name into the search bar feels like I’m betraying her. It feels like I’m violating her in a way, but the good thing is she already thinks I’m an asshole, and I hate myself enough for the both of us, so how much worse can it get?

I don’t know what I expected to find when I set out to do this. But it wasn’t this.

It wasn’t thousands upon thousands of articles, interviews, reports, pictures and videos. So many goddamn videos. And before I can think about it, I’m clicking on the first one that pops up and feel all the air whoosh out of my body.

What the fucking fuck…

How…how is that possible? How is it real to skate like that? To do all that? To be so perfect.

Perfect is too simple of a word for her but no bigger, smarter words come to my poorly educated brain right now. But damn it, she isperfect.

Her body…it’s a work of art. Her legs are just extensions of the ice she’s on as if she was born of it. She is part of it, fluid like the water, sharp like the ice, soft like the air around her.

I’m aware that she’s not skating alone. I see the dark-haired, skinny asshole and his hands on her. Oh, I fucking see it, but I onlyseeher.

Perfect. That’s the only word that comes to mind when I watch them. That and graceful, stunning, spectacular, beautiful, alluring and all other adjectives that simply escape me afterwatching Electra Monroe on the ice. I didn’t even know figure skating could be like that. That it could make youfeel.

But maybe it’s not the sport, maybe it’s just her. My fallen star. Who is not so fallen in those videos. Not at all. In fact, I’ve never seen her eyes shine like they do when she was performing, neither have I see her as relaxed and at ease.

But…she’s not free. Not the way she was today on that lake with me as emotions poured out of her with each circle. It was just a glimpse, a small crack, but she was free. And in these videos, she’s as perfect as ever but she’s not free.

As I flip through the videos, watching clip after clip of their performances over the years, I stumble upon the last one. And I know it’s the last one because the captions read,Is this the end of Elle Monroe?Tragedy on the ice,and more along the lines of those, but I don’t click on those.

Not yet, not before I know more.

Words on my screen start blurring. I’ve been at it for—I glance at the time—well, hell, I’ve been at it for over two hours already. After watching God knows how many videos, I ventured into the dark web of articles and interviews, learning every bit of information I could about her.

I kept telling myself that I’m doing this because I need to know more about her injury, how she got it, how severe is it. I kept lying to myself that the sole reason for my obsession is that I want to be free of her as soon as I can be.

But even I can’t keep up with those lies, because I’m not reading about the accident. No, I’m stuck learning every bit about Electra that I can get my hands on, as if it’s the sustenance I need to survive.

I learn that she started skating at the age of six, but professionally around seven—pretty late for professional skaters—on the very same lake that is blanketed in the dark, moonless night outside that huge window. I learn that it was her motherwho took her out there. The same mom who owned Blade’s. Although, that part is not mentioned anywhere here and it makes me wonder why? And where is she now?

With every new piece of information I uncover, a million new questions pop up in my head, creating that same manic need to have all the answers to them.

I read about the part where Stella trained her from about eight years old and until her new trainer, Filip Masso, who is as big a deal as it gets, recruited her into his special team, partnering her up with Erik Shishov immediately because—and I quote—“the chemistry between these two was unbelievable. I’ve never seen anything like that. It’s as if they were meant for each other and the ice brought them together.”

I’d like some credit for not smashing my computer upon reading that, thank you very much.

But it didn’t stop there.

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