Page 52 of Born of Ice

I watch it again and again, from different angles—zoomed in and out—and I see it. I see the confirmation in her eyes that she wasn’t ready for that trick. She was afraid of it and he was careless about it. That much is evident by the smirk he wears right before he slips.

I watch her face break out in blinding joy when she executed it flawlessly and then turn into a wild panic when she realizes what’s coming. What is waiting for her. The ice. The cold. The death.

And again, that cry.

That guttural sound…it was one I’ve heard before, on the ice the other day when I shot that puck into her lifeless legs, and I pat myself on the back for having the foresight to watch these videos in headphones. There is no need for her to hear this or relive this again.

What it must have felt like to wake up in the hospital and learn that your life has changed. It snapped in two, burning to the ground everything you worked so hard for. The fear in her eyes and the piercing hurt on her face this morning now make sense.

She doesn’t need a reminder of that pain, and I’m suspecting that her lack of emotions or desire to walk again is hindered on it. It feeds off it and I can’t blame her.

But I could lose her.

The sudden realization makes my head spin.

I can lose her to that pain when I just found her. When she’s the only thing in my life that confuses me and makes complete sense at the same time.

Fear pierces through my chest, sharper than any blade. Is this what it feels like? Is this what my dad felt when he lost my mother?

The sudden rush of emotions is overwhelming me. I want to scream. Send my laptop into the wall. Beat my head on anything that can crack it. I want to thrash around, smash everything inthe vicinity. Because I'm hurting. Hurting for her. She lost so much.

She lost everything. And that’s without me knowing the full story because I’m sure there’s more to it. A hell of a lot more.

I feel my body flying off the couch, throwing the headphones off my head as I run into her room where she is sitting in her wheelchair, reading a book. Electra lifts her eyes when she sees me barreling in, silently asking me what do I want from her now, and I want to laugh at her ability to give off that “piss off” vibe without as much as making a single sound, but that laugh gets trapped in my throat when I see her.

See the beautiful, talented and broken person in front of me. I see a mirror of the shards that cover my own heart.

“You are amazing.” My words are breathless as if I ran a marathon before coming in here.

Electra just blinks. “Um…are you okay?” She frowns.

“You are amazing,” I repeat again, because all other words fail me.

Did she always look this graceful? Or is it the new knowledge I have of her that helps me see through the font she’s putting up.

“Are you drunk? What’s going on? Just a couple of hours ago I was the pain in your ass, cripple, and an angry elf.”

“Oh, you are still all three of those but”—I swallow—“on the ice. You are amazing on the ice.” All humor slips off her face, replaced by tension and lips set in a tight line when she realizes what I mean and looks past me as if she can see into the living room where my laptop is still on with the thousands of tabs open.

“Was. Past tense.” Electra shuts her book and makes the move to wheel around me, but I block her.

“Are. You are fucking amazing.” I watch as her chest rises rapidly with my words, and she fists her hands to hide the tremble that is now running through them. “I’ve never seenanything like that,” I continue without giving her the chance to talk because fear is choking me.

“I never even thought it could be done like that. And you dropped it all. You allowed it to crash and burn.” I watch her expression morphing with each word out of my mouth and then it’s straight down to anger and rage when I say, “You. Gave. Up.”

A better person—a smarter one would use kind—sweet words right now. They would be gentle with her when she is clearly waist deep in depression and denial, but the thing is, I’m not it. I’m neither nice nor gentle.

I’m an asshole and I’m not shy about it and the only way I know to get things done is to barrel through them. To break the walls of the obstacle course instead of skating around them.

Electra needs to come face-to-face with her new reality because she is suspended in that gray area between life and death and that’s no way to live. A mere existence is not good enough for me. Not when it comes to her.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she grits out, her knuckles white on those handles she’s gripping hard. “And I think you need to get out of my room.”

“Make me,” I taunt her. “No? Then sit there and listen.”

“I don’t have to do shit,” she spits out. “Now step away.”

“No.” Our eyes lock in a silent battle of wills, one I win. “It was his fault, wasn’t it? He crushed you and you gave up. Just like that. You gave him that win, taking all the hurt for yourself.”

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