Page 118 of The Lottery

We have time.

That is all that matters.

I hold her gaze with mine, the memories spilling through my mind, her love grounding me through it.

The cold. Cold like I have never felt. Cold that burns hot and then is nothing at all. Cold that steals all other sensation.

Cold like death.

I felt death in those waters. The icy tendrils clutching me.

It was the bear that saved me. Saved us both.

I clung to it, even as its claws slashed into my side, leaving ribbons of exposed flesh in its wake, I clung.

Instinct? Trying to protect Azalea even when all threat to her had passed? I do not know.

When we crashed through the ice, I clung.

When the bear, giant beast that it was, found its footing and climbed out of the water, I clung.

From there, it was a long, slow journey back to Azalea. Back to my heart. My home.

I nearly froze to death. But I found shelter.

I could not move much, my body broken and bloodied. But I made a fire.

I found food. Not a lot. But enough.

I stayed hydrated.

I got stronger.

I clung… to her. To memories of her. To the knowledge that she waited for me on the other side of this terrible ordeal.

All of these memories, I can live with. It is the nightmare of seeing Azalea tied up, bleeding, Buddy grabbing her. Knowing he hurt her. Beat her. Knowing the pain she was in. The fear.

That is what wakes me up each time these dark dreams come.

But the nightmares are less frequent. Each sol it is easier.

Azalea still wakes in a panic from time to time, but less often as well.

We both have our scars.

She gently traces the pale skin on my ribs with her finger--a clean series of parallel cuts that sliced through me as I fell into the water. The bear’s claws have marked me.

I shake my head. It is better not to dwell on the darkness for too long. The light must be let in.

“Come,” I say, standing and offering Azalea my hand. “I have a surprise for you.”

Her eyes fill with an eager gleam I hope to see more often. She practically leaps off the bed and into my arms. “Ooh. Are we going somewhere?”

“Da. Get dressed.”

She purses her lips. “What kind of dress?”

“Warm,” I say.

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