Page 61 of Snowman

"No," my voice was breaking, tears falling. I felt them drip off my chin. "I'll wait. I have to."

"You stupid, stupid girl," she spat, her face twisting in frustration. "You can't save him. No one can."

"Even if I can't," I choked on my own words "I'll keep trying."

She stared at me for a moment, her shoulders tense, before she let out a long, harsh breath. "Fine," she said, turning away. "Your funeral, not mine."

I slumped onto the steps as she walked upstairs, her footsteps fading behind me. I didn't look after her. I couldn't. My eyes just scanned sticky notes plastered all over the walls. They called to me, I needed to know.

I stood up, drawn to them, and started counting. One by one, tracing their edges, feeling the paper under my fingertips. I needed something to hold onto, even if the truth was hard tohear. I counted one hundred and one pieces just on one side of the wall.

My chest felt tight. My heart was sinking. I searched for something—anything—that could explain him. I was desperate to find the boy he used to be, the one his father had hurt. I wanted to see a clue, a crack, a piece of him that I could fix.

He had two faces. One soft, warm, and full of care. The other, cold and distant, cruel. I told myself that if both of those faces cared for me if I could keep both, I'd be safe.

But deep down, I wasn't so sure anymore.

An hour had passed. I was curled up on the bench by the wall downstairs, hugging my knees to my chest. Lena had gone out and still hadn't come back. Around me was nothing but silence, broken only by the faint creaks of the walls behind. My eyes stung from crying, my throat raw, and exhaustion pulled at me. But I couldn't rest. Not yet.

I heard the door open. My heart jumped, but I didn't move. I stayed curled up, too drained to care, even as heavy footsteps thudded against the floor. Only when they grew closer did I open my eyes and sit up.

He was there, standing at the top of the stairs. His white shirt was stained with blood, stains, and spots dark against the white.His hair was slicked back, damp, and messy, and his eyes weren’t the same. They were darker like something inside him had died. He held a white plastic mask in his hand, the edges of it stained with blood.

For a moment, he didn't move. He just looked at me, his chest rising and falling, short breaths. Then he took a step forward, and another, until he was in front of me. Without a word, he pulled me into his arms. My head rested against his chest, and despite the blood, the smell, everything, I clung to him like he was the only thing left in my world.

My stomach twisted in knots.How could I fall for someone like this? Someone born to destroy, to kill? Someone who could so easily hurt me?

I pulled back just enough to see his face, my hand pressing lightly against his chest. I needed to see his eyes, to find something in them, anything. My breath hitched as I looked up at him. His icy blue eyes met mine, and for a second, I thought I saw something soft beneath the surface. But the metallic smell of blood hovered at the tip of my nose, sharp and suffocating. My gaze flicked to the mask in his hand. It wasn't him, but it was. The face he showed me never changed, but the masks always did.

"Lena said," he started, "you know."

My throat clenched as tears rolled down my cheeks. "How could I know…" I couldn't complete the thought.

"Who should you choose?" he said, sliding his hands to grab my face. His touch was kind, and his fingers brushed the tears off my cheeks.

"No," I said softly, my voice cracking. "Who you are?"

His eyes softened, just enough to make me want to believe him.

"Bree," he paused, "I will be whoever you need me to be." "But no matter who I am, I will always choose you."

I leaned in again. "I'm so tired," I said. "I don't think I can fight anymore."

His arms tightened around me, holding me up, and I was slowly falling apart. "Then let me fight for you." He leaned back just enough to look into my eyes. "Just don't give up, Bree. Not on yourself."

"I'm not giving up, I just..." I whispered, my eyes closing as I tried to steady myself. "I know I've been through a lot. Mel's had it worse. You've had it worse." My eyes opened slowly, locking onto his. "I can't even compare the pain or the hurt... but I'm so damn tired." The tears came again, slipping down my cheeks. "I should be grateful I survived. I know that. But I'm not. I feel like... like I already lost the fight."

His eyebrows pulled together as he looked at me, his grip tightening just enough to ground me.

"Stop," he said. "Stop ripping yourself apart because another person's grief appears different. Everyone has their own troubles. It doesn't make yours any less."

"Fuck, Bree." He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration bubbling over. "You matter. If not to anyone else... you matter to me. Don't you get that?"

I shook my head, my voice trembling as I whispered, "I'm not enough. I'm not whole. I don't know if someone as broken as me can do anything but make it worse. I'm scared... scared that I'll hurt you, or ruin whatever this is."

"I don't need saving," he said as he pulled me closer. His arms were tight around me, and I could feel the strength behind his words. "You can't save me, Bree. Even if you tried. And you won't ruin anything. Trust me, you couldn't."

The tears came harder now, and I tried so hard to see his face through the blur. My voice cracked as I asked, "Can you fix me?"

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