Page 62 of Snowman

"You don't need to be fixed," he said, his hand brushing against my cheek, wiping away the tears as fast as they came. "You just need to be loved."

Loved.

How could I even think about love when I felt so empty? What was left of me to love? Could he even love someone like me?Could anyone?

I loved before. Now, I am wounded. I don't know how to protect myself. I don't even know if I want to.

I was lost. Completely lost.

1.Snjókarl- Snowman

TWENTY

SNOWMAN

I once heard someonesay that some people die at twenty-five, we just wait until they're seventy-five to bury them. Looking at her now, her shattered pieces scattered like glass—I could see it. She was dying, and she was only nineteen.

I knew that feeling too well. I’d died a long time ago, back when I learned how to abandon my feelings and start over. I knew what it was like to wake up each day not remembering who I was yesterday, let alone what I’d done to make today any better. The truth was something I’d buried deep, waiting for someone else to dig it out of me.

But her?She was so fragile, so painfully breakable. I caught myself wishing—just for a moment—that her pain was on the outside. If only there were wounds on her skin instead of the ones carved into her heart. At least then I could patch her up with a bandage and tell her she'd be okay. But a wounded heart isn’t that simple. It takes time, and I... I needed her now.

A single tear slipped down her cheek, and I brushed it away with my thumb. Her skin was cold against my hand.

"Erik can take you to the hospital," I said softly. "To see Mel. She made it."

"She did?" Her voice trembled, disbelief clouding her face. But then, just barely, a smile tugged at the corner of her lips, fragile.

"Do you want to see her?" I asked, my hand gently cradling her face. "We reached her parents. They’re taking her home on Friday."

Her gaze dropped to the floor, her smile fading as quickly as it had come. "Maybe I shouldn’t," she murmured. "Maybe… maybe it’ll just hurt her more."

I leaned closer and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "How about you decide later?" I said, my voice low. "I need to finish something first, but I’ll be back soon. Okay?"

She nodded, her eyes still fixed on the floor. "Okay," she whispered. "Okay."

"I know I’m not the person you wanted or needed," I whispered against her lips, my voice breaking. "But I’ll try my best to make you feel better. Fuck, Bree, I’ll try."

She leaned back against my chest, her eyes fluttering shut as if the weight of the world was finally pulling her down. I let her rest there for a moment, breathing in the quiet between us before I gently pushed her away. My gaze drifted to the wall, to the sticky notes plastered in uneven rows. One caught my eye, a memory I wished I could burn, and it sent a shiver down my spine. Swallowing hard, I pressed my lips to her forehead one last time, and then I turned and left.

I had to leave. I just had to.

The door creaked as I approached, its worn wood carved with grooves and scratches, traces of a childhood I had spent trying to forget. The faint scent lingered with the cold air seeped through the cracks, and Lena and Erik were waiting outside.

Lena rocked in an old chair, her pipe glowing faintly as she exhaled, the smoke curling like a ghost against the midnight sky. Erik leaned against the fence, staring into the barn, his face as blank as the snow around us.

"What’s the plan?" Lena asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked me over. "We’ve gotta be smart about this."

"No one is coming for him," Erik said without looking at her. His gaze shifted to me, his head tilting slightly. "You know that, right?"

I met his eyes and nodded.

"So?" I said. "Shall we?"

Without waiting for an answer, I started to walk toward the barn.

The snow blanketed the property in a suffocating white silence, broken only by the crunch of our boots as we trudged through the dirty path leading to the barn. The only tracks were ours from moments earlier when we dragged Joe here. Now, we were leaving a second set, marking our way.

Inside, the air was foul. The stench of pus hit me first, nauseating, forcing my stomach to flip. I winced but kept walking. None of us spoke, we didn’t need to. This wasn’t the time for words, more for answers.

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