Page 66 of Snowman

Her lips parted, her voice thin, I barely heard it. "I don't know," she whispered. "Just let me go. Please… just let me go."

Her words were like a punch and left me breathless. I swallowed and blinked away tears I did not want to fall. I couldn't let her go. I wouldn't. But I didn't know how to call her back, either.

All I could do was hold her and pray it was enough.

She turned away her back to the couch, shoulders slumped. Her hands hugged the cushions, and she wouldn't meet my eyes. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely there, just a whisper floating in the still air.

"I fell asleep," she said. "And when I closed my eyes, I saw Joe and the others. They were wearing masks… wolves, bears, wild animals. They scared me. I ran, but no matter where I hid, they found me."

"They won't find you again, Bree," I said softly. I took her hand, brushing my lips against it. "Never again."

Her breath hitched, and then the words came tumbling out. "When I was younger, Mel and I… we used to cut ourselves. We liked the feeling. I thought—" her voice broke, a sob hitching in her throat, "I thought if I did it, it'd bring us closer."

I stayed quiet, letting her get it all out.

"Now, sometimes I do it because… I'm punishing myself. For not running away sooner. For not being braver. And this habit…" She shook her head, tears spilling freely. "I'm so fucked up. Aren't I?"

I moved closer, my hand cupping hers. "We both are," I said. "But I don't want you to hurt yourself again, Bree. Promise me."

She curled into herself, knees pulled up to her chest, her voice muffled. "I don't know if I can," she whispered. "It's hard. I'm… it's hard."

"There's a way," I said, my voice low, steady. "But you have to trust me."

She finally looked at me, her eyes red, her lips shaking. "What if I can't forgive myself? What if I see you in that same light, Thor?"

"What if I told you I have needs, too?" I said, my tone barely above hers. I slid my arms around her, lifting her gently up in my hands. "Let me help you."

She didn't resist, her weight light in my arms. We stood there, holding onto each other as if we were the only things standing our ground in a world slowly breaking down. Her eyes searched mine, and I felt her shaking—felt the fear.

"I trust you," she stopped. "I know I shouldn't, but… I do."

"It's fatal attraction," I joked, the corners of my mouth twitching upward.

"It's madness," she whispered, leaning her head against my chest, her voice softening. "Maybe I'm crazy. Or maybe I'm just crazy about you."

"Maybe." I let out a low laugh. "Or maybe you're just a scared little girl."

She pulled back slightly, raising an eyebrow. "Thank God for your personalities," she said with a wry smile, mocking me in a sarcastic tone.

I chuckled, shaking my head. "You've got a way with words, Bree. You really do."

She didn't reply, just rested her head against me again as I carried her downstairs. This time, I didn't take her to the bedroom. I pushed open the door to a dark room, the hinges groaning. The scent of wood and metal felt faint in the air, and cold nubbed my skin. Chains hung from the walls, around the light of candles catching in the cold iron, and in the center stood a heavy oak table.

I set her down gently, her bare feet brushing the cold wood below. She looked around, her brows knitting together.

"Are you going to kill me now?"

"No," I said, lighting the last candle. "I'm going to show you something."

The tools on the walls gleamed in the low light; blades, hammers, hooks, not a romantic setting, but it wasn't supposed to be.

She stayed silent, her eyes darting from me to the room and back again.

"Get undressed."

"Excuse me?" she said, a nervous laugh escaping her lips.

"You heard me. Come on." I raised an eyebrow, holding her gaze. "You said you trust me, didn't you?"

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