Page 8 of Frozen Flames

The smell of Claire’s cooking coaxes me to the kitchen after showering, which brightens up my mood a little.

“Claire,” I say, noticing the bacon and egg bagels with tomato and avocado, “you’re not my nanny. You don’t need to make me food.”

“I know.” She lifts her shoulder. “But I don’t mind. You must eat.”

“Well, thanks, as long as you have one too.”

“Okay.”

We eat in silence at the table, and it should be awkward, but weirdly it’s not. I was a little annoyed at her earlier because she’s here instead of Gemma, but it’s also not Claire’s fault.

“This is really good.” I lift the bagel, by way of an olive branch.

“One of my specialities.”

“What other specialties do you have?” I throw her way without even thinking about it. It’s not until I see her blush that I realize the possible insinuation. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

She waves one of her hands in the air, telling me she loves cooking and baking. Then she asks me about my own hobbies. I reluctantly mention drawing as I finish eating, before heading to my room.

Despite feeling drained from PT, I take out my black sketchbook, knowing that Gemma would be in heaven if she saw me drawing again.

So for her I open the book and grab a charcoal pencil and start drawing. It’s literally dark chaos seeping over the page. The lines blur, the tip of the pencil adding a savage blend mixed with anger.

I stop what I’m doing eventually and reach for my phone to text Gemma to ask about her day. That’s when she calls. And I shut my eyes, letting her soft tone ease my guilty conscience.

Because I’m a prick to her sometimes, and I don’t know why. And then I wonder why she’s still here after everything I’ve put her through.

She asks what I’m doing, and I can almost hear the smile in her voice when I tell her that I’m drawing. After our call, I keep going. My art is a mess once it’s finished, yet I sign it, then throw the sketchbook on my desk.

Then Henrik calls me.

“What’s up, bitch?” he says when I pick up.

“You know that’s not how phones work, Hen. I’m supposed to greet you.”

He laughs. “How’s the first day without the lady? You watching porn on AirPlay?”

I laugh because my brother’s an idiot, but I love him to death. “No, dumbass.”

“Your loss. I have a break between classes.” Some days I’m surprised Hen takes college seriously enough to even attend class. “Wanna hang out for an hour or two?”

“Yeah, sounds good to me.”

We hang up, and when Claire leaves and Hen finally shows up, we playCall of Dutyon the PlayStation in my room.

“How’s school going?” I ask him. I never know with him—he’s either barely studying and acing all his classes anyway, or he’s flunking the hell out of them.

“School blows, but again so do the ladies.”

This is what Henrik does—he makes people feel better.

I owe him my life.

Him and Gemma.

I don’t know what I’d do without them.

And I hope I never have to find out.

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