Page 90 of Frozen Flames

Gemma’s beaming at times when she looks at me.

And I can’t even imagine how she must feel.

This is as much of a change for her as it is for me.

Once everybody leaves, it’s just Gemma and me in my new room, staring at the dark, starry night. I’m in my wheelchair, and Gemma’s sitting, arms around her bent knees, on my lowered bed.

There’s a comfortable silence in here, and for some reason, it fills me with a sense of belonging. Something I haven’t felt in a while.

Being near her again has calmed my heartbeat.

With her, I don’t have to force a smile. With her, I can be myself.

“It feels weird, doesn’t it? Sleeping here tonight… It doesn’t feel like home,” she whispers.

I stare at the moonlight’s reflection on her face, reaching down to the top of her narrow nose.

“I know,” I say simply, ignoring the elephant in the room—the fact that I had asked my mom for my own room when we discussed our move. I guess I kept Gemma in the dark about that part—though I know that my mom communicates with her often.

There are so many struggles in my new routine, some come and go, and I don’t want her to witness them if I can help it.

“I guess it’s like anything else… It’ll take some time to get used to,” she says quietly.

I nod, knowing what she’s truly implying. She wants my reassurance that we’ll be okay, that we’ll get through this together. But deep down, I know that this isn’t the life I would’ve chosen for myself, and I can’t bring myself to put that burden on her as well.

I gaze at her, and unexpectedly she stares back at me, and I know then that I won’t have the guts to walk away from this woman.

Even though I should. I should really, truly let her go.

The Harvey Stark she met is long gone.

And he’s not coming back. That’s a fact.

Harvey

Sleeping seems to be a thing of the past lately. My mind’s brewing with dark thoughts, and rather than sleep, I drown in them one by one.

By the time I confront Gemma in her bedroom on Sunday morning, I’ve only had a few hours of sleep all week. She arrived home from her work trip last night, but I pretended to be asleep when she came in my room. I couldn’t stand the thought of facing her, so I gave myself a little more time to process everything.

Because I’m restless and ready to go to war.

After using the bathroom, I wheel to her room, opening the door so fast that it slams against the wall. I’m sick of being on this merry-go-round with Gemma.

“How could you do this?” My fury is palpable in the air around me.

She has the nerve to look upset. “Can I go to the bathroom? Then we can talk—”

“You know”—I ignore her demands—“Claire warned me about this. She noticed the little things—slightly more makeup, the work outfits, working overtime.”

It’s not entirely true. I noticed most of them first. But I want to cause maximum damage until I shove the goddamn dagger in her heart—the same way I feel.

She closes her eyes, laying her head back down on the pillow.

I wheel closer to the bed, then I’m right next to it, close to her face. “Open yourfuckingeyes.”

She does. And fuck me, they look so innocent. They aren’t the eyes of a woman that I’d expect would cheat on me with her boss.

“You told me you noticed,” she says, as if we’re discussing the weather.

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