Page 73 of Wild Like Us
Still in my hold, she reaches back and cups my neck, squeezing as though to say,don’t leave.Our eyes rest on that steel door.
Snow packs higher around our bodies.
I barely feel the cold.
“We’re going to die here,” she chokes.Has to be a dream.Sulli wouldn’t give up this fast.
“We’re not.” I don’t understand my certainty until I hear twopopsfrom the other side of the steel door.
It swings open, and Banks stands there. On a mound of snow. Chest rising and falling heavily as he sucks on the brittle air. His gun looks comfortable in his grip, but he drops it anyway.
He rushes to us, falling to his knees. One hand on Sulli’s head, the other on mine.
I breathe in a lungful of air.
I wake up.
Sweat coats me, and I shoot up, gasping for oxygen. I blink and blink, resting my forearms on my bent knees, disoriented after being in such a vivid dream.
I hate and love the snow.
It was snowing the day my father died.
It was snowing the day my mother moved back to New York.
Nearly every shitty day in my life, it’s been snowing. Even in my hellish dreams, it snows. But some of the greatest memories I have of my family were on the snowy ski slopes. We were a happy,closefamily. Mother and Father teaching their baby sonhow to snowboard. Until I became older and I could race them both on black diamonds with ease.
Like Sulli, I grew up with thrill-seeking parents. My dad worked a desk job so he could play harder. He ran marathons. He was healthy. So his heart attack was a surprise to everyone. Especially me.
I sense the rising tide of grief. Flooding me.
Memories are like a mystery bag of emotions. Reach in and you can pull out the bad ones. The sad ones.
Even if you’re only reaching for the happy past.
Guess I got the sad past.
“Kits?” Sulli whispers in the motel room, concern all over her voice.She’s awake.Actually looks like she’s been awake for a while. I’m not that shocked. Still on her side, she’s propped up on an elbow. A phone glows in her hand, illuminating her face.
“I’m okay.” I lick my dried lips and pat her thigh—that wasn’t her thigh.I just patted her ass.
Sulli goes still. Her reaction is hard to decipher in the dark.
I tense. “Sorry, Sul—I was aiming for your leg.”
“Oh hey, I didn’t think you were trying to cop a feel or anything,” she says easily. “It’s alright.”
Usually that’d comfort me. Now, the friend-zone is stifling. Like I’m still being packed in an avalanche of snow. I swallow hard, and I wonder if this is what she’s been feeling.
I haven’t been fair to her.
Sulli sits up. She’s more content than in my dream. Her morning hair is messy around her wide, squared jaw.
Quietly, I tell her, “It was a dream.”
“Yeah?” She studies my face. “How was the fucking snow this time?”
I exhale a breath. “Heavy.”
