Page 11 of Broken Ice
Beau kicked the sheets down and flung the pillows away. “My bag,” he groaned.
His suitcase appeared. Beau took the clothes out, trying to settle them in a circle, but there wasn’t enough of anything. The nest was pathetic, as ugly and faulty as Beau himself.
Beau started crying so hard he couldn’t breathe, taking short, stuttering breaths like a child.
Before these heats, Beau couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. He’d been a bit of a whiner as a kid, but not really a crier. Now, though, he was possessed by the spirits of the seven rivers during every heat, and through him, they expressed their art.
“What—what’s going on? Why are you…what’s wrong? Does it hurt? What is it?”
“It’s not enough,” Beau wailed.Wailed, like a lunatic.
“What isn’t enough?”
Beau gestured to the anaemic suggestion of a nest.
“Okay. There’s probably a blanket in this room.”
“No, it smellsbad.” God, didn’t this entity understand anything?
“Okay. Uhm. Do you want my shirt?”
Beau paused. That might be good. “Yes.” He reached out, and a practice jersey materialised in his hands.
He sniffed it suspiciously and was absolutely unprepared for the hit of scent that went straight through his nose and into the very centre of his brain.
“Oh, my God. I need more of this.”
“More of…?”
“This. This. Whatever this scent is.” Beau pressed the material to his face and sucked air in through his mouth.
Oh, fuck, that felt good.
Beau moaned. He needed to unblock his nose so he could scent this properly.
“I need tissues,” he told the universe, and the universe provided a roll of toilet paper and another piece of holy clothing imbued with manna.
Beau blew his nose and proceeded to cover his whole face in the new piece of clothing.
“Ooooh,” Beau groaned.
The cramps eased. He fell to his side, curled up in a tight little ball, and pressed the shirt into his mouth, his nose, his cheeks, trying to absorb every molecule through his pores.
The world calmed. His organs stopped trying to shred themselves to pieces. His heartbeat slowed. The frantic edge to his thoughts subsided, his head becoming soupy and pleasant.
His muscles relaxed. For a little while, he drifted.
His head was aching distantly as he finally surfaced. The pleasant feeling in his body was seeping away as the cloth lost its scent.
“Wha—”
“Hey. You okay?”
Beau blinked his crusty eyes, his body freezing as he saw who was sitting on his hotel room floor. Shirtless. “Torres?What the fuck?”
Torres’s mouth dropped open. He held his hands up. “It’s okay.”
“What the fuck? What are you doing here?” Beau’s pulse was beginning to pound again.
