Tainted Frost, page 20
“You’re gonna have a killer hangover in the morning,” I say, getting a brief smile from him in response. “What if your parents are still up and they smell your breath?”
He shakes his head slowly, left, right, left, right.
“They’ll probably ground you, you know.”
He shrugs an I-don’t-care shrug.
“You better not pull something like this again.”
Slow headshake.
“I mean it.”
He nods, chin going all the way down to touch his chest then jerking back up.
“You’re really gonna regret this in the morning.”
Another shrug.
“We’re here.”
A hiccup.
I park David’s car in his driveway and get out. David walks a crooked line to his door, turns around and waves good-bye, eyes half-closed, mouth curved into a sleepy smile. I walk home slowly, every step measured, rewinding to the beginning of this night in my mind and replaying one particular clip over and over and over again. That lovely, perfect, delicious, soul-and-body-electrifying kiss. I tilt my head back and smile at the sky.
My mom is sitting on the couch when I walk in, a cup of tea in front of her, her hair up in a messy bun. There are dark half-moon circles under her eyes—sometimes it seems like they’ll never go away. She smiles when she sees me, tired but genuine. I am almost overcome with a desire to run and jump in her lap like I did when I was little, to feel her hands stroking my hair again.
“How was the party?” she asks.
“Good.” God, I so want to tell her everything, every little thing from beginning to end, intimate things, like the kiss with Alex, that you reserve for best friends and not moms. But I want to tell her about that too.
She pats the seat next to her. An invitation. I walk over gingerly and sit down on the very edge of the couch.
“Did you go with Natalie and David?” she asks.
“Yeah. Jared was there, too. And some other people.”
She reaches over for her teacup and looks at me over the brim as she takes a sip. She looks interested, waiting for more, silently encouraging me with her eyes. I lean back, relaxing, getting comfortable, and I tell her about getting ready at Nat’s, how I let her do my makeup, and how we ended up being late. I tell her about Matilda begging Nat to feature her on her blog and social accounts, and how I had to make up a lie to get rid of her. I don’t tell her about David getting drunk and puking on me. I don’t tell her about the kiss, but I do tell her that Alex was there, and she smiles and puts her hand on my arm and it’s almost like I did tell her after all. It’s almost like she feels what I feel.
“I’m glad you had fun,” she says. “Are there going to be anymore parties before school starts?”
“I don’t know, but Matilda’s obsessed. It wouldn’t surprise me if she found an excuse to throw another one.”
“Well, you should definitely go if there is another one.”
Something about the way she says that irritates me. It’s kind of like she wants to get rid of me, get me out of the house at every opportunity. It’s a lot like she wants me to forget and pretend like nothing in our lives has changed when it’s actually changed beyond recovery. Anger and frustration twist and writhe inside me, and I can’t hold it in anymore.
“I think Dad’s still alive,” I blurt out.
At first she looks shocked and then her face crumples, the lines around her eyes deepening. “Oh, honey,” she says. “Oh, baby.” She makes like she wants to put her arms around me, but I pull back.
“I’m not crazy, mom. It’s not impossible. He could still be out there. Maybe he’s hurt. Maybe he’s waiting for us. Maybe…maybe we should try. We should at least try.” Sometime in the middle of my rant I stood up and walked halfway across the room without realizing it. Lines of sweat trickle down my back and along my temples. I whip my sweater dress off and drop it on the floor.
“I want to go look for him,” I say evenly, working to steady my breathing. My mom just looks at me, her face stuck in that crumpled state.
“Oh, honey,” she says again. “Sweetie, he’s gone. I know it’s hard to accept. I know you don’t want to, but he’s gone.”
I cover my face with my hands. I don’t want to cry. I want to scream and slam myself against the walls and rip my skin off. But then I feel her hands on my shoulders, moving along my back and encircling me in her arms and some of the anger slips out of my bones.
“I know it hurts, baby. It hurts me, too. And I don’t know when it will get better, but it will get better. I promise, I promise.”
Chapter 23
I really hope David doesn’t remember much from last night. What with getting drunk, vomiting on me, and professing his love for Nat all within approximately an hour, it was definitely one of the crappier nights of his life.
I let myself into the Petrovskis’ home like I always do, and am amazed at the complete lack of chaos and anarchy. Nobody getting assaulted by an inflatable baseball bat. No machine gun noises. Nothing boiling or whistling or sizzling in the kitchen. No overwhelmed and defeated parents. And no Shiloh even. Weird.
“Hello?” I call out, shutting the door behind me. “David? Mrs. Petrovski? Max? Anyone?” The silence is disconcerting. I’m used to it at my house, but here it’s alien and eerie.
“David?” My voice seems to bounce against the walls then come back and hit me in the face. It’s so, so quiet. I’m about to turn back and go home when a door creaks open upstairs. I stand there, biting my lip, looking up to see if it’s David and if he’ll emerge intact.
David shuffles down the stairs, one hand pressed against the wall to keep his balance. He’s still wearing the clothes from last night and his hair is sticking up all over like horns. His eyes are red and barely open. I’ve never seen him like this. He clumsily hops down the last step and immediately plops down onto the couch, squinting at me with a hand over his eyes.
“Are you…alive?” I ask.
“Kinda.”
“You look awful.”
“Thank you so much for saying that. I really appreciate it.”
I take a seat beside him. “Seriously, though, are you okay?”
He sweeps his arm down the length of his body. “So, this is what a hangover looks like, in case you were wondering. And it feels ten times worse than it looks.”
“Wow.”
“Yep.” He closes his eyes. “Wow.”
“I don’t want to say I told you so.”
“No, no, go ahead and say it. Nothing could make me feel any worse right now.”
I sigh and lean back against the couch pillows. “Do I even have to ask?”
“Ask what?”
“What percent you’re at.”
He snorts. “Man, I don’t know. 20? 25? I wish I had an electric cord coming out my butt that you could plug in and charge me back up. I feel like sherp.”
“I could’ve done without that visual, Petrovski.”
He shrugs. “So, was I a total jerk last night or what?”
“Do you even remember anything?”
“Barely. It’s kind of all a blur. Did I do anything stupid?”
If he doesn’t remember anything, he probably doesn’t remember that he told Nat he loves her, and I feel like it’s best not to remind him. “Um,” I begin, “well, you puked on my shoes.”
“Oh, God.” He sinks down further on the couch and puts a pillow over his face. “Are you serious?” he says, the pillow muffling his voice. “Kill me now.”
“It’s okay. My shoes survived. You’re definitely worse for the wear though.”
He lifts his head up. “Did I do anything else embarrassing?” There’s this expression in his eyes like he’s expecting something really awful and begging me not to tell him. A desperate, pleading look.
“No,” I tell him, “that was the worst of it.”
“I’m never drinking again.”
“Promise?”
“I swear on my comic book collection.”
“And your horror movie collection.”
“And my horror movie collection.”
I smile and he smiles back, though it does look a bit forced. “Okay, good,” I say, “I know you’ll definitely keep that promise, especially if your collections are at stake. I’ll come at them with a blowtorch if you so much as think about drinking again.”
“Okay, mother.”
I roll my eyes at that. “Speaking of which, where is everyone? Your house has never been this quiet.”
“Isn’t it great? I’m trying to enjoy it, but it feels like there’s a marching band in my head right now.” He massages his forehead.
“I don’t know any hangover cures,” I say.
“Probably because you’ve never been hungover.”
“Good point.”
He curls up into a fetal position with his knees almost touching his chin. He looks so miserable and I feel utterly helpless, but I can’t just sit here and watch him suffer.
“I’m gonna make you some tea,” I say, getting up. He moans something unintelligible. In the kitchen, I know the location of every little thing needed to make tea possibly better than I do at my own house. I make a cup for him and for me. When I hand him his cup, he gives me a wan smile. Up close his eyes look so red and tired. He really does look like sherp.
“Thanks,” he says, slurping the tea loudly. I wait for mine to cool off a little before taking a sip. I stay with him for another hour, talking occasionally, but mostly just sitting in a comfortable silence that I only seem to share with him and nobody else. Not Natalie, not Alex, not my mom anymore. I’m so grateful that I have this with David, because sometimes, this is exactly what you need. A comfortable silence, a safe space between you and another person who really gets you.
I leave when David falls asleep on the couch. I hope the nap helps him recharge. Alex’s truck is parked outside my house, idling, the exhaust fumes puffing out the back. My heart does its stupid little dance as usual. I hesitate on David’s front stoop, then take a deep breath and walk toward the truck. Alex must’ve seen me because he gets out and meets me halfway.
“Hey,” he says, giving me this big smile like he’s so happy to see me. God, it feels so good to know someone you like is happy to see you.
“Hey,” I say, “what’s up?” I’m a bit nervous knowing how I ditched him after the kiss last night, but it doesn’t seem like he’s upset about it.
“I came and knocked on your door, but you weren’t home. I thought you might be at David’s, but I felt kinda weird about going over there. So, then I just sat in my car and waited.” He rubs his neck, obviously embarrassed. “I hope that’s not too stalkerish or anything.”
“Um, it kinda is, Romanov. I mean…how long have you been waiting?”
“Like half an hour.” He looks so sheepishly adorable that I just have to laugh.
“Well, I guess half an hour isn’t so bad,” I say. “I think that’s the limit though. If you’d gone over, then it would definitely be stalkerish.”
“Okay,” he says, smiling. “I’ll remember that. So, listen, do you wanna go for a drive or something?”
“Sure.”
He opens the passenger side door for me, and I climb in. It’s warm and cozy in his truck. I shrug off my coat and fold it over my lap. I feel totally discombobulated. It’s only been a few hours since The Kiss, and only a few days since this performance of are-we-or-aren’t-we, and now, more than ever before, signs seem to point to we definitely are, but it still feels like we aren’t. If that makes any sense at all. Basically, what I’m trying to say is that even after everything that’s happened, I still don’t know where I stand with him. And I think I’m just the type of person who needs concrete evidence, like a giant blinking neon sign hanging from Alex’s neck that says, “I like you, Anna. Please be my girlfriend.” Or an official notarized document stating, “This is to certify that Alex Romanov undoubtedly harbors genuine emotions of a romantic nature for Anna Monroe. Yes, he likes her in that way. He like-likes her.”
Alex rounds the front of the truck and gets behind the wheel, then he gives me such a sweet smile that I give up on trying to control my urges, and do something that I’d never thought I’d have the gall to do. I lean across the center divider, put my hands on his shoulders and kiss him full on the lips.
He grabs me around the waist, kissing me hard. After a long few minutes, we both slowly pull away.
“We should do that more often, Monroe,” Alex says. He has a stupid smile on his face, and I can tell my expression mirrors his.
“I completely and totally agree, Romanov.”
He shifts into Drive and pulls away from my house, making a U-turn at the dead end and heading toward the residential part of town. I wonder if he’s avoiding Main Street, where we are more likely to be noticed, on purpose. If I were a different girl, I might be offended that he doesn’t want to be seen with me, but, honestly, I’m relieved. The farther away from prying eyes and gossipy mouths, the better.
We drive around for a while, and it seems like Alex doesn’t have a particular destination in mind, but it doesn’t bother me. I am content to drive around aimlessly with him for hours. But he slows as we approach the old abandoned sawmill, and my body goes rigid. People our age only come to the sawmill for two reasons: hooking up and doing drugs. When David and I were still in junior high, we would sneak to the sawmill, climb the rickety ladder up to the roof and gawk at the salacious liaisons through the skinny openings in the roof slats. David would press his hand against my mouth to keep me from giggling. I was equal parts horrified and intrigued by what I saw—the wet kisses, the frantic hands clawing at clothes, the flashes of naked skin and heavy gasping. The guilt that came from watching people without their knowledge made me tremble with barely contained laughter. David would watch with quiet focus, like he was taking mental notes on what to do. Nothing annoyed him more than my muffled snorting and snickering. A few times we smelled something nauseatingly pungent that David matter-of-factly informed me was marijuana, and I wondered how he even knew.
But we were always the spectators, never the doers. I wonder if I’m finally going to become a member of that club now. And with Alex, of all people. It’s like I’m in a dream. I stab my nails into my palm and wait. But he keeps driving, passing the sawmill and hanging a left on Aspen Road, which leads to the lake. Aspen is a narrow, lonely road with no inhabitants. It’s never plowed in winter, but the cars passing through to get to the lake carve their own path.
“Are we going to the lake so you can perform another Ice Capades show for me?” I ask Alex.
He gives me the side-eye. “I know you enjoyed that last time, Monroe. But, unfortunately, today’s not the day for an encore.” He drives several more yards and then stops when we come within sight of the lake. Fresh snowfalls from the last few days have covered up the evidence of our bonfire night. The area looks pristine again, but I can’t quite overlook the fact that underneath that clean white layer lurks empty beer bottles, muddy boot prints, ash and soot from the fires, and other debris, like a forgotten glove or candy wrapper. I always have to remind myself that there are so many more layers under the surface, either waiting to be uncovered, or hoping they’ll stay hidden forever.
Alex touches my arm lightly, and I come out from under the layers of my thoughts. We smile at each other. “What were you thinking about?” he asks.
“Oh, nothing, just random stuff, I guess.”
“So, listen…” He shifts in his seat as though trying to find a comfortable position. He seems nervous, which only makes me more nervous. A shaft of sunlight falls through the windshield and touches his hair, revealing those subtle streaks of violet and blue, emerald green. My fingers twitch, wanting to touch his hair again. He’s facing me now, his back against the car door. The air between us feels magnetic, full of tense energy, full of unspoken words that have to be said. I can feel it in his anxious movements, in the way his eyes keep flitting here and there, not looking at me.
“I’m listening,” I say.
“I just wanted to talk about how we’re gonna do everything. I have my snowmachine and I have the crystal. I just want to make sure you understand how important it is that you stay outside the clearing, okay?”
“I will. I already promised you that.”
“I know but it’s just different when you’re actually there. I don’t want you to think I need help and run in after me. You can’t fight her, Anna. She’s too strong. She’s not strong enough to leave the clearing, but once you’re in her domain, all bets are off.”
I sit back, considering this. If I saw Alex was in danger, of course I would want to go in after him. I couldn’t just stand there watching as he got hurt. Or worse.
I realize now the danger of it all. But I still have to risk it. I can’t leave my dad there, and Alex can’t leave his brothers there.
“I don’t know what’s gonna happen,” I say. “I just know we have to do this.”
“I know,” he says. “I’m not ready, but I realized today that I never will be. We just have to go for it, you know? We can’t waste any more time.”
“You’re right. Nobody can ever really be ready for something like this.”
“Look, again, you don’t have to come with me. If I can kill her with the crystal, I’ll save my brothers and your dad. So, you don’t have to be there. Plus, I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Alex,” I say softly. “It’s my dad. I have to.”
He nods, looking down at his hands.
“Is there anything I should bring with me?” I ask. “I should at least be somewhat prepared. I mean, I know I can’t really use any modern weapons against her, but maybe we should take a rifle or something, just in case?”
“Don’t worry about that stuff. I’ve already packed. I have my dad’s shotgun. You’re right it won’t work against her, but…Who knows. I mean, it won’t hurt to take it. I packed some food and water, blankets, matches, a tent, sleeping bags, stuff like that. Basically, try to think of it as a camping trip. Hopefully, we won’t even need any of it. Hopefully, we’ll get lucky and everything will go smoothly. But. I just like to prepare for the worst.”
