Talk about kismet.
Macy oohs and aahs over the concert tee—as she should—but other than that, she pretty much leaves me alone. Except to make sure I drink an entire thirty-two-ounce bottle of water and take the Advil she left on my nightstand.
There’s a bowl of chicken noodle soup on my nightstand, too, but right now I don’t have the energy to eat. Instead, I climb into bed and pull the hot-pink covers over my head.
The last thing I think about before drifting off to sleep is that—despite everything—tonight is the first time I’ve taken a shower without struggling not to cry since my parents died.
6
No, I Really
Don’t Want to
Build a Snowman
I wake up slowly, head fuzzy and body as heavy as stone. It takes me a second to remember where I am—Alaska—and that the light snores that fill the room belong to Macy and not Heather, whose room I crashed in for the last three weeks.
I sit up, trying to ignore the unfamiliar howls and roars—and even the occasional animalistic scream—in the distance. It’s enough to freak anyone out, let alone a girl born and raised in the city, but I comfort myself by remembering there’s a giant castle wall between me and all the animals making those noises…
Still, if I’m being honest, it isn’t the utter foreignness of this place that has my brain racing overtime. Yes, being in Alaska is bizarre on what feels like every level. But once I banish thoughts of my old life, it isn’t Alaska that woke me up at—I glance at the clock—3:23 in the morning. And it’s not Alaska that’s keeping me awake.
It’s him.
Jaxon Vega.
I don’t know anything more about him than I did when he left me standing in the hallway, angry and confused and hurting more than I want to admit—except that he’s the most popular guy at Katmere Academy. And that he’s angsty, which…no kidding. I didn’t exactly need a crystal ball to guess that.
But seriously, nothing Macy told me matters, because I’ve decided I don’t want to know any more about him.
More, I don’t want to know him.
Yet when I close my eyes, I can still see him so perfectly. His clenched jaw. The thin scar that runs the length of his face. The black ice of his eyes that lets me see for a second—just a second—that he knows as much about pain as I do. Maybe more.
It’s that pain I think of most as I sit here in the dark. That pain that makes me worry for him when I shouldn’t give a damn one way or the other.
I wonder how he got that scar. However it happened, it had to have been awful. Terrifying. Traumatic. Devastating.
I figure that’s probably why he was so cold to me. Why he tried to get me to leave and, when I wouldn’t, ended up delivering that ridiculous and—I admit, mildly disconcerting—warning.
Macy said he was angsty…does that mean he treats everyone the way he treated me? And if so, why? Because he’s just a jerk? Or because he’s in so much pain that the only way he can handle it is to make everyone afraid of him so that he can keep them at a distance? Or do people see his scar and his scowl and decide to keep their distance all on their own?
It’s an awful thought but one I can totally relate to. Not the people being afraid of me part but definitely the people keeping their distance part. Except for Heather, most of my old friends drifted away after my parents died. Heather’s mom told me it was because my parents’ deaths reminded them of their own mortality, reminded them that their parents could die at any time. And so could they.
Logically, I knew she was right, that they were just trying to protect themselves the only way they knew how. But that didn’t make the distance any less painful. And it definitely didn’t make the loneliness any easier to bear.
Reaching for my phone, I shoot off a couple of quick texts to Heather—which I should have done as soon as I got here last night—telling her that I’m safe and explaining about the altitude sickness.
Then I lay back down, try to will myself to go back to sleep. But I’m wide-awake now, thoughts of Alaska and school and Jaxon blurring together in my head until all I want is for them to just stop.
But they don’t stop, and suddenly my heart is pounding, my skin prickling with awareness. I press a hand to my chest, take a couple of deep breaths, try to figure out what has me so alarmed that I can barely breathe.
And suddenly it’s right there. All the thoughts I’d shoved aside for the past forty-eight hours, just to get through leaving. Just to get here. My parents, leaving San Diego and my friends, that ridiculous airplane ride into Healy. Macy’s expectations for our friendship, the way Jaxon looked at me and then didn’t look at me, the things he said to me. The ridiculous amount of clothes I have to wear here to keep warm. The fact that I’m essentially trapped in this castle by the cold…
It all kind of melds together into one great big carousel of fear and regret, whirling through my brain. No thoughts are clear, no images stand out from any of the others—only an overwhelming feeling of impending doom.
The last time I freaked out like this, Heather’s mom told me that experiencing too powerful emotions is completely normal after a huge loss. The crushing weight on my chest, the swirling thoughts, the shaking hands, the feeling that the world is going to come crashing in on me—all completely normal. She’s a therapist, so she should know, but it doesn’t feel normal right now.
It feels terrifying.
I know I should stay where I am—this castle is gigantic, and I have no idea where anything is—but I’m smart enough to know if I stay here staring at the ceiling, I’m going to end up having a full-blown panic attack. So instead, I take a deep breath and heave myself out of bed. I slip my feet into my shoes and grab my hoodie on my way out the door.
Back home, I’d go for a run when I couldn’t sleep, even if it was three in the morning. But here, that’s out of the question. Not just because it’s as cold as death outside but because God only knows what wild animal is waiting for me in the middle of the night. I haven’t been lying in bed listening to the roars and howls for the last half an hour for nothing.
But it’s a big castle with long hallways. I may not be able to run through them, but I can at least go exploring for a while. See what I find.
I carefully close the door behind me—the last thing I want to do is wake Macy up when she’s been so nice to me—then head down the hallway toward the stairs.
It’s creepier than I expect it to be. I would have thought the hallways would be lit up in the middle of the night, safety protocols and all that, but instead they’re dim. Like just enough light to see imaginary shadows sweeping along the corridors dim.
For a second, I think about going back into my room and forgetting about the whole walk/explore-the-castle thing. But just the thought has the merry-go-round starting in my brain again, and that’s the last thing I can handle right now.