The Perfect Snow (Seasons #1)

Chapter 3: Secret Sanctuary

I feel possessed by demons all night long. I toss and turn and argue with myself to fall asleep, but I keep replaying the night's events in my mind, unable to stop. Unwilling to stop. Like a drug addict, I need her in my thoughts when I cannot be around her in my physical reality.

The entire world fell into silence when she said my name and nothing existed but her and the echo of her voice. Good night, Rhys. And the crowds cheered! What a miraculously wonderful sound.

I replay the moment so many times that I can almost feel the gentleness of her fingers brushing my injured hand, the look of concern in those deep eyes. I close mine, and all I see are curls of satin made for caressing. Oh, what I would not give to twirl them around my fingers, to grab a fistful of the softness and...

Really need to switch gears here. Think about boring, sleepy things.

Like sheep. Fluffy little sheep jumping over a fence.

There goes one, there goes the other, and there's the little shepherdess ushering them along. Her ruby hair is a stark contrast against the snow, and when she looks up from beneath her bonnet, her eyes meet mine and I am once again breathless.

Stop. Thinking. About. Melanie.

Andgotogoddamnsleep!!!

Argh.

I glance at the clock that says 5:15am.

It's hopeless.

I'm hopeless.

I am hopelessly smitten after spending an hour with this girl.

I rub my face in frustration, willing my inner monologue to silence and focusing on the ribbons of moonlight piercing the dark in my bedroom.

Their translucent silver shine is slow to turn, but it warms as the sun makes its eastern entrance.

Hopelessly, endlessly, my mind goes back to Melanie.

Melanie.

Watching the sunrise makes me think of her, and I wonder what made the sun in her world set. I know there is warmth inside her, I could feel it, as fleeting as a butterfly landing on your shoulder. Her soft skin caressed mine, just for a moment, but long enough to make me wonder if I am a lunatic for holding onto the feeling of having been touched by magic.

Noon seems years away, and I will be an old man until I see her next.

I concede, my attempts at sleeping or thinking about anything else are futile and I might as well get my ass out of bed and take some of this frustration out on the pavement.

I haven't been up and about this early since I was five, I reckon as I slowly shut the front door behind me. I've got my thickest, most winter-proof gear on and jog out onto the street.

The sun is groggily dragging itself up, one beam at a time, over the trees across the lake that look like bleached hedgehogs. 

I feel you, brother.

I pick up my pace to warm up faster, but something about the delicate cloud of mist over the lake's quicksilver face adjusts my speed until I am comfortably jogging along in an almost dreamlike state. I hate to admit, even to myself considering no one is around, but this is kind of breathtaking. The lake, the sleepy town, the delicate silence of the snow cover... I really wish Melanie could see this right now. I wish I didn't have to wait until later. 

I give my mind a momentary reprieve for going there, and then pick up my pace again, running until my quads hurt and my knees turn gelatinous and wobbly. I run until I cannot breathe without the cold burning my heated lungs. I am completely out of breath when I arrive back home and enter into a household that is wide awake and mid-breakfast.