Going 78 Miles Per Hour | ✓

41 | Bridge Ice Before Road (Part Two)

TW | mentions of abuse, descriptions of physical abuse

SABÁDO
10:55 PM

Reid Harlow

I exhale a puff of nicotine from my lips, allowing the dopamine to register into my system and cast a warming sensation throughout my body. That's something they don't tell you about cigarettes—it's warming. It keeps your heart racing, it releases a euphoric feeling of contentment, and it keeps you warm. It gives me two things: the ability to sink into the snow without a shiver, and a feverish love that could only be compared to parental. It locks in that missing element in my life.

I sat outside of the cabin, sitting on the steps of the porch as my shoes dug into the snow, leaving boot footprints. The moon hung over the sky, accompanied by stars and constellations. I hear animal noises behind the trees, like howls of wolves and low murmurs. It almost sounded human.

The door behind me squeaks open, and I hear footsteps leading out of the cabin. I don't bother turning around to check who it was—when Claudia slips into the spot to the right of me, and Presley to the left. They offered nothing as greetings.

"You know smoking is bad for you?" Claudia prompts, turning to me with a tilt of her head. I roll my eyes.

"You know it's not that fucking easy," I scowl, taking another drag of smoke as the fire chars the end of the paper. "It's not like I can fucking stop with a snap of my fingers."

Claudia sighs dejectedly, pressing her elbows to her knees and drops her chin into the palm of her hands. "Yeah, I know."

The conversation pulls to a stop, and we add nothing. A comfortable silence reigns upon us, as we watch the sky and the snow, taking picks out of nature for enjoyment. While the cigarette burns to the very butt, I drop it to the floor and crush it along with some snow, smothering the smell.

"What are you doing out here anyways?" I ask, turning to Presley and Claudia alike. They share a look, that's only comprehendible between the two of them, before Presley turns to me.

He offers an innocent shrug, his expression tame—like he wanted to say something more. "We knew you would be out here."

I scoff, meeting his gaze, "that's all?"

Presley merely smiles, disguising the emotions lingering on his features with a simple action. "I mean, yeah. Why? You wanted it to be something more?"

The question took me by surprise. Something more. Did I want it to be something more? Maybe I was expecting they'll call me in for another game or a movie night, despite it nearing midnight. It is the last day after all, might as well go out with a fucking bang.

I shook my head, "never mind."

Presley chuckles and hooks an arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to him. I don't bother trying to pry his hand off of me, because I've become accustomed to the gesture—and, knowing Presley Young for who he is, he'll do it again.

"Don't try to deny it, Harlow," he said, patting my shoulder. "You enjoyed this holiday. You actually liked this week. And I know you definitely liked tackling me to the ground."

The memory returns fondly, "absolutely."

"So, what was it? What were you thinking about?" He encourages. I don't say anything. "Do you have to throw a fucking glass at my head again for you to open up?"

Claudia laughs, dropping her arms to her side and bending over in laughter. I roll my eyes at the childish action, jabbing my elbow into her side, trying to sober her. She pushes me off, and I shake my head, turning back to Presley.