Page 28 of Falling For Alaska

I should’ve known better. Warmth doesn’t last. Soon enough, the ice will come back and reduce any remnants of fire that used to exist. It happened once; it can happen again. The road blurs as I keep driving, the lines on the pavement dissolving into the shadows of the trees. My breathing is shallow, the air closing in. I pull over, the tires crunching on the gravel shoulder. The silence out here is suffocating, pressing against my temple, robbing me of the solace of solitude.

I shut the engine off and rest my forehead against the wheel, my fingers still gripping it so tightly they ache. The scars on my knuckles throb, and I glance down at them, at the faint lines crisscrossing my skin. I fight the urge to scream, to let it out, but the sound gets trapped in my chest, turning into a ragged sob. My whole body shakes as the tears come, hot and unrelenting. The ice cracks in my memory, and I see it, hear it, the muffled cries, the deafening splits of my flesh. My stomach twists, and I force myself to take a breath, but it doesn’t help. I press a trembling hand to my face, wiping away the tears. I betrayed myself today, allowing the possibility of Jack to take me away. Curling my hand into a fist, I press it against my thigh, but the ache doesn’t go away.

What will I do now that Jack brought me back to the living?

Six Years Ago

A Few Hours After the Incident

Is someone talking to me?

“Alaska, can you hear me?” A masculine voice breaks through the haze. “Somebody get me another blanket, she’s shaking!” He shouts at the door, his voice rising in urgency. I stare at the cold concrete floor, my legs curled up on the chair. Where am I? Police station? Hospital? My mind is splintering, caught between memory and reality.

Did someone touch my fingers? Did they notice the blood? The harsh glow of the neon lights burns my eyes as I blink, and when I glance down, I see dark red stains clinging to my fingernails. A hand rests on my shoulder, but I recoil instinctively.

“Shit, sorry,” the man mutters. “Laska, it’s me. Jared. Can you hear me?” His voice is cautious, almost pleading. I know that name. Don’t I? “You’re in shock, Laska,” he says softly, as if afraid I’ll break even more. “But we need to know what happened. Even if it’s hard, we need to know everything you saw. Anything you remember? If someone’s out there… If someone hurt you…” His voice wavers. “Please, talk to me. I promise, once we’ve got your statement, you can go home and rest. Be with your family.” I let out a brittle, hollow laugh. “We need to know if it was an accident, Alaska. Did someone push-” I open my mouth, trying to speak, but my words are tangled, stuck somewhere between my chest and throat.

“I’m…” The words barely escape my lips, fragile and broken. “I’m not… here anymore.”

“What?” Jared leans closer, “Laska, course you are. You’re alive. You’re gonna get through this. Accidents happen. You will-” My gaze drops to my hands. The fresh stitches standing out, stark black lines across my knuckles. The maddest idea takes root, curling like a weed through the wreckage of my thoughts.

I need them.

I need the scars.

They don’t have the right to heal because I won’t. No one can take them away from me. This is my punishment and my burden to carry. I take a deep breath and count.

One.

Two.

Three.

I dig my nails into the stitches, clawing them out as pain blooms and blood beads fresh across my skin. The agony doesn’t matter.

“No, stop! Alaska, stop!” the man yells, his hands fumbling to grab mine. “HELP! We need help here!” His voice cracks, and suddenly, more footsteps rush into the room. Hands grab at me, prying my arms away. I thrash against them, screaming words that don’t make sense even to me, as the sound of ice shattering echoes through my skull, haunting me. Someone finally snaps, muttering under their breath, “Fucking nuts,” as zip ties cinch tight around my wrists, binding them to the arms of the cold metal chair. It doesn’t matter what they think, what they call me. Nothing matters anymore. Because I died out there too. They don’t know that, though. How could they? They didn’t see it. When the ice wouldn’t give way, I swore I felt our hearts stop at the same time.

I promised myself, in those frozen moments, that I would live for what’s left of me. A hollow, half-life that I will drag out until it’s done. I’ll keep breathing, but only so I never forget how much it hurts.

And if this is what being crazy looks like, maybe I’m okay with that.

Chapter Eleven

JACK

Jack, 7 years old

“Again, darling.”

“M-Mom…” I mumble, looking down at my bed. The dinosaurs on my blanket stare back at me. Mom sits in front of me, smiling the way she does when she wants me to try again.

“Come on, Jack,” she says, her hands on my cheeks. “You can do this. Just one more time, okay?”

“It d-d-doesn’t w-w-work,” I complain. The word breaks in the middle, and it makes my eyes sting.

“It will, honey,” she says. “You just have to keep trying.” She’s wearing Dad’s sweater, the blue one. He’d always give it to her when she was cold. Her eyes are shiny now. I don’t like it. Mom’s so pretty when she smiles.

“I…I m-miss d-d-dad.”