I’d welcome my death.But my father will not grant me this.The deal will be tarnished, the goods spoiled, my purity now sullied.There’s no way my father will believe that nothing happened between Fenrir and me.So, not only will I have cost him money, but I’ll have embarrassed him, brought shame down on our family and him specifically.I won’t be let off lightly.
If he had other children, I’m certain he’d kill me, dispose of me like he’s done so many others who’ve disobeyed him.
So, as I lie here in Fenrir’s strong arms, I wonder what my father will do to me and whether I’d rather face the ghost of this house than endure his wrath.
I haven’t forgotten that feeling of being weightless, of floating above the mattress.And having read my mother’s journal and the things she experienced, I wonder if what happened to her is happening to me.She described the feeling of having someone else in her head.I can’t say that I’ve felt this, but there’ve been the dreams, the horrible, vivid dreams of such terror, such dread, that I wonder now if this is similar to what my mother felt.
Kuchisake-Onna.
And let us not forget the whole reason I’m here in the first place.The threat that was made by the Castros.I was sent here because this was supposed to be the safest place for me—somewhere the bad guys wouldn’t be able to find me.But my father knows where I am.Kuchisake-Onna knows where I am.And I’m sure if the Castros looked hard enough, they’d find me too.
It seems I’m destined for death.
Maybe I’ve always been doomed to die; after all, aren’t we all heading in that same direction?Just some of us quicker than others.
After the first attempt in the pool, I hated Fenrir for saving me.Even now, I wish he hadn’t, and then I wouldn’t be in this predicament, having brought him and Willa along with me.But there’s part of me that wonders if this was fate’s way of giving me one thing—one little box ticked before I reached for the hand of death.
Before I met Fenrir, I’d not felt attraction.I’d not felt the need for another person the way I need him, and I’d have died a virgin—my book boyfriends remaining the only experiences I had with men.But now?Now I know what it feels like to be held, to be kissed, to be touched.And in its cruel way, I wonder if this is worse, knowing what those things feel like and that I will never feel them again.
Is this love?Is what I feel for Fenrir the real deal?I wouldn’t know.But I would certainly like the opportunity to find out.
Someone once said it’s better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.
Right now, I’m not sure if that’s true.
FIFTY-FOUR
HAYAMI
PRESENT
Within twenty minutesof us giving up on resting, Fenrir has thrown his duffel bag into the foyer and tells me he’s going to start clearing the drive because it’ll be the longest and hardest job.
“What can I do?”I ask, needing to keep myself busy so I don’t stop and think about what’s waiting for us when we leave this house—what we’ll be running from, and what, if anything, we’ll be running towards.
“Once you’ve packed, you can start clearing the snow from the Jeep.”Fenrir nods towards the garage.“There’s a scraper and snow shovel in there.And don’t be tempted to pour warm water on the car.It’ll freeze instantly and make the job harder.”
I nod, biting my lip and thrusting my hands inside the sleeves of my top.I’ve dressed with care, layering as much as I can—not just for warmth but so there’s less to pack.My coat isn’t designed for snow.I’ve never paid attention to tog ratings and water-resistant properties before, always buying whatever was in fashion, confident a bodyguard would hold the umbrella or the car would be waiting at the door.But I do own a North Face, bought at university because everyone else wore one, and God bless Nita for packing it.
Fenrir wears his black base layer with a black zip-up jacket, cargo trousers tucked into his boots.He’ll work up quite a sweat when he starts clearing the drive.
When it’s clear neither of us has anything else to say, he edges to the door.Three locks click, and the cold hits me, sharp enough to make my eyes water.
It’s biting fresh, with a zing that makes me feel as if my face is stretched tight against it.The snow has stopped, but the wind still whips through the trees, knocking off the freshly laden snow like tiny avalanches.It’s beautiful, this white world of wonder that looks so fragile, so innocent, yet is just another danger.
As I watch the tiny fragments of snow being blown off the scrawny branches, I can’t help but think of the larger drifts waiting to slide down the mountainside, consuming whatever’s in their path.The whole mountain is a death trap—a beautiful, dazzling death trap.
* * *
Hours slipby in blistering cold, damp feet, and frozen hands.It takes me over an hour to clear the Jeep properly, and then I start helping to clear the rest of the drive, by which point, Fenrir’s been shovelling relentlessly.He’s made progress, and by dusk, we’ve reached the road that leads onto the mountain road.
In all the time we’ve been clearing the drive, we haven’t spoken.
It feels like there’s nothing to say.
The sky is greying, the light from the snow appearing to lose its vitality, a stark reminder that we need to leave before nightfall.
I stop for a breather, leaning against the shovel that feels fused to my hand, my palms raw, blisters threatening to bloom.As I wipe my forehead, I catch the blink of orange lights and the low rumble of an engine.
