As I dig through my pockets for money, his gaze narrows on my bottle of vodka.
“You think you need this more than I do?”I lean down.“I sold my soul to the devil for a woman, and I just watched my dad and my brother pull a train on that woman.But that’s a regular Saturday.The unspeakable things I experienced in an outbuilding last year would break your mind.”
He flashes a toothless grin and reaches for the bottle.
“Okay, fine.”I release my grip.“You win.”
He tucks it under his arm, and I continue along the sidewalk.
The small port town hums with the low murmurs of conversations, the occasional growl of a passing engine, and the buzz of streetlights.
For twenty-four years, my world was the Arctic.Harsh.Unrelenting.A place where silence wasn’t peace but survival.
Civilization is strange.Some aspects were easy to adopt.Warm meals don’t taste like freeze-dried fear, and the wolves here wear sweaters, walk on leashes, and don’t try to eat me.
But other things hit me out of nowhere.
Crowds.The sheer number of people, the way they move and crash their voices together in an overwhelming storm of noise, it’s maddening.Terrifying.
Traffic lights and car horns spike my pulse, too.Enclosed spaces like tight hallways and packed rooms squeeze me like a coffin.
Then there are the unexpected things that sneak up.The scent of freshly cut wood reminds me of firewood back home.The twinkle of stars over the island reminds me of the vastness of the hills.Snow collecting in my hair reminds me of those long polar nights.
Nostalgia.It creeps in and knocks the wind out of me.
Pulling a beanie from my back pocket, I shove it on my head.
I like nights like this.When all is quiet, Sitka reminds me of the solitude in the Arctic, but…Not.Amid the glow of passing headlights and random greetings from strangers, I’m learning how to exist in a world that isn’t trying to kill me at every turn.
Burrowing into my leather jacket, I tuck my hands into the pockets and head toward the tattoo shop, eager to start some new sketches.Maybe Sleeping Beauty in an opium den with bruises under her eyes and a needle in her hand.Or Cinderella’s stepsisters holding knives and cutting off their toes to fit into a bloody slipper.
Nothing like a moonlit stroll straight into a dark and twisted fairy tale.
Then, like magic, she appears.
A princess.
A real-life, honest-to-gods princess in a wedding gown runs full speed down the street like she just fled a castle and a life she never wanted.
Layers of white satin billow around her in a shimmering cloud.The harbor lights catch on beads and sequins, making her sparkle like a magical godsdamn fantasy.
Warm.For the first time in my life, I feel warmeverywhere.
The wind plucks long hair from her bejeweled clips, whipping the gilded strands into a glorious tangle.Her huge, pale eyes brim with fear and determination, locking onto the darkness ahead as if she’s chasing, or being chased by, something only she can see.
I stop in my tracks, utterly spellbound.
My first thought?She’s a runaway bride.My second?She’s the closest thing to a real Disney princess I’ve ever seen.My third?I have to follow her.
She moves fast, but I keep pace.My boots echo against the pavement as I trail behind her, curiosity pulling me forward.She doesn’t glance back once, doesn’t hesitate or falter.She’s on a mission.
On the next block, I realize where she’s leading me.
To the tattoo shop.
She throws open the door and vanishes inside.Cautiously, I follow, stepping over the threshold just in time to see her tearing through the place in a fury.She upends chairs, shoves aside furniture, her frantic hands searching, searching…
For what?
