Chapter 14 Not Just the Chalet Girl to Me
Not Just the Chalet Girl to Me
Knox
My shoes leave deep prints in the fresh powdered snow as I make my way to the half-pipe on the slope behind our house, snowboard over my shoulder.
Within minutes the sky is royal blue, the pink streaks that had followed the sunset gone.
At this time of year, the darkness chases off the day so quickly; it’s like there’s some kind of light switch.
I shouldn’t be here. Not at this time of day when the slope is spookily empty. And especially after having downed countless shots with Wyatt and the girl his sister Camila brought along to the party. I have no idea where my own date is. I should probably go look for her, but…
I can’t help myself. I love the quiet that envelops me out on the slope at night.
The cool air takes me in, as if greeting an old friend, and carries me along in a whisper, all the way up the mountainside.
On top, I need to clear my head. I thought I could wipe Paisley’s face from my thoughts by getting hammered.
Instead, it just got worse with every drink, her blue eyes more brilliant in my imagination with every shot.
Outside it’s no better. The color of the sky in its purity makes me think of her, which is driving me crazy, and Paisley…
Whatever she is, she definitely isn’t pure.
The way she acts, the wall she’s built around herself, and then the wounds on her face tell me that she’s probably just as broken as I am.
Maybe even more. And that’s why I’ve got to stop thinking about her.
I’ve got enough of my own shit to carry around.
I can’t afford to lose my head over a girl.
I want to hold no complications. Sex when I want it, no obligations and unnecessary headaches.
One night, and the next day everything’s over.
That’s always worked out well. Sure, there were a few tourists who were persistent and kept on bothering me.
But after their departures and a few desperate Instagram messages, all that passed, too.
Which is why it’s even more important to get Paisley out of my head once and for all.
I stop in front of the half-pipe. It’s both dumb and risky to get on your board drunk, but, truth be told, I don’t give a shit.
I just want to get my head straight. And so I drop my board onto the ground, step into the bindings, and take a few easy jumps to warm up.
Following two simple 720°s, I can feel my pulse starting to increase.
My body wants more. More adrenaline, more risk, more height.
After landing another spin and going down the half-pipe with an air-to-fakie, I get ready to take another jump.
Although I’m definitely not sober, I’ve got the half-pipe clearly in front of me.
Landing difficult jumps always gives me a kick that fills me with ecstasy and makes me forget everything else.
And that’s how it is now. My body is tense, in the perfect position while I focus on the end of the half-pipe and jump at exactly the right moment to pull off a McTwist. The air cuts into my face as I go into the 540°, and for a bit I don’t perceive anything but the twist, the feeling of being free, of lightness, and joy.
My board lands perfectly back on the pipe, and I drift off to the side and come to a stop.
I don’t even gasp. I’m used to even more demanding jumps in training, but the McTwist fills me with satisfaction every time.
It was the first jump my dad ever taught me. The first jump that my mom…
I interrupt the thought before pain can set in and bend down to undo my bindings.
My breath is heavy as I strip the board off my feet and let myself fall backward, my eyes on the sky.
The first stars are beginning to sparkle, one brighter than the other.
Little white clouds form in the air with every exhale.
Although the party is in full swing down the slope, I can’t hear the music up here.
It is absolutely quiet. Aside from my breath, there is no sound at all.
I mostly take advantage of this time of night up here when I want to think.
Or need some quiet. For a second, I think about Wyatt; he lives every party as if a single night without loud noise and a lot of people around would be impossible.
Since Aria’s been gone, as far as Wyatt is concerned, silence means nothing but emptiness and loneliness.
But for me, it isn’t empty. It’s full of answers.
To understand yourself, you just need to know how to listen.
Looking into the stars, my thoughts wander back to Paisley.
How big her eyes grew when she spilled the coffee over my pants and made a great effort to let me know how she felt.
Deep in thought, I pull off my gloves and let the snow trickle through my fingers, without once turning away from the stars.
Today was Paisley’s first day at the resort.
My father put her in the tourist area, which is why our paths didn’t cross, and shortly before she got off, I came up here.
No idea how this all is going to work over the next few weeks.
Avoiding her is going to be tough. Especially because I don’t really know if I want to.
My head is yelling at me to ignore her in order to protect myself.
No figure skaters, Knox. No figure skaters.
But my heart is doing its best to tell me otherwise.
There is that strange warmth I feel when I think about her features.
How she lifts her pointy chin every time she wants to assert herself.
I breathe out and push myself back up. There’s no point being out here any longer. Sooner or later, Wyatt and the others are going to wonder where the hell I’ve been, and I’ll have to be able to give them an answer why I went out on the half-pipe alone, in the dark.
The closer I get to the resort, the louder the music grows. There are so many people behind the windows, and I don’t know half of them. Most of them are tourists. I run my hand through my hair, wiping out the snow. If Dad knew that I went out without my helmet, he’d kill me.
Wyatt is sitting in the whirlpool with the girl his sister dragged along.
The sunken lights highlight his heated cheeks.
His arms are stretched out behind his head, and he’s running one of his hands through the brunette’s hair.
I’d bet my snowboard that he gets her into bed.
Wyatt was always extroverted and into parties, but ever since the thing between him and Aria went down the tubes, he’s been an outright sex addict.
No idea if that’s his way of trying to forget her. We don’t talk about our feelings.
I decide to make my way around the house and go through the garage in order to avoid any unnecessary attention.
Getting out of my snowboard clothing and pulling off my boots, I pray that Paisley is already in her room and that for the rest of the night I won’t have to be aware of her.
I curse myself for not having talked Dad out of hiring her.
No idea what is going on with me. It’s that warmth in my stomach driving my actions again; my head is on stand-by apparently.
I hear shouting coming from the living room.
It sounds like people cheering someone on.
Closing the door behind me I consider how much more I can drink to forget Paisley and yet still be halfway passable at training tomorrow.
Then I discover the reason for all the uproar: Camila is up on our pool table doing a striptease.
The guys, more than half of whom no doubt have ladies back at home, are giving her dollar bills. She takes them, smiling seductively.
Suddenly, I hear a voice next to me. “Actually, I couldn’t care less…”
Seeing it’s Paisley, I flinch. Good thing right at this moment the bass goes all the way up in the song that’s playing, and she can read my response as somehow related.
Watching Camila slink out of her jean skirt, Paisley’s expression is both disgusted and sympathetic. “But shouldn’t someone stop her? There’s no way she realizes what she’s doing anymore.”
Paisley is carrying a tray of empty glasses and something undefinable in her hands.
I think it’s a pile of paper towels full of…
vomit? Oh, God, yeah. She is actually carrying around someone else’s vomit.
Her blond bun looks disheveled, and strands have come loose to hang limply in her face.
There are dark shadows beneath her eyes.
“Camila knows perfectly well what she’s doing,” I reply, my eyes focused on Wyatt’s little sister.
“Ah.” Paisley wrinkles her nose. “So why is she doing this?”
I shrug. “No idea. For the attention? The money?”
“The money? She lives in Aspen. I’m sure her folks have mounds of cash.”
“Wyatt and Camila don’t have any parents anymore,” I say without thinking and could kick myself. That kind of information doesn’t have anything to do with Paisley.
Her eyes grow wide as they move from Camila out through the panoramic windows where Wyatt is getting out of the hot tub. “What happened?” she asks softly.
I lean back against the sideboard. For a moment, I hesitate to tell her, but then decide to do it anyway, she could learn about it from Gwen if she wanted to.
“On a hike out on Snowmass Mountain, their dad was hit by an avalanche. Their mom died a few years ago from cervical cancer.”
“God.” Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the hairs on Paisley’s arm standing up. “That’s horrible.” She looks at me. “Where do the two of them live?”