Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
The cold is biting, a relentless chill that seems to seep right into my bones. The room’s silence is only interrupted by my own uneven breathing.
I’ve been screaming for what feels like hours, my throat raw, begging for a nurse, pleading for the bathroom.
But no one comes for me.
No one hears me.
No one cares.
Then, the inevitable happens. I can’t hold it in any longer, and I feel the warm wetness spread beneath me, between my cold thighs, contrasting so sharply with the room’s chill.
A few minutes later, the hatch in the door springs open, letting light flood the room, stinging my eyes before it gets closed again.
The door creaks open, and now the blinding light from the corridor momentarily stuns me.
A nurse steps in, her face twisted in disgust. Without a word, she dumps a bucket of icy water over me, making me gasp, the shock of the cold water taking my breath away.
She sneers. “It’s your own fault for pissing yourself. Crazy girl, you could have called out for someone! I’m not going to clean that shit.” Then she’s gone, leaving the door slightly open, letting an even colder draft of air in.
Tied to this bed, all I can do is shiver uncontrollably.
Why?
I knew this was going to end badly.
Why didn’t I tell him to fuck off?
I would never have landed in this godforsaken place if I’d just told him to leave me alone.
The cold amplifies every negative thought, every fear, every regret. I try to focus on something warm, something comforting.
My own little house, with a garden where I can plant herbs. A fireplace within it, warming a whole living room furnished with big, comfortable couches. A warm body beneath me, pulling me close and kissing my forehead. Whispering lovely things in my ear.
A home.
My teeth are chattering so much that it jolts me out of my thoughts.
The cold is all-consuming.
It’s as if it’s seeping deeper into me, making my limbs heavy and numb. Every breath is like inhaling shards of ice.
Will I ever feel warmth again?
Or will the cold be the last thing I ever feel?
My body is trembling from the chill that has seeped into every corner of my old van when I wake with a start. I can see my breath in the dimly lit interior, and my heart sinks as I realize the heater has gone silent. The only sound is the radio playing a soft tune.
Pushing aside the blanket, I sit up and rub my arms vigorously, trying to generate some warmth. The van’s windows are frosted over, and the fairy lights flicker weakly as if mocking my predicament.
With a heavy sigh, I reach over and try to adjust the heater’s controls, but there’s no response, just the eerie silence of mechanical failure. Panic starts to creep in as I realize that it’s not just a sputter or a hiccup this time. The old heater has given up on me completely.
Pulling on a hoodie to shield myself from the biting temperature, I grab the flashlight I use for nightly bathroom breaks off the floor and open the van’s side door. Even colder air greets me outside, so I step out and quickly close the door again to keep the fraction of warmth inside.
It’s still dark, with only the streetlamps illuminated around me. None of the houses lining the street have a light on.
I open the back of the van, my fingers numb as I fumble around for the tools I keep stashed beneath the bed. Then, I hurry to get back inside and close the door behind me, not quite sure if the temperature outside or the creepy stillness gave me goose bumps all over.
Gritting my teeth, I unplug the heater and remove the cover to peer inside. I wish I had more light, but the weak glow of the fairy lights and the old flashlight is all I have to work with. I examine the wires and connections, my breath coming out in white puffs.
A sinking feeling grows in the pit of my stomach. It’s not just a minor issue. The cables are burned and scorched beyond repair. Tears well up in my eyes, and I feel completely defeated.
That’s it.
I’m stranded without a heater or a way to move the van for a longer distance. Nearly as bad as living on the street. The closest thing I have to a home is falling apart, piece by piece, making it more impossible to live inside day by day.
I collapse back against the side of the bed, my tools clattering to the floor. Tears stream down my face as despair takes hold. I scream into the empty space, not caring if anyone outside hears me.
“Why?” I cry out, my voice cracking with anguish. “What have I done to deserve this? I just wanted to keep my promise to bring her here and finally be able to move on. Why is the universe out to get me? Why does everything I touch turn to dust?”
Mom was right. I am bad luck.
The echoes of my desperate words bounce off the van’s walls, a haunting reminder of my loneliness. I bury my face in my hands, the weight of my situation crushing me as I sob uncontrollably in the bitter cold of the van.
“Nan,” I whisper, but just like the last hundred times I have whispered her name, the only thing that answers me is the deafening silence.
I’m a fucking creep.
A pervert.
I’m leaning against the van in the parking lot, watching Sloan stretch after her morning run.
I just popped in. No idea how much time went by since I felt the pull while chilling with Nash on the couch, watching a poetry slam video.
Boring as fuck, but better than just not being. I would have rather been with her.
Choosing where I am is not always an option.
It’s not like I would spend my time with any of the dickheads if it was.
I would be right where I am now. Watching those long legs stretch, those toned arms reach up to the sky, pushing out her chest, her nipples hard and visible through her tight jacket, probably from the cold, which is something I can’t feel anymore.
It’s still early, the morning frost covering everything, and the fact I can see her breath coming out of those perfect pouty lips I would die again for just one kiss, tells me it is fucking cold.
“You’re doing it again,” she states, not even looking my way.
I scramble to stand straight. “I’m not doing anything,” I mutter.
If I were alive, my face would be as red as a tomato.
Caught red-handed.
“You were staring, Casper,” she accuses as she stops stretching, looking over at me with an amused look, the corner of her lip slightly turning upward.
“I was. Because if you were a fruit, you’d be a fineapple.” I wiggle my brows, trying to cover my awkwardness with humor.
She lets out a laugh, and my heart beats faster.
She laughed because of me.
Every time I watch her when she’s not actively talking with me or anyone, she looks pained, like she’s suffering, only holding it back in front of people, putting on a mask. A genuine laugh is rare with her.
“If you were a potato, you’d be a sweet potato,” she counters with a mischievous glint in her eyes, and I nearly fall backward from the pure joy that she’s playing along, laughing hard.
“Of course, you’d call me a potato.” I chuckle, taking a step closer to her.
“Hey, I said sweet potato, that’s much better.” She shrugs, pulling on her hair tie to fasten her ponytail, her delicate neck looking so inviting.
What I would do to kiss her there.
“It’s not.” I huff out a laugh. “That is the least flattering compliment ever.”
“But it’s a compliment.” She points her finger at my nose, and I’m just about to lean in and bite it when I remember I can’t.
Fuck me, I hate being dead.
She shivers, putting her arms around herself and stroking her upper arms. “Why is it so damn cold? It’s September, for fuck’s sake.”
“Welcome to Lubec. It’s not usual, but snow in September is also not impossible. And it looks like this fall is going to be a cold one.”
“Just perfect,” she mutters, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.
“Come on, let’s get you inside,” I urge, nodding toward the van.
She lets out a sarcastic snort. “Sure, but that’s not gonna help the matter,” she mumbles while opening the side door to the van and getting in.
I’m confused until I don’t hear the hum of the heater that was always so loud, and I see how the windows of the van are all white from the moisture that froze on them.
“What happened?” I ask, frowning at her.
“Van-essa is trying to kill me. And since I haven’t driven her anywhere so she could spontaneously go up in flames, she decided freezing me to death would be a good alternative.
” I give her my best don’t fuck with me look, then she takes a deep breath and lets her shoulders fall.
“The heater gave out. Seems like there was a short circuit, and the cables burned.”
“Fuck, that shit could have caught the whole thing on fire.” I stare at her with wide eyes, but she just shrugs, looking down at her feet as if that wouldn’t be the worst that could happen.
Nope, not going to slide.
“Why don’t you sleep in the restaurant for a while? I bet you could get that mattress in there and make yourself at home in the kitchen or the bathrooms.”
She lets out a forced laugh. “Not going to happen. Tally is already doing enough for me. And I don’t think having homeless people staying in the restaurant overnight would fly with the health department.”
“Okay, I see your point. Then we need a new heater,” I muse, thinking about where we could buy one around here.
Now she laughs for real. “Sure, are you going to buy it for me? Because I think I have around fifty dollars left, and a heater would be at least three hundred, maybe half if I find a used one.”
I feel a pang of guilt. We never had to think twice about money.
I mean, sure, our parents taught us to be responsible with it and not buy unnecessary shit, but if I wanted or needed something, we just went and bought it.
“Okay,” I start, not quite sure how to ask this. “So, what’s the plan? What do we do?”
“I am going to wash up over the sink, and then I’m going to work for Satan, also known as your brother, to maybe earn some money if he doesn’t fire me before that can happen,” she declares while grabbing some clothes and her toiletry bag.
I follow her out of the van and through the restaurant’s back door, but when we enter the women’s restroom, I stand with my face to the wall, giving her some sort of privacy. I’m thinking hard about whether I have some money lying around anywhere.
Maybe in my old room at our house?
My parents couldn’t bring themselves to get rid of my stuff, and neither could the guys.
Hunter goes in there from time to time, dusting off my photographs and stuff before just sitting on the edge of my bed, looking around, and breathing deeply.
I’m always there when he does, sitting beside him and laying a hand on his shoulder.
But I don’t think he has ever noticed anything.
I miss him just as much, even when I’m the one who can still see him.
I picture my room in my mind, going over where I put what, but it was a long time ago. Maybe my wallet is still in my desk drawer. I think there should still be at least a hundred in it. I always put the wallet there when I went to work, right beside my poker cards.
Wait a minute.
“Slo,” I blurt out, turning around, having had an idea, only to find her topless. She squeals, pulling her arms over her chest. I put my hands over my eyes, but, well, they're see-through, so I turn back to face the wall, not before catching a glimpse of her beautiful pink nipples.
Fuck, who would have known a ghost could get hard as a rock?
I mean, I watched the final moments of her night with Nash, and I already knew she was stunning. I’ll never get the image of her riding dick out of my head.
But she was a stranger then.
Now she’s... her.
“I-I’m so sorry,” I splutter, but all I hear is a loud laugh from behind me.
“Of course, you’re sorry,” she mutters sarcastically. “I’m dressed. You can turn around.” I do, biting my lips sheepishly. But when I meet her gaze, there’s amusement and a hint of heat in her eyes. “What did you want to tell me?” she asks, smiling.
“I know how we can get you some money.”