The Girl With the Heart of Ice

Chapter Thirty-Three

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I hope you are prepared for a long, agonizing chapter. Let me warn you, there is a lot of grieving, crying, and hurting.

I know you probably won't enjoy this so I'm not going to say anything....

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Chapter Thirty-Three

"Hey," I say to Nate, still trying to rid the tingling feeling from my side.

"Hey," he greets me sadly as my heart pangs in pity and sadness for him. Him and Hilary should really get together since both their loves don't love them back. . . .

"What's wrong," I interrupt my own thoughts and mentally slap myself. Obviously, I already know what's wrong! Stupid! Why did you ask him that?!

"Just the usual," he shrugs, "I really need to learn to cope with this constant pain right here." His brow puckers as he roughly massages the spot where is heart lies.

"Nate," I say softly, "That's not going to help."

He sighs as his gaze moves to his feet, "I know."

"Here," I guide him to a nearby bench by where some mens' leather jackets are hanging up, "Why don't you tell me everything that happened in the past two days."

Nate takes a deep breath and then begins, "Well when we were coming to look for you, I noticed Max being all touchy with Emma and her actually not minding it for once. This of course pissed me off to the ends of the Earth, but it's not like I can do anything about it. She'll only see me as a best friends and nothing more. I made the decision to tell her that right before we entered the cave just in case," he gulps, "You know. . . ."

"Yeah," I respond, "I know. I'm so sorry for getting you all into this mess-"

"Hey," he places a hand on my shoulder, "Look what came out of this. I believe we actually have a chance at beating those old wrinkly asses."

I start laughing, almost forgetting the very long and stressful day ahead of me. Nate and I joke around for a little longer and when he walks away, I realize he didn't finish telling his story. I never figured out what happened before he got to tell Emma about being friends.

I never got to hear his side of the story, and I never will.

It's been a long day since the battle (I would hardly call it that) took place and I think I've cried out all of my fluids.

Now I'm just left feeling numb; nothing. That's never usually good but I could really care less.

I sigh, and get back to staring at my wall, resting my hand on my cheek. Good thing that dumb piece of shit is malnourishing in a stone cellar. I've actually considered walking down to that damned cellar and freezing him more than he already is.

But then I thought, eh, I better not.

After all of that took place, we arrive back home and my father showed us to our own individual rooms, handing us some clothes for the next couple of days. We're supposed to fetch our clothes form the metal tree tomorrow and I'm just too down to even think about. So I haven't. Simple as that.

For the past twenty four all I've done is stare at my wall, throw up once in the toilet, nibble on some food and sip some water occasionally, and sleep.

I'm aware that I probably look like a zombie that just rose from the dead, but as you know, I don't care about anything right now.

I find my eyes start to trace the ceiling patterns on the wall as I think of Torch. Another flashback occurs as I drown myself in my memories.