ice [michael clifford (◕‿◕✿)]

8 (ACTUAL ENDING)

 She turned to me, her icy blue eyes burning holes into my own. "Do you ever just want to jump? Just jump, and hope to God you're able to fly?" She looked over the railing, lifting herself and leaning her body weight on it. I was so temped to grab her back to safety when she touched the ground again, still looking over the frozen lake below us. 

Her question puzzled me, much like everything else she did. To jump, and hope to fly? I opened my mouth to speak when she softly spoke again, looking at me frantically.

"And then," She stepped closer, her head just below my chin, "When you realize you can't fly, it's like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders." She sighed, pulling my ear down to her mouth. "That's when you know you're really free." She whispered. 

I felt her breath on my neck and chills rippled down my spine. The chilling thought of Marcie's desperate pleas for freedom weren't quite normal. Freedom to her meant death. Purposed death; suicide. 

"Marcie, I-I" I started. She released my neck from her cold hold and started walking down the path on the bridge. 

She chuckled, the devilish snicker I had become accoustomed to, and interrupted me. "I guess I have a problem, but it can't be cured, I'm sure of that." I watched her skinny legs make circles down the slope we stood on and followed behind her. I grabbed her wrist to stop her and she snickered again as I spun her around.

"Are you on something? Of course you can be cured, anyone can be cured nowadays." I laughed to myself. She lazily looked at me, a weak smile forming on her lips, making the answer to my first question yes. 

"Yeah, of course, Michael." She laughed again, throwing back her head, then bringing it back up. Her face was closer than ever to mine and she peered into my eyes intently. "But, I don't want to be."