Drea

Chapter fourteen: Cyan

Sweat beads on my forehead and runs down my face in rivulets into the cove of my neck.
'Why am I sweating?' I think in a bit of a daze.
I'm in the middle of Alaska, with no fire and a broken leg, heck there's even a blizzard outside. I should be huddled in my sleeping bag with a running nose and blue lips, not sweating like I'm in a dessert in the middle of summer.
I slowly scoot over to the little opening where snow seeps through from the blizzard outside. They tumble over each other like they're racing.
A little bubble of hysterical laughter escapes my lips, it kinda looks like they're little bugs trying to escape the cold, which is ironic since they're what's causing the temperature drop.
My smile fades as a picture of Naomi comes to my mind and I scramble for something else to think about. Anything else.
Uhh.... I wonder what it would be like to be a snowflake?
It's random but better than the alternative.
So what would it be like to be a snowflake?
To float around in the white abyss, knowing that each speck of white you pass is feeling the exact same misery as you. Being doomed to eternal cold and when summer finally rolls around and it's the little snowflakes time to finally disappear, the sun will beat down on it until it melts into no more than a tiny droplet of water.
I wrinkle my nose. Just a bit to depressing.
I grab a handful of snow and dump it on my forehead.
The frosty snow instantly cools me down and I sigh in temporary relief. I never in my life thought I'd be grateful for a handful of snow.
I try to sit up, but blood rushes to my head and dizziness takes over causing me to collapse back down and hit my head on the stone wall of the cave.

I lie on the ground blinking black spots out of my vision.
I want to cry.
I'm so lonely, I even started thinking about what it was like to be a snowflake. I mean seriously, a snowflake.
Thoughts fill my head. Thoughts I've been pushing away and not allowing myself to dwell on. Sweet, beautiful thoughts mixed with guilt and sadness.
Naomi Evans. My girlfriend..... If you can even call her that.
She's pretty and smart and Sweet and comes from a wealthy, Christian family. She's damn near perfect.
We've been dating for almost seven months and it's been nice, but I seriously don't know why she bothers with me.
I'm not Christian and I'm not romantic, I hardly make an effort to even call her. Frankly I'm a dick.
If I told her all of this, she would say something sweet like, "Well at least you can admit your faults", or "You're a good guy Cy, you're just a little rough around the edges."
I feel guilty every single time I see her perfect face because I know the reason I don't make an effort for her and it's the most dickish reason imaginable. It's because I know I won't get anything in return..... and by anything I mean sex.
Even if I spent my whole weeks worth of salary on her and only her, I wouldn't get more than a tiny peck on the lips.
I squeeze my eyes shut and groan in shame as I think about my loving girlfriend and what I did to her.
I deserve to die for what I did to her.
I looked her right in the eye as she told me she loved me for the first time and I told her I loved her back, knowing fully well that I had slept with Maddison Martell just the night before.
Maddison Martell the whore of Trenton, the girl who's probably slept with every guy at my old high school and then some others after that.
I thought about telling her, but I know it would destroy her. I can see in her eyes that she loves me and this would crush her innocent heart into a thousand tiny pieces, at least that's what I tell myself, because I think the truth is that I'm just a coward.

I don't know if it's possible but I seem to be sweating even more than before.
I take three deep breaths and sit up, leaning heavily on the wall as I wait for the black spots to fade. My heart is beating so fast, almost three beats per second.
I must be getting sick. A fever maybe?
I shimmy out of the sleeping bag and unwrap the blood crusted bandage from around my leg and let the sticks fall to the ground.
My wound is angry red and what looks like dark, spidery veins curl out from the wound, splaying out like a cobweb.
I swallow a mouthful of saliva and bile as I battle the nausea threatening my already empty stomach.
Blood poisoning.
I may not know much about life threatening medical issues, but I do know blood poisoning when I see it.
I want to yell, I want to scream, I want to bang my head against the wall, instead I nod like I'm accepting it (I haven't accepted it) and lean my head on the cave wall in silent resignation.