Alternative Tactics

Ch. 9: Lack of Clothing at Cold Temperatures

I kind of wanted to submerge myself in the undoubtably freezing waters of the lake. Most people wash away with heat, but maybe it'd be easier to numb the pain with cold. I wondered how long I could stay underwater for. I imagined it'd be quiet down there, lots of time to think, but my lungs would be burning with the need for air, the longer I stayed under. A stark contrast to the water temperature, I'm sure. And then I'd emerge, and breathe in the sharp, cold air. Was the air colder than the water? I didn't know. 

One day, I decided, when it wasn't so cold, I'd come back here, and swim in that lake.

This would mean that I'd have to live long enough to do so. 

I was tired. I contemplated going back to bed, but I'd grown accostomed to the feeling of the wind and the frigid air, it was almost nice now. I yawned, debating what to do when there was a knock at the door.

It was quiet, and I paused for a minute, wondering if it was Helena or Cyric. Cyric, I decided, Helena would've knocked loud enough to wake me up, whereas Cyric would've knocked so that I'd only hear it if I was aleady awake. 

I wondered if it made a difference in my answer. 

"Come in," I said quietly. I wasn't even sure he'd hear it, but he did. The door opened enough to reveal Cyric. He was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt but he had nothing on his feet. I looked back out the window. I didn't know what he wanted.

"Hey." He said, I glanced at him.

"Hey." I replied and returned to the window. I couldn't feel my toes anymore. I heard the door close and his footsteps as he came towards me. He leaned his elbows against the window ledge.

"You're gonna fall out the window," He told me. 

"I don't think I care." I responded, thinking about the lake again. I imagined water seaping through my clothing.

"Even if you died?" He asked.

"Maybe that's my intent," I said, shooting him a sarcastic smile. I was kind of mad at him, and at the same time I wasn't. The water glinted off the lake, making it look like a mirror. Cyric leaned forwards, looking down.

"Probably hurt," He commented. I had a sudden awful image of myself drowning in that lake as my clothing saturated with water and dragged me down into the cold darkness, my lungs burning with the need to breathe and then I'd black out, and then I'd be dead. I decided I didn't want to drown. I didn't really want to die in any way right then,  but falling out a window seemed preferable if I had to.

"Is there a reason why you're here?" I asked him. He looked at me and shrugged.

"I thought you might be up. I couldn't sleep either. Figured you might want to talk," Cyric looked like he wanted to be hopeful but knew better. I laughed very quietly.

"I don't think you want to talk about the same things I want to." I told him. He probably didn't. He was prone to changing the subject when he got uncomfortable. And I highly doubted he wanted to talk about everything he kept from me. 

"Try me." He replied, easily boosting himself up onto the window ledge, and leaning against the side opposite me so that we faced one another. He mirrored my positioning, dropping one leg out into the night air, to scrape against the brickwork, and the other bent and pulled to his chest, except he crossed his arms instead of using them to hold onto his knee. 

"Want to explain how in all the conversations we had, knowing who my mom's killer was never came up?" I asked, not looking at him. I looked down at the grass three stories below. It was covered in a layer of frost. 

"I'm sorry, really, I am. But I chose to keep the Hidden away from you while we were dating, and if I had said 'hey, my mom killed yours', not only would I have had to explain why, you probably would've freaked out at me and become super suspicious, you probably would've become distrustful of me too." He said.