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CHAPTER 3

WINTER

I sit on my bed, pushing my plate aside as my appetite evaporates. It’s been years since we last crossed paths, but his eyes revealed immediate recognition. After all, who else would be stumbling around his kitchen like a ghost from the past?

But why did he look at me like I was the enemy? We were best friends, weren’t we?

His anger had been palpable in the kitchen, his irritation clear as day. The way he looked at me, with that cold, almost contemptuous gaze, had been like a knife twisting in my gut. It was as if my very presence in his space was enough to incite his rage.

I’m lost in these unsettling thoughts when the bedroom door suddenly slams open. Zion stands in the doorway, swaying slightly, his red-rimmed eyes reflecting a mix of fury and confusion. His appearance, though, only amplifies the disquiet I felt earlier. The way he looked at me then, with such clear disdain, had only deepened my sense of foreboding.

“Zion! What's wrong?” I stammer, my voice trembling with a mix of confusion and fear.

His eyes roam over my face, lingering far too long on my lips. His hunger is palpable, a shiver of dread coursing through me as I sense the threat hanging in the air.

“Your existence—” he hisses,

Before I can react, he strides across the room with unsteady movements. He grabs me by the waist, his grip unyielding and possessive.

“Why did you come here, Snowflake? You’re not wanted here.” His voice is harsh and slurred. His breath is hot and moist against my neck, mingling with the sharp scent of alcohol. The warmth of his body presses me against the bedroom wall, trapping me. The nickname he uses,

Snowflake is laced with a slur that betrays his lack of control.

Despite the anger burning in his eyes, the feel of his breath against my neck sends an involuntary shiver down my spine. His nose brushes against my skin as he inhales deeply, the blend of his alcohol-laden breath and my scent creating a disorienting haze.

I try to turn away, but his hands slam onto the wall beside me, pinning me in place. His gaze locks onto mine with a commanding intensity.

“Look at me,” he demands, his voice stern yet carrying an unsettling edge.

“Zion, what are you doing?” I ask, struggling to break free from his grasp. His eyes rove over my face, lingering too long on my lips, his hunger sending a chill of dread through me.

“You’ve been on my mind constantly like a fucking thorn in my side for a long time,” he spits out, his voice dripping with venom.

“What... what do you mean?” I stammer, my voice trembling.

“Always with the lies. You know exactly what the fuck I’m talking about

“I don’t—” I start to say, but he cuts me off by pressing his hand over my mouth.

“Let me be clear: I’m not your fucking friend anymore. Stay out of my way if you know what’s best for you. Do you understand!”

I nod quickly, and he slowly removes his hand from my mouth. I nervously swipe at my dry lips.

His face contorted into an unreadable expression before he abruptly pushed away from me. He creates a clear gap between us, his movements are jerky and disjointed.

Without another word, he strides toward the door. As he pauses in the doorway, he casts one final, lingering glance back at me, his eyes holding an unsettling warning that makes me shiver.

Once he’s out of sight, I slide down the wall, my mind a blur and my heart pounding in my chest. What just happened? The encounter leaves me disoriented and shaken, a storm of emotions and unanswered questions swirling in my mind.

The deafening blast of music from across the hall snaps me out of my daze. I’m huddled against the wall, trying to steady my breathing after the jarring encounter with Zion. My mind is a whirlwind of exhaustion from the trip and confusion over Zion’s reaction. I feel like I’m stuck in a strange, disorienting dream.

I rise slowly, every movement feeling heavier than the last. The music’s relentless pounding seeps through the walls, a constant reminder that I’m in a new, alien environment. It’s hard to escape the feeling that I don’t belong here, that I’m just an intruder in this lavish house.

Dragging myself to the bed, I climb in and pull the covers over me, desperately seeking any comfort in the fabric. The music blares on, its rhythms a harsh reminder of my unsettled state. I lie there, staring up at the ceiling, the beats vibrating through the room and mixing with the tumult in my mind. The lavish room around me feels cold and uninviting, and I can’t shake the feeling of isolation. Every beat of the music amplifies my unease, leaving me restless and troubled as I try to make sense of everything.

........

The pounding beat of Zion's music must have rocked me to sleep because, when I next wake, sunlight filters through a crack in the curtains, bathing the room in a soft light. As I freshen up and slip into an old hoodie my gay friend gave meme , as I make my way to the bathroom

Seeking solace in a cup of coffee, I wander through the house.

The entire place is pristine as if no one has ever lived here. Even the mess I made in the kitchen is gone, erased as if I was never here.

I open a cupboard and grab a box of cereal, feeling like a stranger in this immaculate setting.

Dad and Jenny eventually come downstairs, their first stop being the coffee machine. Dad grunts a disinterested "good morning" before shuffling off to his office, absorbed in whatever concerns him.

When Dad initially suggested this arrangement, I was ready to reject it outright. But to my surprise, Mum thought it was a great idea. I’ll have to remember to thank her the next time we talk about pushing this move.

"Are you settling in okay, Winter?" Jenny asks, her smile warm but her eyes distracted.

I nod, at a loss for words.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be here to welcome you myself. I was tied up at the office. At least Zion was here to welcome you."

Oh, he certainly welcomed me alright.

"Anyway, I need to get dressed and head to the office with your dad for some important meetings. Bye for now."

Before I can even manage a reply, she's gone.

Left alone once more, I’m still fiddling with my cereal when I sense a change in the room’s atmosphere. I look up and see him—Zion. His dark hair is dishevelled, dishevelled and bloodshot, framed by dark circles.

"Good Morning," I say, trying to sound casual.

"You're still here, so there's nothing good about this fucking morning!" he mutters bitterly, his eyes narrowing as he starts the coffee machine.

Well, then.

Whatever

Without a word, Zion leaves, his exit as abrupt as his entrance.

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