The song for this entire is 'Running to the Sea by

Röyksopp & Susanne Sundfør'.

The cover picture is made by Nanite / Nanasity from tumblr. Thank you very much!


Her bare body was like marble in the moonlight, glowing alabaster and the only thing in my room that was beautiful and right.

My hand went to her back, stroking against her silky skin, and I was onyx against her in the dark.

We were two entirely different people but she made me whole and complete.

"Ymir," her voice gasped from the dark with a fluttery laugh.

I felt my lips part, my teeth hitting the air as I chuckled, skimming my hand down her sensitive and ticklish sides.

"Krista," I taunted her and I felt her perpetually warm hands against my face, caressing all who I was.

She knew everything of me.

She loved me to my core—never asked me to change an aspect of myself in return for her adoration.

I loved her so much more than I thought I'd ever be able to care for someone.

"Ah," she removed her hand, replacing it with a gentle kiss as she sat up, pressing her back against the wall.

Her hair was now in the celestial light—it was starlight like those plucked from the Heavens by angels themselves.

She was so beautiful.

"Ymir, can you give me the bottle of water and my pills?" She asked.

I propped myself up by my elbows, reaching to the cluttered nightstand full of old cigarette packages—I had to get rid of those. I quit about a month or two ago?—until I felt the jingle of medication and the crunch of plastic followed by the slosh of liquids.

"Here," I popped open the lid, counting out her dosage, and carefully distributed them into her open palms, "you're starting to run out…I will go buy some more from Connie."

Her parents were religious cunts, refusing to give her medication or address that she had medical needs.

"Thanks Ymir." Her voice was quiet.

She didn't like the idea that I had to buy it off the streets, but I wanted her happy—I wanted her to feel comfortable and healthy…

She was my girl.

And I'd do anything for my girl.

"Soon, my lease will be up," I heard her gulp down the water. I took it from her when she was done and put it back, "and…we can finally get a place together… away from your parents… I'm applying for that promotion, too…and then I can pay for your medication. Legally."

My arms sought her out, outstretched, waiting for her to crawl into my naked lap.

I could hear her smile as she came over, letting me cradle her close to my body, rocking her and kissing her forehead over and over.

"I know," she said, touching my face, making me pull my lips down to hers and we kissed over and over until she had her nose against mine, rubbing them together affectionately.

It made me feel like I was under the warmest, softest blanket, safe by a fire, watching snow fall outside into perfect, white blankets.

She made me feel like I had a reason to belong.

No pill ever made me feel this way.

"Je t'aime," she whispered into the heat of our breathing, kissing me.

I returned them with a dazing laziness, deep under the spell of her foreign tongue.

"I love you, too, Krista," I gave.

I surrendered my body and soul and heart to her again.

And again.

Way into the midnight as the stars and planets sailed as lost voyages against the ocean of the sky, I submitted to the love of my life.

Heaven wasn't a dream or place beyond death—it was death by her loving hands and knowing that bliss was being awake with her.

.

.

.

The dream was always the same every night.

I dreamt of her over and over—all our moments I held dear as if they were yesterday.

I was a slave to my own madness.

I woke up to torrents of icy rivers in my veins and brain—threatening to drown me. I felt a void in my stomach and the constant chewing behind my eyes to find something to stop it.

She had been gone for two years.

Dead.

But every night was the same slow bittersweet torment of our last night together—the night where I should've told her to stay at my apartment instead.

To tell her to ignore her parents incessant calls and just fuck them and spend the night with me.

I should've stopped her.

I should've held her tighter—it was my fault.

I sat up in my bed.

It was cold and quiet.

Pitch black.

No sign of life except the deep whiff of dirty clothes, the rot of three week old garbage and the pungent smell of cartons and cartons of chain smoking.

It was like she never existed.

It was just a dream of someone I made up—Krista Reiss.

She was all in my head.

I got up, walking to my bathroom.

My brain wasn't registering. It was frozen on the aching loneliness of not feeling her against my body—it made me try to remember her face but it was foreign.

I had long hid pictures of her deep inside the dresser in my closet.

In the still full drawer of her clothing that had long lost their scent against my tears and pillowcase until they became one with the smell of my own pathetic existence.

I opened the mirror cabinet.

A plethora of pill bottles—all labeled with scotch tape as 'sell' or 'buy more' and 'mine'.

I opened my personal one, dumping out what I thought was necessary to burn the dream out of my head and downed them without water.

I couldn't drink water with the dream of her drinking water.

It hurt too much to replicate what was loss.

Even if it was something as simple as being in the same bed… seeing the same night sky… drinking water… or ever considering that I could be fine.

I took out my supply after putting mine away, stuffing them in my bag.

I just got a full case of Adderall and Ritalin a few months ago. I kept them in storage until Finals were coming up at the local community colleges and universities-sold them okay at the community colleges, but the real bank was at the big universities with the kids who were pre-med and needing that extra edge to get by.

Hopefully I could sell all my supply before the end of the month and be able to pay my rent and shit for two months.

The landlord had been getting on my ass over stupid shit like smell.

I didn't even bother with brushing my hair down, tottering through the short hall and snatching an almost empty packet of cigs from the counter, heading out into the cold afternoon, ready to catch the bus to the coffee shop near the university where all the smart students would be trying to refuel their fried brains with gallons of caffeine.

In that state of stupidity and raw hopelessness over pleasing rich mommy and daddy I could sell them for high prices.

Easy as taking a shit.

Just like that, I could feel myself ease into the shoes I wore ever since—a tired, careless drug dealer that lived from payment to payment, day to day high and drunk off my fucking ass.

It was a shitty life but one I'd rather take than slipping back into my own.

I was stepping right out the door when my stomach growled and the hunger pains hit again.

"Fuck," I slammed the door shut just to piss off the guy next door—every night I had hear him fucking his girlfriend with her obnoxious screaming.

Fuck him in particu—fuck. My arm went to my stomach and I felt my face tighten.

When was the last time I ate?

Five days ago?

Nothing ever sounded good.

It was all like sawdust and gruel in my mouth. It just never tasted right.

But my stomach kept protesting despite how tightly I clutched it.

Fuck. Fine.

Food.

Get food before I head out.

What could I get?

There was the Shari's down the street that Kri—no.

Oh.

A Fro-Yo that Krista and I always loved to go after the—ah.

None of that was good.

I could just go to the shitty supermarket nearby and grab whatever grimy sandwiches they half-assed.

Yeah.

That'd be fine.

I set off down the street, estimating I had about fifteen minutes to kill at this time of day—everyone was about getting out of the last of their classes and the evening traffic rush would start. The bus would be late like always.

I tightened my hold on my bag as I made my way to the doors, shouldering them open and walking to their grubby deli selection.

Half of it looked like there could be a rat in it or some sort of fucking disease.

I glanced over at the cashier—some lard of a man, hunkered over a computer behind bullet-proof glass. His large, cheeto-covered fingers dug deep into his own butt crack, itching and the pulling out.

He even sniffed his fingers.

Yeah.

Fuck that.

I ain't going to get no dick cheese sandwich.

My hunger was immediately gone.

Why the fuck was I in this shitty little gas sta—

"Ymir?"

That voice.

No.

I already began to walk away, pretending I didn't hear a thing.

"Ymir, it's really you," I felt my shoulder grasped—my whole stomach flew into my throat as I whipped around, causing her hand to slip from it.

"What?" I asked, irritated, pretending I didn't know her.

"It is you!" She smiled—fuck.

No, no, no, no—

"Ymir," she smiled, blonde locks falling into her face as she was placing a flower crown on my head, "wake up, you look like a hobo."

That smile was the same as Krista's.

"It's me—Freida, Freida Reiss, I'm —'s sister!"

Her face, her eyes, her everything—it was Krista's.

It was hers.

I felt my breath stifle and the hair on my back grew stiff—it felt like static was shocking me in every vulnerable spot.

"Hey," it came out easy because after all this time pretending to be okay came easy.

But I didn't afford her a smile.

"You do remember! You're almost like how I remember you!" She gave me a hug and she smelled like flowers and the sun.

I pulled away just as soon as we made contact.

"Yeah, it was good to see you, but I have stuff to do—"

"On Thanksgiving eve? Nonsense!" She brought me back by taking hold of my hand.

"I was just gassing up my car before heading to dinner at the old cabin! Why don't you come with me? I could use the company! Oh, I'd love to hear how've you been!" She smiled but I felt forced.

So fake and in denial.

As if she hadn't avoided me ever since the day her sister died.

As if her family didn't blame me for her death.

Hypocritical bitch.

"Nah. I don't really like Thanksgiving—goes against my whole culture and heritage thing…" It was a lie but white people didn't get that.

Everyone was so sensitive about that shit these days I could get away with murder by saying it was for my ancestors.

I would quote myself on that.

"Oh! You're such a dweeb! I remember when you told that to —! She was so afraid she offended you!" Freida wasn't giving up.

She always had that pyscho older sister vibe—the kind where they were kind as angels but that smile held grim consequences if you didn't politely obey them.

"Look, alright," I whipped my hand out of her grasp, "I get it… whatever… it's fine… we don't have to do this… don't have to do this for… for her sake."

It felt empty.

Like a rotten shell.

Freida stared at me and her eyes went down—staring at our feet.

She looked defeated but she grabbed my wrist regardless with that same determination.

"No…please, Ymir… do this for me at least." She whispered and I didn't know what that could ever mean.

The weight of my pill-filled backpack reminded me I had to get shit done and earn cash.

But the guilt that was building in my stomach told me that Krista would want me to at least do one last favor for Freida—they were always close.

Too close to where Freida took it upon herself to include my shitty fucking self in Thanksgiving—the day Krista died.

But I gave in.

It was easy this way—to fall back into that quiet unresponsive state that was familiar. Just like all those nights and days and evenings and weeks spent staring at the side of my bed against the wall where Krista was always safe.

Where she should've been that night.

Safe.

Alive.

Warm and breathing.

I felt my shoulders drop and I gave Freida a weak nod because that's all I could do, feeling my mind go backwards in time, falling off the cliff and watching every moment I agonized over in my head—Krista, Krista, Krista.

"I'm so glad," she said under her breath and we both were upset.

I had my reasons but I didn't know hers.

Maybe we were the same—clinging onto what little Krista left us after she passed.

She went to her parked car outside the small gas grocer-gas station.

And we drove off to the cabin I also tried to forget—an hour out of town at Forty-Nine Degrees North.

The place Krista would always bring our old crew to for a weekend of snowboarding and alcoholic eggnog at her family's 'cabin'. It was more like a big rustic mansion than anything.

Full of good memories that were coming back from the graves of what little happiness I had lingering in me.

"Have you seen any good movies lately?" Freida asked as she turned off the street, heading north of Spokane.

"A few zombie ones."

"Well, zombies are in these days."

-x-x-x-

We got there as it got dark—the whole mountain was groaning and pissed off as a storm was picking up in the distance.

It was fucking freezing.

I brought my coat closer to me as Freida gave the keys to the valet—a fucking valet at their rarely used vacation home.

Which, in itself, rose a question—why the fuck was she having her Thanksgiving dinner here?

Why not her house on the South Hill?

"I always loved it up here! It's refreshing!" She exhaled happily and I didn't even bother to keep up the small talk as we went up the stone stairs and inside the luxurious cabin.

It was already warm with a fire and the smell of turkey—oh God.

Wait.

That was fucking deer meat.

My stomach was now painfully rolling and stabbing into my sides as I gritted my teeth.

Loudly, it growled to be recognized and taken care of.

"Oh, yeah, I knew you'd like deer meat," she laughed.

Wait, she knew?

Oh, fuck me.

She meant to get me in the first place.

But fucking why?

I was starting to get the feeling I should get fucking home.

"You know what," I stayed by the door, "I kind of have other things I forgot about that I need to do."

"Oh! Do them tomorrow!"

"I have a night job."

"Oh, pish-posh. I will pay for whatever hours you missed!"

"I'm already in trouble with my boss."

"I will pay double and you can work here!"

It was a tiny bit tempting but no.

"Freida, I appreciate this and all but I really got shit to do. I can't just fucking miss work—it'd, uh, look bad."

"Oh, you're here only for dinner! I will bring you back afterwards," she relented a little, rolling her eyes.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw movement.

I looked to see the servants bringing out a large, satin white cloth followed by platter and platter of food—was this just for us two?

I—

"No. Fuck no. Are they coming?!"

"…Ymir, Thanksigiving dinner is a family thing…"

"No, fuck you and fuck them! I ain't staying here!" I growled at her.

I wasn't going to fucking sit next to those sociopathic liars who manipulated Krista all her life.

I didn't even want to fucking look at their rich pasty faces and think that those were the same fucking expressions they gave to Krista when the doctor diagnosed her with bipolar disorder and they refused to treat it.

"Ymir—"

"No. Bring me back. Now."

"Ymir! They're going to be late! You can sit in the other room if they arrive!"

"Fuck you! You fucking knew what you were doing! You were always like this—you fucking crazy bitch!"

"Ymir, for Pete's sake, listen!"

A phone went off.

"Ugh," Freida put a waiting finger up to me as she answered the call.

"Hello?"

I heard something open behind me.

I bristled.

"Freida, dear, we're here early! It's good to—Y-Y-Ymir, what're you doing here?" Rod gasped.

His quiet wife was right by his side as I turned around, glaring.

"Oh! Dear…we… well, we weren't expecting you!" They played coy as if we were long lost friends as they smiled weakly.

As if they ever cared for me—I could see it in their icy fucking eyes how much they were displeased.

"An emergency?" Freida hissed into her phone.

"I need to go back right now? I'm having Thanksgiving dinner with my family…"

"Ymir, um, how about you go freshen up?"

"Yes, Ymir-dear, go freshen up! You look like you had a long day!"

"Yes, quite!"

I was ready to spit profanities.

But I stopped.

I felt my heart get stabbed over and over.

My brain froze over as I felt like it dried up in its hollow tomb.

Everything drained from me.

Behind them came Krista, staring with the same beautiful aquamarine I had missed and the same flaxen hair I always dreamed of touching again.

It was her.

Really her.

Tears were there that I couldn't hold back.

"—?" It came out of my mouth.

Her name.

Krista stared but then she glared.

"Is this Ymir?" She seethed and I snapped out of my daze at the venomous tone she used.

"The same Ymir that killed my sister?"

Her sister?

What?

I didn't have time to recover as tears were rolling down my face as the girl before me sneered, walking up to me.

"I finally meet you and here I expected something better," she whispered coldly to me, "you look like trash."

Over and over my heart throbbed pathetically.

My stomach clenched and heaved, threatening to vomit but I had nothing to give.

Nothing.

"Oh, what? Did my sister fail to mention me?" She glared further.

Krista.

"I'm Historia Reiss, her twin sister," she walked past me towards Freida, angry at her sister for even inviting me to their home, "and I wish you were dead."

I wished I was dead.