Page 108 of The One

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Every stem.

Every petal.

A hand was holding mine. I could feel the dryness of their skin.

But I was too cold to know if they were as freezing as me or if their warmth couldn’t soothe my chill.

On the other side, an arm was looped through mine. I felt fabric instead of skin. Thick, stiff, uncomfortable material.

And there were words—spoken by a man, in an attempt to fill my ears.

But I heard nothing he said.

I wanted him to be quiet.

I wanted … to forget.

I wanted the hand and the arm off me.

I wanted out of my skin.

I wanted out of this body.

I wanted to stop feeling so cold.

I pulled my fingers away from the hand that held them and wiggled my arm free.

I was on my own.

Alone.

Still cold.

Still unbelievably numb.

My legs were loose. Unstable. The earth was moving, and so was I.

My knees hit the grass.

I felt nothing.

There was a gasp, followed by, “Oh, honey,” that didn’t come from me.

Hands were suddenly on my shoulder. Under my armpits. On my back.

I waved them away. “Leave me alone.” And when that didn’t make the hands retreat, I added, “Don’t touch me.”

I couldn’t hear myself.

I couldn’t remember the words I’d just spoken.

I didn’t care if there was a single set of eyes on me.

I was so cold.

The grass stuck to my palms as I lifted my hands and lowered them, inching forward, the pointy toes of my heels pushing against the mud.

The murmuring around me sounded like raindrops hitting a windshield.

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