Steady as the Snow Falls(23)

"I saw something about him online, and … it made me curious." She shrugged, looking down at the thick gray carpet.

"I see." She waited, but when Beth said no more, she walked toward the  doorway. "Well, I'm off to the shop. We'll see you next week? Come by  Wednesday night if you can, just to say hi to your brothers and their  families."

"Yeah. I will." Beth paused, looking at the place where a small part of  Harrison was forever entombed. Would she come back here one day, and  only have a magazine photograph and article to remind her of the man? A  fresh set of sorrow flowed to the surface of her eyes.

"Are you coming, Beth?" her mom called from the other room.

"I'll be right up," she whispered, wiping at her eyes.





SEVEN





THE NEXT TWO days began with a text from Harrison, AKA Butt-monkey, as  his contact was designated in her phone, telling her to take the day  off. Thursday she was irritated and didn't respond, but by Friday she  was worried. He had to be fairly okay, since he was able to text her,  but what if he was sick from being out in the cold so much earlier in  the week? Why didn't he want her to come over? Why was she letting it  get to her?

Beth paced around her bedroom with her cell phone in hand, torn between  ignoring him again and driving over to his place. She settled for  plopping down on the bed and sending back a text message.



What's going on? Why do you keep telling me to not come over?



I do not owe you an explanation.



"Pompous assed butt-monkey," she muttered, texting back another message.



You sort of do; I'm being paid to write your book.         

     



 



You'll get paid.



Beth angrily pressed on the keys, sighing heavily as she waited.



That's not the point.



She hit the send button and typed out another text.



Are you okay? At least tell me that. Please.



It was a long, nerve-wracking minute until he responded.



Yes.



Beth blew out a shallow breath of air and let herself fall back onto the  unmade bed. The cell phone dropped from her hand and thumped to the  carpet. She closed her eyes and rubbed her face, exasperation and  concern making her skin flushed and her stomach sick. Her world was  presently lopsided. She shouldn't be at her house-she should be at his.  Beth liked spending time with Harrison. She liked leaving her world to  be a portion of his. Part of her wanted to push him, part of her wanted  to nurture him. All parts of her wanted to see him happy.

"So you'll take the day to try to write. Again. And maybe you'll have better results than the past two days," she told herself.

Beth was on the work schedule at The Lucky Coin tomorrow and Sunday,  therefore, if she wanted enough time to construct the words necessary to  make a story, today was the day. It was a good thing Harrison wasn't  paying her by word count.

But before she could write, she had to get rid of some of her pent up energy.

Putting on a pair of black yoga pants she'd had for years and a yellow  racerback tank top, Beth twisted up her hair in a messy bun and turned  on loud, angry music in the living room. From watching her parents  playfully sing and dance on a daily basis as far back as she could  recall, music and dancing were ingrained in her at an early age, and  Beth needed it. Watching them made her happy as a child, and she wanted  to embrace that joy. Bestow it upon others. Songs broke her, healed her.  Gave her meaning.

Music was power. Music was life.

She stood still and let the song wrap around her, tightening her muscles  until she either had to move or combust. The bass and drums throbbed in  her ears, woke up the dormant side of her that was spontaneous and  carefree-the side she'd repressed for so long she'd forgotten it was  there. The side of her Ozzy never understood, and so she hid it. Beth  felt it stirring while in Harrison's presence, and she unleashed it in  the solitude of her home. She spun around, arms overhead, head flung  back. She turned in a circle until she was dizzy, and her throat was  parched.

Beth felt invincible.

Certain areas of the one-bedroom home were drafty, but as she bounced  around and bobbed her head up and down, Beth quickly worked up a sweat.  She was ablaze. Her pulse moved with the tempo, her heart jumpstarted to  fuel the gasoline of her motions. She was reborn in the music, laughing  at the thought of someone seeing her head banging and doing air kicks.  Beth closed her eyes and sang with System of a Down, grabbing her face  and sinking to her knees.

She was the music.

The song ended, and out of breath and feeling less troubled than she had  in months, Beth stretched out on the floor and waited for her body to  calm. Her heartbeat was in her ears, her pulse streaming through her  veins. She missed dancing. She missed herself. You have her back. Now do  something with her, she told herself, and Beth laughed again.

Beth showered and dressed in purple leggings and a white long-sleeved  top. With an apple and a cup of coffee sitting beside her on the end  table, she opened up her laptop from where she sat on the couch and let  inspiration take her away. It was a new, undiscovered world. Barren.  Cold and empty. But as she wrote, it turned into something. Still dark,  still mostly unknown, but alight with shards of loveliness. They  glistened like mammoth-sized icicles in a frozen cave, twinkles of color  in a white surrounding. It was Harrison's world, and it was strikingly  wonderful, simple as it was.

Images and thoughts of Harrison swirled around her as she typed. The  hours blurred, time was irrelevant, indistinct in the face of the pages  as they grew. Darkness came, and still she composed. At one point, she  made toast with honey. Another time, she put on a sweatshirt to block  out the chill running through her.

She wrote of his dark eyes, and of the weight they seemed to carry. How  his voice was deadly, even while not cruel, because it spoke plainly,  honestly. It was unforgiving. It did not apologize; it meant everything  it said. His inner strength that told his body to suck it up, that he  was not going to be told what he could or could not do. Beth noted his  rapture with music, how the melody pulled and swayed him. He thrummed  with song, even when there was none. It was in his walk, in his voice,  in his eyes.

Harrison was ill, but when she looked at him, she saw a man who acted as if he was immortal.

It was past midnight when she stopped writing, and as Beth shut down the  laptop, her eyes and limbs were heavy. Her breaths left her, shallow  and shaky, and she raised her hands to her face, watching how they  trembled. Beth squeezed them into fists, the appendages stiff and cold.  She was already too close to Harrison, and she wanted to be closer. She  wanted to be flush with him, her heartbeat in sync with his.         

     



 

She went to bed with his black fire eyes licking at her brain and heart.  Harrison was in her head. He governed there. She fell asleep to his  scent wrapped around her in a suffocating embrace, smoky and thick. Beth  dreamed of Harrison, pale and harsh and intense. His mouth was pure  heat as it scorched her skin. Dark with a sickness he couldn't outrun.  It wanted to control him, and he effortlessly controlled her. Beth was  swimming in black, and she inhaled it, knowing it would burn. Wanting to  feel it anyway.





WHEN SHE AWOKE the next morning to singing birds, Beth opened her eyes  and focused on the ceiling. The birds sounded like they were in her  room, or in her mind. Fluttering through her thoughts with their small  but strong wings. She wasn't entirely sure what she'd dreamed the night  before, but she felt drained. Full. Harrison had invaded her existence  while she slumbered and fixed himself deep in her soul.

Something monumental altered in her thoughts during the hours from night  to morning. Beth had unknowingly made a decision, and she felt it in  her bones as she sat up and took in the sunlit room. Beth was changed.  It was a dangerous path, one she should avoid, if for no other reason  than self-preservation. It couldn't end well. It wouldn't end in her  favor. If she was thinking right, it wouldn't even start to have an  ending.

But maybe she wasn't thinking right. Then again, maybe she was.

Beth spent the hours until it was time to work at The Lucky Coin  researching what she could on HIV and if an HIV-positive person could  safely have a sexual relationship with someone who did not have it. Most  sites had the same information, but some went more in depth than  others. She didn't think about the reasoning behind her quest to find  out all she could, only the logistics. Was it possible? What did it  involve?

HIV was transmitted through direct bodily fluids, like blood. Blood  contained the highest concentration of it, followed by semen, vaginal  fluids, and breast milk. Though rare, a pregnant woman could transmit  the disease to her baby, but it was also possible for an HIV-positive  person and an HIV-negative person to have healthy, uninfected children.

Saliva, tears, sweat, feces, and urine did not transfer the disease.