Winter Thirst

by Ilia Bera

The teachers asked her to leave the school because of the reputation she carried with her, but Hanna’s foster parents didn’t let her leave. They couldn’t be bothered to find and apply for a new school—they didn’t see the point. Soon enough, the rumours started up—rumours that she was sleeping around—rumours that she killed her own father when his friend from work was visiting.

  Now that students actually believed she was a murderer, they became terribly cruel. The girlfriends of the rumoured flings would spit on Hanna, and they would even beat her up after school, when the teachers had their backs ignorantly turned away.

  For Hanna, life was only getting worse and worse, and there was no light at the end of the tunnel.

  NINETEEN

  stranger in the night

  It was a cold winter night and, as was becoming increasingly more common, Hanna couldn’t sleep. She stared up at the ceiling from her bed, feeling the cold air from the poorly fitted window blowing over her face.

  Zelda, one of the young girls in Hanna’s room woke up and asked Hanna if she could turn on the heat.

  “I can’t,” Hanna explained. “Misses Clarkson told me to stop touching the heat.”

  “Why?” the young girl asked.

  “She says we’re running the bill too high.”

  “What’s a bill?”

  “It’s how much they pay for heating the house.”

  “But I’m cold,” the young girl said.

  “I know—Me too,” Hanna said.

  “When are we going to be adopted?” the girl asked, with tears forming in her eyes. All of the Clarksons’ children were sick of their awful lives.

  Hanna’s heart broke every time the girl cried—knowing that she’d been through a lot in her short life. Like Hanna, her parents were both dead. She was an incredibly tough girl, and unlike most girls her age, it took a lot to make her cry.

  Hanna took the blanket off of her bed and walked over to Zelda. Hanna crawled into bed with the young girl and threw her blanket over Zelda’s, doubling up the coverage and adding some body heat into the mixture.

  “I don’t know,” Hanna said.

  “Why do the Clarksons hate you?” Zelda asked.

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “We should run away.”

  “And go where?”

  “Anywhere.”

  “Maybe,” Hanna said as she thought about it. “If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?”

  “Japan.”

  “Japan?” Hanna asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Why Japan?”

  “I don’t know what’s there,” Zelda said.

  “Why do you want to go somewhere if you don’t know what’s there?”

  “Why would I want to go somewhere that I already know everything?”

  Hanna smiled. “You’re going to be alright, Zelda.”

  “Why don’t you talk?” Zelda asked as she snuggled in close to Hanna.

  “I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”

  “I mean, why don’t you talk around the Clarksons?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t have anything to say.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “You should just say whatever comes to your mind. Then they won’t hate you as much.”

  “I’m afraid that if I say whatever comes to my mind around the Clarksons, they would hate me a lot more.”

  Zelda laughed.

  Hanna sighed. She wrapped her arm around the cold girl, offering up her body heat. “How did we get into this mess?”

  “If my mom could talk to us, she would tell us how to get out of it.”

  “How do you know she can’t?” Hanna asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you ever get that feeling that someone is around even though you’re alone—like a shiver in your heart? I’ve gotten it since I can remember.”

  “Yeah—sometimes I guess.”

  “But you didn’t get it before, right?”

  “No.”

  “That’s your mom talking to you—her spirit.”

  “Like a ghost?” Zelda asked.

  Hanna laughed. “No—Not like a ghost. Not like a scary ghost, anyway.”

  “So my mom is sometimes here?”

  “Your mom is always here—and she sometimes talks to you.”

  “What does she say?” Zelda asked.

  “Only you can hear her—and you have to listen really hard. Sometimes it’s easier to hear what she’s saying when you’re dreaming.”

  “What does your mom say?”

  “When I’m feeling down, she tells me that it gets better and to not worry.”

  “Does it?”

  “Not yet—But I still believe her,” Hanna said.

  “How do you respond?”

  “You don’t need to—she’ll already know your response. Just like she did when she was around.”

  Zelda smiled and snuggled in closer to Hanna’s warmth. “Good night, Hanna,” she said.

  “Good night—sleep tight.”

  Hanna wasn’t lying about the feeling that she told Zelda about—she knew the feeling all too well. As a matter of fact, she was feeling it in her heart during that very conversation.

  Sometimes the feeling was warm, and sometimes it was cold—as if whatever was causing it was happy or sad.

  That night, it was sad—and it got even sadder as Hanna’s eyes began to water.

  She wanted to believe that it would get better—but it was becoming a harder and harder notion to believe. Every time she had a glisten of hope, it only ended up becoming worse.

  “It doesn’t get better you know,” an unfamiliar voice said. The voice was deep, hoarse and inhuman.

  Hanna looked around the room, careful to not wake the freshly sleeping Zelda. “Who’s there?” Hanna whispered.

  “It’s not fair—the things they make you do. You don’t have to take it,” the blood curdling voice whispered.

  In the corner of the room, above the crib of a sleeping baby, were two glowing red eyes. Hanna could just make out the silhouette of the strange intruder.

  He was hunched over, and appeared old, and decrepit. The faint moonlight that bled through the window defined the deep, weathered lines on the assailant’s face. He seemed to just float in place.

  “Go away,” Hanna said. “Leave us alone.”

  Hanna held Zelda closer to her body, gently covering her ear with her hand.

  “I won’t hurt you—I just want to help you. I hate to see you struggle like this.” The creature was strangely articulate.

  “What are you?” Hanna asked.

  “I’m someone who was just like you—someone who wants to see you happy.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I like you.”

  Hanna stared at the strange creature.

  “They’re so cruel to you. The nasty children spit on you. To those terrible foster parents, you’re nothing but a slave. Your teachers treat you like a diseased insect. I’m going to give you something to get back at them.”

  “I don’t want to get back at them. I just want them to stop.”

  “Oh, they’ll stop.” The creature let out a hoarse, throaty laugh. He slowly leaned over the baby crib and reached down. With his long, spider-leg fingers, he stroked the sleeping baby’s head.

  “Leave her alone!” Hanna said sharply.

  “At what point does human life go from being so precious, to being so malignant? At what age does one become a festering cockroach? Have you every wondered that?”

  “What are you going to do to me?”

  “I’m going to give you incredible things, Hanna. Power. Confidence. Protection. You’ll be able to leave here. You’ll be able to return to your home. Do whatever you want.”

  The offer sounded too good to be true. All her life, Hanna had always dreamed of a handout.

  “How?” Hanna asked.

  “Very simply—but you have to want it, of course. D
o you want power, and confidence? Do you want protection?”

  “I told you, I just want to be left alone.”

  “So yes?”

  Hanna stared at the strange creature in her room. “O—Okay,” she said reluctantly.

  The young, naïve Hanna could see the ominous smile of the stranger widen as he began to float closer. Her body was filled with fear and her heart shivered with a cold dread.

  “Just a single sip,” the creature said, reaching out its feeble, pale wrist. Using one of his long, curled sharp fingernails, he cut a vein in his wrist, drawing a trickle of blood. “One, simple sip and everything changes.”

  That night, everything changed…

  Everything.

  TWENTY

  man up

  Andrew’s eyes were fixated on the roof of his quiet bedroom. The silent hum of the baseboard heater was as loud as a revving motorcycle, and the faint light from the alarm clock was as bright as a Broadway stage light.

  No matter how hard he tried, Andrew couldn’t sleep.

  There was only one thing on his mind—one face that refused to let him drift into a peaceful slumber—one voice that endlessly echoed against the inside of his tormented skull…

  Andrew couldn’t stop thinking about Brittany.

  At first, Andrew simply thought Brittany was a nice, cool person. But with every passing day, he was becoming more and more infatuated with her. It didn’t take long for Andrew to like Brittany as more than a friend. It didn’t take long after that for him to develop strong feelings.

  As Andrew stared at that dark bedroom ceiling, he realized his standing had changed yet again—He didn’t just like Brittany.

  He loved Brittany.

  The decision was made when he realized that he felt a strong, overwhelming desire to protect the beautiful young classmate. He cared more about her happiness than his own. He knew that, if he could have her, he would make her the happiest girl on the planet. But he was a realist, and knew that he might not have that luxury. Regardless of whether she was his or not—he wanted what was best for her.

  His mind ran through fantasy scenario after fantasy scenario. He had an incredibly clear image in his mind of him and Brittany together—and it was perfect.

  Andrew sat up in his bed. He knew that Brittany was the kind of girl who wanted to be in a relationship. He also knew that he wasn’t the only guy who liked her—he knew that Kane wasn’t finished trying. If he was going to man up and make a move, he was going to have to call sooner rather than later—knowing that Brittany was currently single.

  He picked up the phone and took a deep breath.

  “You can do it Andrew,” he told himself. “You have nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

  He looked down at his phone and pulled open his contacts.

  “Just do it. Just bite your tongue and do it,” he told himself again.

  He dialled the number and held the phone up to his ear. Then, he waited—and he waited. He took a long, deep breath.

  And then, after a moment—the ringing sound cut off as someone on the other end picked up.

  “Hello?” a female voice said.

  “Hey,” Andrew said.

  “Who is this?”

  “It’s Andrew.”

  “Do you know an Andrew?” the woman asked someone.

  “Yeah,” Andrew heard a faint voice say in the background.

  “One second,” the girl said.

  Andrew waited, nervously tapping his foot while the people on the other end passed off the phone.

  “Hello?” a familiar voice said.

  “Hey—Eric?” Andrew asked.

  “Yeah, man. What’s up?” Eric replied. His voice was groggy as if he’d been woken up.

  “Not a lot. What’s up with you?” Eric asked.

  “Not a lot,” Andrew said.

  There was a silence.

  “Is that what you called to ask?” Eric asked.

  “Um—No,” Andrew said.

  There was another silence.

  “So what did you call to ask Andrew? You know that it’s past two in the morning, right?”

  “Oh—Did I wake you up?” Andrew asked.

  “No—I was out playing a round of tennis—yes, you woke me up.”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “What is it, Andrew? Come out with it.”

  “I need your help,” Andrew said.

  “With what?”

  Andrew nervously tried to gather the courage to ask.

  “Andrew—You have five seconds, then I’m hanging up.”

  “I want to ask a girl out, but I’m scared,” Andrew said.

  “The black girl in your class?”

  “No—I mean Yeah. I don’t know why I said no.”

  “Okay. Why are you so scared?” Eric asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Are you scared that she will hit you? Is she a scary person to you? If so, I don’t recommend asking her out.”

  “No—I’m not scared like that. I’m just…”

  “Scared of rejection?”

  “Just scared,” Andrew said. His face was red and he was anxiously moving his legs as he admitted his flaws. He’d never confessed his fears of expressing his emotions to anyone before.

  “I just don’t understand why you’re scared, dude.”

  “I don’t know. What if she tells me that she doesn’t like me? What if she just goes silent? What if she starts to laugh?”

  “Why would she do any of those things?” Eric asked.

  “I don’t know…” Andrew said awkwardly.

  “Look—The Andrew that I know wouldn’t fall for some dumb bimbo who goes silent when she’s asked a simple yes or no question. He wouldn’t go for a girl who would ever laugh in someone’s face. The Andrew that I know would never settle for anyone less than amazing. Let me ask you this—is she amazing?”

  Andrew was coyly silent for a moment. “Yeah,” he said.

  “And would an amazing girl tell you that she doesn’t like you?”

  “I guess not.”

  “If this is a girl that you picked, and for some weird reason she doesn’t like you—she’s not going to make it awkward or hard on you.”

  “You think so?” Andrew asked.

  “Here, let’s do an exercise to get you thinking straight—Tell me one thing about yourself that you think she might not like.”

  “I’m short.”

  “And tell me one thing about yourself that you think she might like.”

  Andrew thought. “Um—I listen to her. I’m a good listener.”

  “Okay, good—Now—Answer honestly—Do you think that this girl is a superficial enough person to dismiss you because of how many inches you extend from the ground?”

  “I don’t know—No. I guess not.”

  “No, of course not. I know you well enough to know you wouldn’t go for that kind of girl. Besides, if she dismissed you because of that, you wouldn’t want to be with her anyway. Who needs a shallow whore like that?”

  Andrew laughed shyly.

  “And do you think that she might give you a shot, because she knows that you’re a good listener?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Do you see how your negative quality was just a dumb superficial trait, and your positive quality was a real feature?”

  “Yeah—Yeah I guess so,” Andrew said as he thought about it. Eric was right—Brittany was a smart, sensitive person. She knew better than to dwell on superficial attributes. She herself was looking for someone who could look past her own looks—which she just so happened to be self-conscious about as well.

  “Take a minute to think of all your negative qualities, and all of your positive ones—and you’ll see it’s the same thing.

  Andrew bit his lip as he thought hard about what Eric was saying.

  “Look man—I’ve been in long-term relationships. I’ve even been married, as you know.”

  “What?” the female voice asked on the other end. />
  “After a couple of months, you don’t even see physical qualities. It’s like they just disappear. I’ve dated supermodels, and I broke up with them when I started to see them for who they really were. There would be no divorces in Hollywood if all people cared about was looks. Those would be the happiest mother fuckers on the planet, but they aren’t. They’re all miserable people, getting divorced every ten God damned seconds.

  “Some people have the ability to just see through people’s exterior. You are one of those people. And as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been drawn to the same kinds of people. If you like her, then I know that she won’t care about how tall you are. You’re a wicked cool person, you’re funny, you have tons of great stories, and yeah—you’re a good listener. If she’s the kind of girl you think she is—the kind of girl that you want to date—then she will see those qualities. If she’s not, then who cares. Why would you want to be with that kind of girl anyway?”

  “Thanks, man,” Andrew said.

  “No problem. I’m going back to bed now,” Eric said.

  Before Andrew could get another word in, Eric hung up.

  Andrew was pumped up—feeling on top of the world. Eric’s pep talk was a success.

  He looked back down at his phone and located Brittany’s number. He stared at it for a moment.

  “You can do this,” Andrew muttered to himself with confidence.

  He pressed dial and waited.

  He waited and waited, but Brittany didn’t pick up. Instead, her phone redirected him to her answering machine.

  “Hi, you’ve reached Brittany! If it’s important, shoot me a text or leave a message here. Whatever you want,” Brittany’s recorded voice said, followed by a beep.

  “Uh—Hey, Brittany. This is Andrew from class. What’s up? Hope you’re doing all right. I hope that I’m not waking you up, or anything. I was just wondering if maybe—if maybe you wanted to meet up sometime. You can—I don’t know—vent some more, and I’ll be a non-judgemental listener. Or, you know, we could maybe grab a drink or something.

  “But—uh—not like a date. Just as friends,” Andrew said, chickening out. Andrew’s hands were trembling with nerves as he thought of what to say next. He took a deep breath.

  “No—Like a date. I’d like to go out on a date with you,” he said, manning up. “So, um—call me back and let me know. I really like you, Brittany.”