Falling in Snow

I have one more month before I finish college, and honestly, I don’t know how to feel about it. Yes, I’m excited to get a good job and earn good money, but on the other hand, I feel like I’m getting old. Yes, I know that 23 isn’t old, but still...

The ringtone of my phone pulls me out of my thoughts.

Since it’s winter, I can’t afford to get distracted, so I pull my white Kia van over to the side of the road to answer my phone.

“Dude, where are you?” My best friend Winston asks in a voice that tells me he needs something.

“About to leave the city, why?” We’re going camping in the mountains to celebrate surviving the chaos named college.

“I need a huge favor.” As I was saying.

“What is it? More booze? I don’t have more money--”

“After I tell you what I need, you’ll wish it would be booze.”

“This doesn’t sound good.” He chuckles, but not wholeheartedly, more like Fuck kind of chuckle.

“You know we all came here yesterday, but you couldn’t, and so, you’re the only one--”

“Winston, spit it out. It can’t be that bad,” I say, exasperated, and he chuckles again.

“I wouldn’t bet my money on it.”

“Winston...” I’m losing my patience.

“You weren’t the only one who couldn’t make it yesterday... Anton had to--”

“Hell to fucking no!” I refuse vehemently, even shaking my head, although he can’t see me.

Anton is my nightmare. That man can step on every fucking single nerve of mine in a minute. I know, record time, right? And, I’m a cool, calm, calculated guy.

“Come on, man. He--”

“He has like a dozen cars, so why can’t he drive?” He’s also a rich bastard, and even if he doesn’t say it out loud, he glares at me with a silent, condescending look that tells me he thinks he’s better than me.

“He’s afraid of driving for so long alone, and in the middle of the winter.” I start laughing, and so does Winston.

“Fucking pussy.”

“Don’t tell him that I told you, man. Andrea asked me not to tell you, but you know I can’t lie to you.” He pleads, but...

“Oh, I’ll tell him, rub it in his face, and mock him from the second he enters the car until the second he gets down.” And I’ll fucking enjoy it.

“Well... fuck. But does this mean you’ll take him?” Jesus H. Christ! Is it really worth being in the same space with him for two hours just to mock him? And a small space, at that.

I mean, the van is big, but I have my sleeping bag and everything else in the back, and I guess he also has some shit, so the only free spot will be in the passenger seat.

“I don’t know, man. I don’t know if it’s worth it. Two hours...” I trail off and sigh heavily, and Winston laughs.

“Who knows, maybe you’ll get to know each other better and become friends.” Winston mocks me in a stupid voice.

“Yeah, I’ll befriend the Devil faster than I’d befriend him. Fucking brat, idiot, stupid fuck, fucking... fine! Send me the address!” I cave after insulting the fucking brat and blowing off some steam, and Winston starts laughing harder than before.

“Yes, very funny indeed. Now stop laughing before I change my mind.” He tries to muffle his laughter, but even through the phone, I hear his chuckles.

“Done. And, Flirt, have fun.” The idiot mocks me again, but before I can throw some blasphemies his way, he hangs up with a burst of loud laughter.

Now, Flirt is my nickname because I flirt all the time and fuck a lot.

My real name is Royal.

I know it sucks, and that’s why I prefer Flirt. My mom said she gave me this special name because of my unique eyes. I believe it’s because she was high on what she was taking at the time.

She was a wonderful mother, but she faced her struggles. She wanted to quit drugs when she found out she was pregnant, but the doctor told her that it would be too dangerous to stop suddenly, so she started treatment, and only after I was born did she become completely clean.

Anyway, I have what normal people who don’t get high daily know as sectoral heterochromia.

My left eye is half ocean blue, with the upper half of my iris being light brown. My right eye is three-quarters a brighter shade of blue, and one-quarter a dark brown, almost black. It’s strange, but guys and women like it, so...

Yes, I’m bisexual, and no, I’m not hiding it.

People describe me as dark, tall, handsome, mysterious, and shit like that. And maybe in some ways I am, but I’m not trying to be. I just don’t like telling everyone my business. As for looks, I love tattoos, and I work part-time at a tattoo parlor. I love black, and I don’t spend an hour styling my hair, so I have this messy bed-head look, which, again, guys and women love.

Now, the arrogant bastard I have to pick up is the exact opposite of me. He’s dressing casually yet elegantly, his hair is medium on the sides and a bit longer on top, combed to the side, and not a single fucking strand of hair is out of place. Never! And it fucking irritates me.

The way he talks, as if everyone should stop whatever they’re doing and listen to him, the way he walks, as if he rules the world, the way he breathes, and the simple fact that he exists on the same planet as me, make me want to kill him.

As I get closer to the mansion where he lives, my blood begins to boil.

“And I haven’t even seen his fucking face.” I groan and take a few deep breaths to calm myself, but how can I when the fucker is on the porch with his arms crossed over his chest, tapping the floor with his foot, and glaring at me through the windshield?

I’m going to have a stroke and die.

“Finally! Don’t you have a clock? Common sense? Manners? You should have been here fifteen minutes ago!” he yells as soon as he opens the passenger door.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness, but I took a small break and contemplated how to kill you and where to bury you,” I say in a very serious and honest voice, and he rolls his eyes.

“Keep dreaming, Flirt. Now help me open this antique car so I can put my luggage in.” So help me God...

Yes, my van isn’t the newest model, but I take care of it, and I bought it because I love camping. It goes against my style, but who gives a fuck?

“I’m pretty sure you can handle it, Sassy.” He hates when I call him like that, which is exactly why I keep calling him that.

He finally manages to open the door and put his luggage inside, then, unfortunately, he sits in the passenger seat and glares at me with his black, devilish eyes.

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that? My name is Anton, so use it, you...” He takes a deep breath to calm himself and not fall into temptation to curse me.

Yeah, he doesn’t curse, either. But rest assured, he makes exceptions for me.

“Not gonna happen,” I deadpan and smirk. It drives him crazy.

“You just can’t take anything seriously, can you?” I see him trying to buckle up, and just for fun, I put the car in drive and press the gas, making him lurch forward and almost hit his head on the dashboard.

“I hate you! Why would you do that?!” he yells, as almost always.

“In hopes that you’d hit it with your mouth, break a few of your pearly perfect teeth, and shut the fuck up,” I answer honestly, and he huffs.

“You’re just jealous that I have perfect pearly teeth.” I roll my eyes and sigh.

One hour and 58 minutes left. You can do it, Flirt.

“I’m perfectly content with my teeth.” My teeth are mostly straight, except for one. My lateral incisor slightly overlaps my canine. But I see it as a nice imperfection.

“Yeah, I bet,” he says sarcastically, and I stop at a priority road sign, even if there’s no traffic, just to glare at him.

“You got in my car four minutes ago. I thought about inhumane ways to torture and then kill you way before that, and with each word, you’re digging your own grave. Shut the fuck up and let’s act like we’re mute for another hour and 56 minutes, okay?” All this time, he looked at me with a completely straight face, giving me the impression that he was listening but also that he didn’t give a fuck.

“I got in this relic of a car four minutes ago. I thought about inhumane ways to torture and kill you since the moment you first opened your mouth and talked four years ago, and with every stupid word that comes out of your stupid mouth, which is all, you’re sharpening the knife. You don’t tell me to shut up. If I want, I’ll talk every second of this one hour and 56 minutes, and if you annoy me, I might just do it.” I’m now killing him with my eyes. I’m burning him to ashes.

“And stop glaring at me with those weird eyes!” He’s the only one who has a problem with my eyes, but then again, he has a problem with everything that regards me.

“God, give me all the patience you have available because if you don’t, I’ll send one sassy motherfucker your way,” I say while looking up, then turn to glare at him and interrupt his comment, more than willing to bet my life that it’s about to come.

“And don’t even say that at least you’ll go to Heaven. I meant that I’m sending you to him so He can personally hand you over to your brother, Lucifer.” Before he gets a chance to reply, I turn the music up loud and start driving, ignoring the idiot.

I can see him from the corner of my eyes muttering, and I contemplate for a second to punch him, but I’ll bloody my car and he’s not worth it.

Half an hour of silence.

I was doing marvelously. He wasn’t talking, I wasn’t talking, the music was playing, and I was... good. Me and my murderous thoughts.

Perfect.

Until he opened his mouth.

“What are you doing? Where are you going? You should have exited the highway. Why are you--” Good Lord, I think that he’s the only person on the planet who can ask so many questions in the span of two seconds.

“Shut.The.Fuck.Up!” I snap and enunciate every word, making sure that he hears my hatred for him.

As I was saying, I’m a cool guy; I don’t snap at people often. So, when I do, and I use this deep, commanding voice, they get intimidated and shut up.

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” But not Sassy. Nope. I think that even if I were to strangle him, he would still roll his eyes and comment.

“No, but I kissed your girlfriend,” I smirk, and he clenches his square jaw.

“Ex-girlfriend,” he says through gritted teeth, and I chuckle. It’s not funny, but it’s fun watching him boil because I chuckle.

“And why, ex? Is it because of me?” I ask with fake puzzlement, and he glares at me while I give him a genuine satisfied smile.

“Why him, God? Why him? Why me?” he asks in a desperate voice, making me chuckle.

Another ten minutes of silence.

“You missed this exit, too! Can you pay a little more attention, please? I don’t want to get there three days from now!” he snaps in an exasperated voice and throws his hands in the air in frustration.

I’m choosing this alternative route because it’s safer, but I won’t tell him that.

When he sees I don’t bother to answer, he crosses his arms over his chest and looks outside the window.

Does he think that giving me the silent treatment affects me in any way except positively?

Well, I won’t say anything. I’ll enjoy it until it lasts.

“You took a wrong turn, we should have--” It didn’t last long.

“Sassy, stop sassying and be a good little boy and do what you do best. Shut up and look pretty.” I’m not looking at him, but I heard him scoff, and I can bet my life that he’s rolling his eyes.

“I’m not pretty, I’m handsome.” Yes, it would be hypocritical to say he doesn’t look good on the outside. He has a fit body, square jaw, straight shoulders, straight nose, and handsome features, but on the inside, he’s uglier than a damn demon.

And, as bisexual as I am, I don’t find him attractive. His personality is straight-up annoying.

“And modest,” I add sarcastically, and he chuckles. Did I mention that I hate every single sound that comes out of his mouth? No? Well, I do.

“I’m stating facts, Royal. If you understand what that means, good. If not, I can explain it to you.” So help me God and all his angels.

I bite my tongue to avoid snapping and telling him not to call me by my name, but if I do, he’ll realize I hate it, and then he’ll always call me by my name.

It’s not that he doesn’t call me by my name often, because he does, but I think he switches between Flirt and Royal because he hopes one of them will piss me off.

“Thank you for the kind offer, but I would rather have you silent. Forever. And ever,” I say with a level of exasperation I have never felt before, but maybe that’s also because we were never alone, and certainly not so close to each other.

Okay, we were close when we fought and ended up wrestling on the ground, but I don’t think that counts.

A few more minutes of silence pass. I feel like I’m sitting next to a ticking bomb of annoyance. I pray it won’t go off, but I know that’s an impossible task even for God Almighty, so I just wait for the damn thing to explode and give me a heart attack.

“Really? No! You’re taking the wrong turn!” he complains when he sees on his phone that, once again, I take what he thinks is a wrong turn.

“You want to drive? Oh, sorry, you’re afraid to drive on dirt roads in the winter.” I smirk from ear to ear, and he gasps.

“Who told you that?! And I’m not afraid!” He defends himself, but I see right through his bluff.

“No? Okay, then. Come on, drive.” I stop the car, get out, walk to his side, and open the door. Then I lean over him, not giving a shit that I’m suffocating him, unbuckle his seat belt, and, not so gently, I grab his wrist and yank him out of the car.

“ARE YOU INSANE?” His annoying deep voice echoes in the forest, but all I do is smirk.

“And a few other things.” I shrug my shoulders, then get inside the van and wait for him to come and drive.

I’m too pissed off to even care if he crashes the damn car. I just want to see the fear in his eyes and face, see him shaking like a little bitch, then rub it in his face for the rest of his life.

“Well, go on. Drive,” I urge with a smug smirk, and he glares at me, then looks around.

“This is fucking vintage. How--” I lean over, put his foot on the gas pedal, then shift the car into drive, and gesture for him to start driving.

His body is stiff, and he’s gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles are white, while nervously biting his lip.

“Come on, you’re driving at five miles an hour. In this pace, we’ll literally be there in two days.” I lean and push his foot a bit to speed up.

“Don’t do that! Keep your filthy hands to yourself.” He grimaces as if disgusted by me, which he probably is, but I ignore him.

“Oh, God! What do I do? ROYAL! WHAT DO I DO?” The idiot scares the shit out of me, and I follow his panicked gaze to see a rabbit in the middle of the road.

“Keep straight--” I didn’t get to finish. The stupid idiot pulled the steering wheel right, toward a fucking cliff, which, thank God, isn’t very steep but more like a hill.

The car is gradually sliding down the steep hill, and I grip the door handle and seatbelt tightly. The idiot is hanging onto the steering wheel for dear life and yelling like a madman.

We almost overturned a few times, and only God knows how come we didn’t.

The car finally stops with us unharmed. There’s total silence in the car, Sassy is like a statue, looking in front of him as if he’s still looking death in the eyes.

I want to ask if he’s okay, but I don’t really give a shit, so I save my breath because I need it for what truly matters.

“You fucking idiot! You almost got us killed! Don’t you know that no matter what is in front of you, you keep the steering wheel straight? Who gave you your driving license?” I scold him, and to my surprise, he looks at me and stays silent. He looks... scared shitless. Maybe a bit apologetic, too? I can’t be sure because I never saw him look apologetic.

“I fucking hope that you didn’t destroy my car!” I don’t care if he’s scared; I will yell at him as much as I want to.

“Oh, please, this shithole on four wheels was made during the First World War, and it went through the Second too, so it doesn’t cost more than a few hundred dollars.” I can see that he’s still scared; he hasn’t let go of the wheel, his legs are shaking, but he finds it in him to insult me.

How?

Just... how?

“I’m not even gonna comment on that. And instead of insulting my property, I would suggest you change your pants. You pissed yourself.” The idiot looks down quickly, making me laugh.

He truly believed he had pissed himself.

“Fuck you! I hate you! I fucking hate you! Stop fucking laughing!” See? I manage to get the best of him.

I keep laughing, and he keeps cursing at me, then punches my shoulder hard, making me hiss.

The fucker isn’t weak. He’s not as muscular as I am, but he’s not far off.

I punch him back. He hisses.

“Okay, come outside.” He provokes me and steps out of the car, and I follow.

“Sassy, no one is here to stop us, so I would think twice before I would start a fight if I were you.” I can literally see steam rising from his ears, his breath coming out in raging clouds of steam through his flared nostrils, which flare like a bull’s when he’s about to attack. His face is blazing red with anger, and without hesitation, he swings his fist at me, but I dodge and punch him in the side, knocking the breath out of him.

“Need help standing, princess?” He groans both in pain and in anger, stands up straight, launches at me again, and almost hits me.

The thing is, he’s very angry, so he doesn’t think, and I know that. I know all his weaknesses, so I take advantage of them.

I stay calm and block all his hits, and with every missed and blocked punch, he becomes more frustrated. When he’s about to explode, I deflate him with a punch to the gut, knocking the air out of him, and he falls to his knees. With a satisfied smirk, I go and crouch in front of him.

“Are you done, Sassy, or do you want to keep going?” My breath comes out in warm steam while his is not coming in any way whatsoever.

Fuck, it feels good.

“I’ll take the silence as a no. And until you recover, I’ll go and try to find a way out of here.” I grab my jacket from the trunk because it’s fucking freezing, then I leave.

I didn’t go far, maybe ten feet from the car because the snow got pretty deep, higher than my knees, so I can only guess that where we landed is the highest point here.

But I don’t give up hope, no, I keep trying from every angle, but still no luck.

“Fucking fantastic! We’re trapped here. I’m gonna kill Winston for this.” I talk to myself while getting into the car to see if the engine starts.

It doesn’t.

I go outside and open the hood, seeing that the radiator is broken. Not only that, but the snow beneath me is slowly turning black. I guess the oil bath is also fucked up.

Would someone even blame me if I were to kill him? I would give myself an award, but not everyone agrees, so I’ll try not to do it.

“What now?” I close my eyes tightly and clench my jaw so I don’t snap, and make my fantasies come true.

“Now we call someone to come and get us.” I pull out my phone and try to dial Winston, but I have no signal.

“No, this can’t be happening. Do you have a signal? Tell me you do,” I plead without shame, and he looks at his fancy phone and shakes his head.

“No.” Those two letters will be forever embedded in my mind. This word is my damnation.

I frantically move around and keep the phone above my head, climb on top of the car, and pray to everything and anything that’s Holy to catch a single line, but I’m doomed.

Is this my punishment for fucking around? If so, please, God, I promise to become celibate. I’ll never have any sexual interaction of any kind, but please, I’m begging you, give me an out.

Don’t abandon me when I need you the most!

DON’T LET ME HERE ALONE WITH THIS SASSY MOTHERFUCKER!