You're Melting.

Trigger Warning: Suggestions of abuse, death and mental health.

A whirl of snow chased Becca as she burst through the thick door. She slammed it with a backward kick and darted forward across the cabin, making a direct line for the fireplace. Biting the padded gloves from her hands, she flicked them to the ground and presented her icy fingers to the flames. She panted and sniffed, puffing out cold air from her lungs with intermingled groans. She wriggled her tingling fingers, the heat of the roaring fire slowly bringing them back to life. Closing her eyes, she paused, finally getting control of her breathing, and settling her agitation. Time fell away; the darkness and the warmth becoming the only things that mattered.

“You’re melting.” Her father grumbled.

Becca jumped so hard that she squealed. Her eyes snapped open and the room narrowed back into being. He wasn’t supposed to be there.

“Sorry, Daddy. I’ll clean up. Promise. So cold. Just need a minute.” She whispered once her heels touched back to the floor.

A biting wind howled over the roof. The battering of soft snowflakes against the windows appeared like a harmless feathering of cotton. Having just been out in it, Becca knew its kind aesthetic was a lie. The absolute darkness of an unhindered night blanketed all but the fluffy shards from view. Once she confirmed her body was still alive and not forever turned to ice, she shed her hat and wet jacket, keeping her padded under-layers in place. Then Becca curled up in the armchair opposite the old man’s and basked in the warmth of the dying wood.

“You’ve been crying.” He observed.

“What? No…I promise...I haven’t. Probably just red from the storm.”

“Hmm.” He said, before pointing at a pot of tea that warmed by the fireside.

Becca sighed in ecstasy at the first sip of the hot brew. The wait while she poured his first had been excruciating. Her hands squeezed the hot, clay mug and every touch of it to her lips warmed her frozen core. She had to fight her eyes from trying to close. No matter how long the day had been, sleep was only for bed, that was the rule.

“I know you hate it here.” Her father suddenly said, making her choke and splutter on the drink.

“...I’ve never said that…” She croaked.

“Still. You hate the darkness, then the endless light and of course the cold. You hate the work and the people. You hate the food and the isolation. Most of all, you hate me. That’s a lot of hate to suffer, all for a little money.”

“A lot of money…” she muttered.

Enough money…

She refrained from arguing or commenting any further. Her internal alarm was sounding. It was a dangerous conversation, and it was the right time to say little.

“Maybe it’s not worth it, for a girl your age. Most teenagers are out with their friends, partying, exploring and graduating. Being happy. Maybe you should just go home. Escape and finally be normal. You’ll be old enough to choose a path for yourself next year anyway. You could leave me here, under the ice and snow. You’d be free…”

Becca paused her indulgence of hot tea and warm fire, scanning her father's face closely. This wasn’t his usual anger. There was no frustration or accusation behind his eyes. No hardening of his brows. He was…contemplative. Questioning. Like a wolf, begging to be petted. Waiting to bite.

“I’d always choose to be with you,” She lied. “Anyway...the mines don’t rotate out staff for another six months. By then we’ll be leaving together. I don’t love Alaska, but I never expected to. You told me I wouldn’t, and you were right. Serving up cafeteria food after home studies, for an endless stream of rough old miners, is hardly a dream come true. Oh! Sorry Daddy…I didn’t mean that! They’re all good men! It's just, like you said, it's not high school. It's…different…that’s all. Not bad! I understand why you brought us here. I know what the money will do for our future. I know you’re looking after us. Thank you, Daddy.”

“You don’t need to lie any more.” He said, shifting in his seat to look directly at her.

Becca flinched and placed her bare feet flat on the floor. She should have stopped talking. Why did she babble on like that? Nervous or not, she should know by now how to mind her tongue better. Her body ached, wanting immediately to run, even though she knew there was nowhere else to go.

Ignoring the clamping of her toes against the icy floorboards, Becca forced her expression calm. She knew the sound of her heart hammering could only be sensed by her own ears, and the subtle quickening of her breath would be under control in a moment, but still, she could never quite conquer that instinct to flee.

“I would never lie to you. I know better than that.” She said, dropping her eyes to fixate on a knot in the wood.

“I know. Sweetheart.” Her father hummed, “You’ve never been able to keep a secret from me. Your feeble attempts at lies were always quickly found out, with a little persuasion, hm? No, I’m not accusing you of lying to me.”

“Then wha-”

“You know, I remember when you tried telling me it was the neighbour's boy that broke the kitchen window! Back in Utah? Ha! As if I would have believed that!” He laughed, “That spineless twerp wouldn’t have dared. You though, you always dared to push me. Never doing as you were told. Always thinking you could do whatever you wanted and get away with it. Once your mother left, we soon put that to rights, didn’t we?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Becca whispered, wrapping her arms around her chest, pressing her fingers tight against the healed rib bone that lumped the skin, “I learned well how to act appropriately.”

“At least up here there’s no one for you to blame your behaviour on. Nothing and no-one to hide behind. Just you and the truth. With me and the snow, here to make you face it.”

Becca’s eyes had crept upward while he spoke. When they reached his face and he uttered the word snow, something shifted. All colour bled from his skin to a stark white and the stubble of his chin, dark hair and eyebrows all froze stiff. His eyes went dark. Then she blinked, and the sight was gone.

“What’s wrong? Remembered something you want to get off your chest?” He asked, staring daggers into her eyes, but using that same, surreal and calm tone.

“No, Daddy. I’ve been behaving. This time away from everything has been good for me. It was a smart choice that you made, to take this job. Here, why don’t I make you a fresh pot. I’ll get your slippers too.” She said, slinking from her chair and retreating to the corner of the open room, toward the tiny excuse for a kitchen. She rinsed the pot and set it with new leaves. As she chewed her lip, waiting for it to refill, she noticed the clock. It was late. Far later than seemed right.

“Where were you tonight?” Her father asked, reading her mind.

Her legs jolted, trying to force a reaction from her. She stilled them by will alone and forced a smile on her face.

“I was working the dinner shift for the men. With us leaving next season, I need to get as many extra hours in as possible. Make the money while we are here. Like you told me to.” She answered, knowing it for the truth, but having no explanation for the lost hours since.

“Run late, did it?” He inevitably asked.

“I guess so...” Becca smiled wider.

She set the tea by the fire and placed her father's slippers next to his chair. As she tip-toed across the room to grab her own, he spoke to her back.

“You don’t need to lie anymore.”

Becca, standing at the shoe rack by the front door, pressed her palm against the wood. There was nowhere else to go. Yet, when she heard his heavy feet drop onto the boards. When the vibrations of his steps resounded through to her own feet, her body begged her to run. Always it worked against her. Never obeying what her mind knew was necessary to survive. But she was tired. So very tired of the mask, the eggshells and the fear. She didn’t have an answer for him, and he would demand the truth. Becca gave into weakness for only a moment, but it was enough that her body took the chance, grabbed for her coat, tore the door open and ran out into the freezing night.

Becca sprinted across the hard packed snow. The constant barrage from above had formed solid layers of concrete, not the powdery stuff you might imagine. It made sense. Nothing could endure such constant assault without hardening. Still, it stabbed at the soft of her bare feet like she was running on knives. She pulled on her jacket without slowing, zipping it up and slamming her hands into her armpits. Her fear was too great to care that there was nowhere safe to go. Nowhere warm. Nowhere close. No-one who would help. He had made it that way. Still, her body would not let her stop. Her mind was blank, and her instincts were doing all the decision making. Her breath was short and fast. Her eyes darting. Her throat, closed. She ran on, coming to the thick ice of the lake and not hesitating for a moment before hurtling out onto the glass of its surface. She made for the fishing cabin. Simply because it was the only thing in sight that wasn’t white. It was where he had so often spent his weekends. The place that had given her the only peace from him she could claim. Stopping too quickly as she approached, she slipped and skid on her knees across the ice. Her feet were burning, the skin afire with cold, pain to the point of no feeling at all. Her hands scraped as they kept her face from the rough surface and as she looked down through the clear window of frozen water…she laughed. Hysterical, she cackled, until it turned to sobs, and then smile painted tears. Her father stared back up at her. White. Dark eyed in the shadows of the night. Hair frozen.

“You don’t need to lie anymore,” She found herself whispering. “You could leave him here, under the ice and snow. You’d be free…there’s enough money…”

Becca dragged herself up, shook away the tears and stumbled back toward the cabin on blistering, bleeding feet that she could no longer feel. She swayed over the hushed white, repeating to herself the mantra.

You don’t need to lie anymore. You can be free. Leave him under the ice and snow.

She burst through the door, chased by a whirl of snow and slamming it behind her with her shoulder, then darted forward to the roaring fire. The heat of it was bliss mixed with agony as her feet began to thaw. She closed her eyes and sunk into the warmth and darkness. Time fell away.

“You’re melting.” Her father grumbled.