"Salope!"

I slammed the door behind me, hoping to get him off of my back for at least a couple of seconds. Already, I could feel the air being stolen from my lungs by this place . . . by him. Everywhere I looked seemed to be another wall trapping in whatever agony that had hovered in that stupid red room. I needed out.

As I darted for the stairs, I threw his shoes over the ledge, one at a time in separate directions. I didn't note where they fell, instead just continuing my race for the exit of this hell hole.

"C'est de conneraies!"

I ignored the French curse words that were falling me, and caught sight of the big entry doors. I needed to get outside, I needed to taste fresh air, I needed to get away from here. Be anywhere but here, really. I was almost stumbling down the last few steps, before pushing open the doors and stumbling through.

Instantly, the cold reached me. It clawed at my skin, seeping through the very layer of my body, until it had soaked through my entire core in a matter of seconds. But the icy chill was nothing. I ran forward, blindly into the endlessly white world before me. All I could see was snow stretching on wards, falling, for as far as the eye could see. And I ran towards it.

"Bea!" I heard a faint murmur against the roar of the wind.

Why couldn't he leave me alone? Why couldn't the world just leave me be in this horrible misery? I liked the cold misery that my environment was giving me, so why couldn't that be enough for everyone around me?

I could feel the tears blurring my vision, not that it mattered in this endlessly white world where the ability to see was useless. I felt the ground slide beneath my feet and suddenly, with something foreign bursting painfully through the back of my head, I was feeling snow pound on my face. It hurt. It all hurt so much. It always hurt, though.

Sluggishly, I rose to my feet, stumbling forward then again.

"Bea, are you okay?" His voice sounded closer.

"Leave me alone," I snapped, lowly. I knew he could hear me.

"You're bleeding, Bea. You need to come inside with me," he reasoned.

"Go away!" I shouted, now. "Don't you see I belong here?"

I could know hear the thud, thud, thud of his footsteps quickly approaching me. I couldn't move any faster away from him.

His voice was pretty much at my ear now. "Don't say that, do- BEA!"

I could hear him calling my name as the earth snapped underneath my feet, sinking me into something that was much thicker, much colder, and much more sinister than the air. I could feel the water pushing its way into my lungs, feel it pressing into my skin as if it were trying to give me a hug.

I kicked my legs, whipping my arms around, trying to propel myself upward and- oh. The back of my head wailed once more in agony as I crashed into something on top of me. I reached upward, trying to push at it, feeling no movement beneath my fingers whatsoever. I banged against it, trying to peer up but seeing nothing but white above me.

Why was I trying so hard? Wasn't this what I wanted, to let go? To remove all of the misery and heartache from me? Maybe I could finally let it all go, finally not have to feel . . .

*

"Casse-toi," I heard someone murmur.

I could feel the cold air hitting my skin, the icy ground pressed against my back. Above me, some sort of blurry figure sat, but there was too much water in my eyes to properly tell who it was. Maybe if I just closed them a little . . .

"T'es un salaud," he growled.

But I knew it was Claude. I knew it was Claude when he muttered things in French and I knew it was him when he pinched the bridge of my nose. When I felt his lips, so hot, force my own open and push hot air into my mouth. He moved his mouth away from mine, but I could still feel his breath against my cheek. His palms came together on my chest, pumping down several times.

I felt it rise in my throat and pushed him away. As I coughed, the water spurted from my mouth, hitting the snow around us. Claude's hand found its way onto my back, moving in slow circles as all the water in my lungs made its way out of me.

"Va te faire voutre," he told me, when the coughing finally subsided.

I could see him now. His clothes were a darker shade, sticking all crinkled and tight to his skin, his fair hair yanking down on their roots and curling around his face. In a husky voice, I asked, "Wh-what d-d-does that me-mean?"

"Fuck you," he translated.

"Oh."

Now I was starting to feel the cold.

"We need to get inside," he muttered, roughly. "Can you walk?"

"Ye-yeah, I ca-"

Claude evidently wasn't listening to me, as he scooped me up from the ground. His skin, despite being drenched into the water just moments beforehand, was like molten lava against mine. His warmth was too intense to be comfortable.

"You sa-sa-saved me," I murmured.

"You could've died," he replied.

"Is tha-that why y-you did-d it?" I questioned.

"No, that's a fact." His jaw was tight, I could tell. "You weren't responding to CPR at first. I thought I . . . I thought you were dead."

I gulped, pressing my head into the crook of his neck. He may have been hot, but it was comfortable. "H-how long w-w-was I un-under?"

"The water? Maybe five minutes, tops," he informed me.

"Claude?"

"What?"

"Ju-just be-beca-cause you saved m-me, does-doesn't mean y-you get to des-destroy the hor-hor-horcrux," I told him.

I swore I could see the faintest of smiles forming on his lips.

The rest of the trek back to our lousy motel felt like it look all too long and not long enough. The world drifted in and out of vision and, instead, I chose to focus on the little spot of skin where I could see Claude's pulse rise and fall rapidly as he carried me onwards. Before I knew it, he was laying me gently on that stupid heart-shaped bed I hated so much.

"I'm going to run the bathtub, I'll be right back," he told me.

Within seconds, I could hear the water rushing. He returned just as speedily.

Claude was looking at me now. His voice was very gentle. "We need to get this soaking clothes of you. Do you think you can do it, or . . . do you need help?"

I reached with my fingers towards the buttons of my plaid shirt, but they were useless. "Hel-help."

His fingers stumbled over the buttons of my shirt and he offered me an apologetic smile as he worked to undo them. Once it was off, he gently removed the material from my shoulders, taking care not to stare at my black bra underneath (but his cheeks were red, so I knew he noticed). My jeans came off much faster and, once I was left in my undergarments, he picked me up again to take me into the bathroom,

Claude carefully dipped me into the water. The hot water splashed agaisnt my skin and, instantly, I yelped. My skin stung and I dug my nails into Claude's sleeve. His hands remained on my hips, which was how he had placed me in, letting me cling onto his sleeve.

"You're okay," he said, gently. "You're gonna be fine."

"You . . ." I started, slowly. I could still feel the cold impacting my ability to speak. "You sh-should com-come in, too. You wer-were in the w-water as well and a-are al-also at r-risk for fro-fros-frosbite."

Claude's eyes met mine, uncertainty ringing in them. "B-Bea?"

I realized he was asking for my permission.

"G-get in here," I ordered.

He stood up, carefully releasing both my hold on him and his hold on me. I looked away and felt my cheeks warm. We hadn't done anything naughty. Hell, I had only known the guy for maybe twelve hours. Yet he knew more about me than most people did and the possibility of seeing his body made me feel so . . .

The next thing I knew, he was climbing into the water with me. I could see that he had his boxers on, but that was about it. The rest was what seemed like an endless expanse of pale skin, dotted with hair, and-

"Do y-you have a ta-tattoo?" I questioned.

His cheeks became red. "Yes."

"What doe-does it s-say?"

"Mu-mutant a-and Proud," he informed me, settling down across from me. His legs framed mine, but since he was so tall, his toes were brushing against my waist.

"Isn-isn't that f-from X-Men?" I inquired.

"Maybe."

"Why that?"

"It's be-because I . . . I'm dif-different, but I-I li-like that ab-about me. I'm pr-proud of it," he told me. "Ju-just like the mut-mutants in X-Men."

"You're sappy, you know that?" I retorted.

There was that whisper of a smile again. The promise of one threatening to stretch across his lips. It was like the smile of Mona Lisa, prominent enough to be real yet not so exaggerated as to be showing proper emotion. Yet making him smile like that made me feel proud, too, in a way.

And so we just sat there for a while.

*

Hey Reader!

Notice: am I allowed to be proud of me for how fast I updated? I know it's a bit of a short one, but . . . hey, it was intense, right? I know it was pretty dramatic, but I really liked this scene the dynamic that's forming between Claude and Bea. Let me know what you think in the comments! Please. I only have like 7 comments on this story in all, and I'd like to hear some feedback, please. Thanks for reading.

Love Your Favorite Liar <3