@elizabeth-bright
You could never quite forget where you were— the mountain had long since frozen over; the tarn was black glass and the pines were dark against the fresh powder. Pearl sunk down onto the thick trunk of a long since felled tree. She bit at the corner of her thumb, watching those clustered closer to the bonfire. The fire painted their faces in orange and gold, and they turned towards it like worshippers. It was a sinister look, flashes of red splashed onto the canvas, mouths open wide to laugh, teeth bared. She was a little drunk, enough champagne swallowed back that her eyes were sleepy, a muted green half veiled behind her lashes.
Her heart beat like a clock, her fingers tapping out the beat of the music. Peter sat beside her, hoodie pulled up as he stared forward. He smelled like sweet skunk when he had returned the first time, an ear bud still in place and his eyes glazed over and red. He was suffering, but in silence. He practically winced at every shot tossed back after the same declaration, for Freds, rest in peace man! Lacing her fingers between his, Pearl gave his hand a light squeeze. Look at me, she begged. Maybe she could say something, maybe she could do something— she could play her best attempt at comfort, she’d try for him. He stood, giving her a small smile, his hand pulling away from hers.
“I’m going to get a drink. Want anything?”
She nodded, returning his smile. It faded incrementally as he walked away, like he was a smudge of grey returning to shadow. Her gaze swept across the scene, settling on someone sitting back like herself. A shock of red hair, soft eyes. She thought of Peter. “Lizzie!” Pearl called, waving her over. They’d been friends once, Peter and Lizzie and Fred, maybe they couldn’t be a trio again but the two of them— they could help each other, couldn’t they?
