Following the aftermath of dinner with her mother, Winter had indulged in some much-needed introspection. It had finally occurred to her, after more than 16 years of life, that she need not define herself by other's actions. So, while she was on the whole still bothered by her mother's lack of care, she decided that she would put in the effort to not be so bothered.
It was certainly easier said than done, but the distraction that the mix of work, friends, and art brought was enough to keep her mind settled most of the time. However, when she did think about it, her spirits were notably in disrepair.
That's why, while manning the till at Sharpton Rocks midday on a Monday--by far the least busy time of the week--Winter found her mind wandering, and Murdoch found her sighing. He came rounding around the counter, a bundle of cords and harnesses in his arms as a group of climbers waved him off and left the building.
He leaned into Winter's view, jolting her awake from her mindlessness. With a sly smile and quick chuckle at her expression, he asked "Help with some detangling?"
Winter spared a look to the entrance for any incoming customers. She was the only one at the front counter currently, and Murdoch one of only two workers on the floor. When she determined that the front could last a few minutes unmanned, she followed Murdoch into the storage room.
When he flicked on the lights, they both took a moment to behold the sight in front of them: across the whole of the 10ft-by-10ft storage closet was a heap of tangled cord, harnesses and other climbing paraphernalia.
Murdoch, unaffected by the mess, dumped his pile on the floor in front of them and squatted down to begin disentangling the confusion of rope.
"Ronnie always just drops the stuff here when he leads the kids' camp," Murdoch commented as he began feeding a length of red rope through a knot of green rope.
"All in good fun," Winter sighed good-naturedly.
She kneeled beside him and began detangling from the other end until Murdock spoke up.
"You feeling okay?"
"Yeah," Winter hummed absently. She really was now that her mind was occupied.
"Okay," he said softly.
When Winter looked to him, she noted the way his dark eyelashes caught the light as his downcast eyes concentrated on the material in front of him. In the dimness of the storeroom, the bones of his hands contrasted against the deep shadows along his knuckles and tendons as he struggled to undo a knot.
Shuffling over to him, Winter carefully, as if approaching a wild deer, brought her hands to his grasp, grabbing to take the knot in her own hands. Despite allowing her to take over, Murdoch kept his hands decidedly in place, forcing her to maneuver around his hold on the rope. He watched her as she began pulling at the braided cord.
Even the slightest skim of their skin felt hot to the touch, and Winter could feel her cheeks turn red from the heat of it all. Murdoch drank it in, holding back a boyish smirk by ducking his head away from her. It only made Winter's blush deepen as she finished and the freed ropes slinked through their holds and fell to the ground between them.
Yet their hands lingered in the space between them when Murdoch set his hand on one of hers, pinching her small fingers between his and gently resting it between their laps. She watched as he did so, as her fingers turned white at the tips from his firm hold, and felt the buzzing feeling erode her as his hand shifted in hers to intertwine their fingers, entangled much like the rope before.
She returned the gesture, sliding into his grasp and wrapping around until the pads of her fingers met his knuckles, and-
"Hello?" someone called from the front.
Winter jolted onto her feet, holding for only a moment longer to send a mortifyingly coy expression at Murdoch before she attended to the guest. Meanwhile, Murdoch remained, knelt on the floor of the storeroom, surrounded by naught but coils of ropes and harnesses still in need of attention.
It quickly occurred to Winter in the days following her and Murdoch's change of pace that she had unfinished business, and the day to draw it all to conclusion was dawning.
Despite class being out for the summer, a few choice students would find themselves back in the halls of Liberty high for one afternoon in late June to help conduct an open house for incoming freshmen in the fall.
On the day of, Winter woke early to enjoy her walk to school through the first light of the morning as the last bit of night was cast out and the sky took on a beautiful gradient of orange and blue. A scarce few stars flickered away as the sun rose, and it gave her the sense of serenity she needed to steel her resolve for what was to come.
The morning of the event passed by with quick ease, and it could be fairly said that it was a pleasant affair. The wide-eyed, round-faced eighth graders reminded Winter much of herself, and seeing their parents gush with more excitement than even their children riled up in her a sense of warmth rather than coldness. It was a first for her.
When on lunch break, Winter zeroed in on her target as she made for the theatre. Evie, who'd sent a cautious look over shoulder, sped up in an attempt to avoid her impending doom, but Winter made chase.
They zoomed into the theatre, which was now empty while the visitors and staff ate in the cafeteria. As the large metal door clicked closed, Winter called after Evie as she ascended the stage steps.
She sped across the stage with such force that the wall of curtain billowed from the wind left in her trail. Winter picked up her pace but knew it would be futile unless she could grab Evie's attention and force her to a stop.
"I like Murdoch," Winter yelled across the width of the platform.
Evie faltered in her steps, coming to a jerky halt just a few feet from Winter. Her small shoulders bunched around her ears, and it was clear that she was out of breath from the heaving motion they took on.
"Seriously? Are we doing this now, Winter?" she asked in irritation.
There was a hint of seething anger boiling in her usually sweet tone, and it made Winter sick, but she carried on anyway.
"I know- I know it's wrong and self-serving, but I have to tell you. I can't lie to you, it wouldn't be fair to you, and it wouldn't be fair to me. I don't want to run away anymore and hurt people by my own cowardice. I want us to face each other, as equals, in this."
With a swift motion, Evie cocked her head to send a furious look at Winter, her gold locks flowing like silk over her shoulders.
"What, did you practice that speech?" Evie sneered. "And you're right. It's not fair! It's not fair that you get to just swoop in out of nowhere and just- ruin eight years of my work. Eight years of effort. I love Murdoch," she said, anguish spoiling her pretty voice.
"I know-"
"You know, yet you kissed him anyway!"
Winter paused, and in as sincere a way she could, said "I was awful to you-"
"And what's worse is he kissed you back. It took you, what, eight months to get him?" she croaked.
"I wouldn't say I-"
"Oh, spare me, Winter, please! Just cut the bullshit! It's so easy to come here and dump your self-serving crap onto me from your pedestal, isn't it? It's easy to come here and declare, what- some sort of even ground, a battle, when you've already damn well won, haven't you?" she spat.
Evie's bright blue eyes began to sparkle like sad little jewels, her peachy cheeks turning crimson from the strain of her anger. Winter imagined that she was already developing a headache by now from the uncharacteristic scowl on her slight features. It angered Winter to no end, and with that in mind, she stomped forward and pointed an indignant finger at her aggressor.
"And what puts you in a place to say that? Huh? Eight years. What have you been doing for eight years?" she chided provokingly. " I mean, have you ever thought to actually tell Murdoch how you feel?"
Evie's mouth drew open and her face took on a baffled expression, as if she couldn't quite believe that Winter of all people were questioning her.
"I've been obvious-"
"Obvious, my ass. And so what? How can Murdoch act on the mere possibility of you liking him? You've never given him reason to consider you."
"It should come naturally, like it did for you!" she roared.
"Who said? Who dictates that?" Winter asked, but her urging seemed to fall on deaf ears. She took a few slow steps forward, and Evie allowed it. "It's just you, isn't it?"
From this distance, it became clear to Winter that Evie was desperately holding onto her tears and denial. The girl brought a quivering hand and clutched it to her chest as she bore the physical pain of her heartbreak.
"It's too late," she quaked, the vibrato in her voice songlike.
"I'm not forcing you to do anything here, Evie. But what I am saying is that I'm going for it, and I owe it to you, at the very least, to give you a heads up before I do, in case you do want to do something," Winter said gently, but purposefully as she forced herself into Evie's gaze.
"Don't- come closer," Evie demanded, stumbling back a step and sniffling. She crossed her arms protectively over her chest. "I get it. You can leave now."
But Winter stayed a moment longer, watching her own reflection in Evie's swimming eyes and hoping, dreaming, that some semblance of their friendship could be salvaged after everything. Though she knew that was more than a wishful thought; it was self-indulgent and egotistical. She knew that, but for the first time, she doubled down and accepted her own desires.
It wouldn't be until approximately a week later that Evie called Winter over to meet at Stinky's diner for dinner one evening. The sun stalled high in the sky, it's blistering rays cooking the red and white vinyl seats of the diner.
Winter shifted uncomfortably in the squeaky booth to avoid charring her thighs. When Evie finally came around, it was apparent that she'd been crying. It turns out that she really did take Winter's words to heart, or at least consideration, and she confessed to Murdoch.
"So, it's done and over with, if that's what you want," she said with a little bite. She took a moment to collect herself, wiping away a blob of ketchup on the corner of her mouth. Evie sighed.
"But even so, I can't do this, with you I mean. I can't pretend like everything's okay, at least not yet."
"I understand," replied Winter. She employed every mechanism in her to keep from sounding dejected. She knew she was in no position to bargain or beg pity.
It wouldn't be long after that she and Evie would part ways for the indefinite future, and now it was Winter's turn to confess.
***
A new week, a new chapter. Big thanks to those who have been reading weekly and keeping up with Climb! I sense another star being issued sometime soon...