Chapter 3

3

ALASKA

Let It Snow - Civil Youth

I wake up to the faint sound of snow falling outside the cabin, a soft, almost magical sound that fills the air. The room is dimly lit, the soft glow from the Christmas lights strung across the window creating a warm, inviting ambiance. But as I stretch and let the warmth of the blankets seep into my skin, I can’t shake the weight on my chest.

I glance over at Mark, sprawled out on the bed, his face illuminated by the harsh blue light of his phone. He’s been on that thing since we arrived, scrolling and tapping away, and I can’t help but feel a pang of frustration deep in my gut. This was supposed to be our getaway, a time to reconnect, but all he seems to care about is whatever is happening on that stupid screen.

“Mark,” I say, trying to keep my voice light, though irritation seeps through. “Can you put that down for a second? I’d love to talk about our plans for the day.”

He doesn’t even look up, just mumbles something indistinguishable, his fingers still dancing across the glass. The distance between us feels like an abyss, a gaping hole that I can’t seem to bridge no matter how hard I try. I sigh, throwing the covers off and swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. The chill of the wooden floor sends a shiver up my spine, but I push through it. I need to shake this feeling of isolation.

I head to the small kitchen area, the aroma of coffee brewing in the air. The little cabin is cozy, with a rustic charm that makes me feel warm inside, but I can’t help but think it’s wasted on us. I pour myself a mug, trying to focus on the warmth spreading through my fingers, the steam rising like little spirits in the cool morning air. I take a sip, letting the rich flavor wash over my tongue, but it doesn’t quite cut through the annoyance bubbling inside me.

It’s more than him just being glued to the phone. I can’t shake the feeling that Mark is hiding something from me. The way he glances at his phone, the secretive smirks and chuckles he stifles—it’s all too familiar. I remember the late nights spent waiting for him to come home, the excuses he made that didn’t quite add up. My heart races and my body trembles at the thought, and I feel a familiar unease settle in my stomach.

“Are you going to spend the whole day on that thing?” I call out, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Just a few more minutes,” he replies, his tone dismissive as usual. “I’ll be right there.”

I roll my eyes, but he can’t see me. I know he won’t be right there. He’s never right there. The distance between us isn’t just physical; it feels emotional, too, and I can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy creeping in. Jealous of whatever—or whoever—he’s giving his attention to instead of me.

I finish my coffee and decide to step outside, hoping the cold air will clear my head. I pull on my coat and step out onto the porch, the snow crunching softly underfoot. As I pull my coat tighter around me I glance around, taking in the scene— the cabin nestled in the woods, the bare trees, and the blanket of untouched snow. It’s peaceful, almost too peaceful. A shiver runs down my spine, though I can’t tell if it’s from the cold or something else, something lurking beneath the surface of this calm.

I take a deep breath, my exhale fogging up the air in front of me, and just as I’m about to turn back, the cabin door creaks open behind me. I turn to see Mark stepping out, phone still glued to his hand, as usual. “What are you doing out here?” he asks, not really interested, his eyes flicking from the screen only briefly.

“Just needed some air,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s beautiful out here.”

He nods absentmindedly, his attention already back on whatever’s captivating him online. “Yeah, nice. You ready to go?”

I hesitate, wanting to say something, anything that might spark a real conversation between us. But I know better by now. “Yeah, just—” I pause, glancing around the empty landscape. I swallow my frustration. “I thought maybe we could explore the market more today. Some of the shops were still setting up yesterday, and I’d really like to grab us something nice for dinner.”

“Sure, whatever,” he mutters, barely looking up.

A familiar wave of disappointment washes over me, but I push it aside. This trip was supposed to be special, but instead, it feels like I’m on my own, dragging Mark along as a ghost of what we used to be. “Okay,” I say quietly, forcing a smile. “I’ll go get ready.”

W e walk through the market in town, the snow crunching beneath our feet. The air is filled with the smell of cinnamon and roasted chestnuts when we weave through the stalls. Christmas music drifts softly from speakers scattered around the square, and children’s laughter echoes in the cold air. This is my favorite time of year, but honestly, this year it feels hollow with Mark at my side.

As we wander through the maze of vendors selling everything from handmade crafts to freshly baked pastries, I try to focus on the joy around me—the vibrant patterns of stockings and tree skirts, the twinkling lights decorating the stalls. “Look at that one!” I point toward a particularly colorful display, hoping to share a moment with him. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Mark glances up for a fraction of a second, his attention immediately drifting back to his screen. “Yeah, nice,” he mutters, barely acknowledging me.

I force a smile, though inside, irritation simmers. It’s like I’m fucking invisible. I turn my gaze back to the market, watching families huddle together, laughing and pointing out trinkets to each other. There’s something so wholesome about it, so full of life. Yet here I am, standing beside someone who doesn’t even seem to realize I’m there.

As we continue walking, the scent of fresh pine and spiced cider fills the air, but the weight of Mark’s indifference presses down on me. I wish I could lose myself in the holiday spirit, in the magic of the season, but with him constantly on his phone, I can’t shake the growing sense of isolation. I steal a glance at him, wondering if this is going to be my life from now on—me, craving connection, and him, more interested in a screen than in me.

I sigh, shoving my hands deeper into my pockets, as I force myself to focus on the sights and sounds of the market. Children run by, their laughter like music, their cheeks flushed pink from the cold. I can’t help but smile at their joy, the innocence of it all. The market feels so alive, so warm and festive, and yet, standing here next to Mark, I’ve never felt so alone.

As we pass a booth selling hot chocolate, I grab a cup, the warmth spreading through my hands. I take a sip, letting the sweetness coat my tongue, but it does little to lift my spirits. I scan the crowd, feeling that lingering sensation of being watched again. It sends a shiver down my spine, but this time it feels different—not just fear but a thrill, an excitement I can’t quite place.

I look around, half-expecting to see someone watching me from through the dense crowds of people, but all I see are families and couples enjoying the festivities. Bitch, you are seriously going crazy. I shake my head, trying to dismiss the thought, but the idea lingers, feeding a strange curiosity deep within me.

I turn back to Mark, but he’s still distracted, of course. I take a deep breath, trying to push my frustration aside. I can’t let him ruin this for me. This is supposed to be a magical time, and I’m going to make the most of it, even if it feels like I’m doing it alone.

“Let’s go check out the ice sculptures!” I suggest, trying to inject some enthusiasm into my voice. “They’re supposed to be amazing this year!”

He nods absently, not really paying attention. “Sure, sounds fun,” he mumbles, still tapping away at his screen.

I lead the way, my heart heavy but determined to enjoy the festival. The icy sculptures are magnificent, glimmering under the string lights that cast a warm glow around us. Families are gathered around, taking pictures and admiring the craftsmanship.

I wander closer to a beautiful carving of a Christmas tree, the intricate details making it look almost lifelike. I lean in closer, running my fingers over the smooth surface, and for a moment, I forget about the tension with Mark. The beauty of the sculptures captivates me.

Suddenly, I feel that sensation again—the watchful eyes. My heart races, and I glance around, but everyone is engrossed in their own conversations, oblivious to me.

Then I see him.

A man standing a few yards away, his figure slightly obscured by the crowd. He’s dressed in a Santa suit, but there’s something about him that sends a thrill of unease down my spine. I can’t see his face, but I feel his gaze on me, piercing through the laughter and chatter surrounding us.

I quickly look away, focusing on the ice sculpture again, but I can’t shake the feeling that he’s watching me. My heart races as I try to push the thought aside, but it’s there, tugging at my mind like a dark secret waiting to be uncovered.

“Alaska, you coming?” Mark calls out, pulling me back to reality.

I turn back to him, forcing a smile as I walk over. “Yeah, sorry. I got distracted.”

“Let’s head to the food stalls,” he says, finally pocketing his phone.

“Sure,” I reply, trying to ignore the lingering sensation of being watched.

We grab some snacks—caramel popcorn, gingerbread cookies—and sit down at one of the outdoor tables. I’m nibbling on a cookie, but my mind keeps drifting back to that man in the Santa suit. I glance around, but he’s gone now, lost in the crowd. A part of me is relieved, but another part—the part that’s been starved for attention—feels a strange longing for the thrill he represented.

Mark starts scrolling through his phone again, and I take a deep breath, trying to rein in my frustration. I can’t let him ruin this for me. I take a sip of hot chocolate, the warmth sliding down my throat, and I resolve to enjoy the festival, even if it feels like I’m doing it solo.

As we finish our snacks, I spot a booth with glittering ornaments hanging from strings, and I can’t resist the urge to check them out. “I’ll be right back,” I say, standing up.

“Okay,” he replies, barely looking up from his phone.

I walk over to the booth, my eyes scanning the colorful decorations, but something catches my eye—a small, intricately designed ornament. It looks familiar, almost like the ones my parent’s and I used to decorate the family tree with when I was a kid.

I admire the necklace, a delicate crystal ornament pendant that catches the twinkling market lights, the edges shimmering like the first snowfall of the season. It dangles from a simple chain, but something about it feels special like it holds a bit of magic within its fragile form. I reach out, fingers brushing against the cold metal, imagining how it would look resting against my skin, how it might make me feel—a reminder that even in all this loneliness, there is beauty.

Just as I’m about to hold it up for a closer look, I hear footsteps behind me.

“Alaska,” Mark’s voice cuts through my thoughts, sharp and dismissive. I turn, finding him staring at me with that usual look of mild disinterest. His tall frame towers over me, his dark hair neatly slicked back, and his tailored coat seems out of place among the cozy, rustic setting of the market. His lips curl into a faint smirk, though not in the warm, affectionate way I used to crave—it’s more a self-satisfied, patronizing expression that makes my stomach twist.

“You don’t need that,” he says, glancing at the necklace with barely concealed disdain. “It’s probably cheap. You’ve got better jewelry back home.”

I drop my hand, the thrill of the moment immediately deflating. “I just thought it was cute,” I mutter, forcing a smile, feeling small under his critical gaze.

“Cute?” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Please, I’ve bought you stuff a hundred times nicer. This place doesn’t exactly scream quality, does it?”

He’s still holding his phone in one hand, his eyes flicking down to the screen as if I’m not even worth his full attention. His well-maintained appearance—clean-shaven, sharp jawline, and always perfectly groomed—makes him seem like someone who belongs in a boardroom, not a quaint holiday market in the middle of nowhere. I used to love that about him, how polished he always looked. Now, it just feels like another layer between us, like he’s always too busy or too important for anything beyond surface-level interactions.

It’s fucking annoying.

I shove my hands into my pockets, trying to hide the sting of disappointment. “Yeah, you’re right,” I reply, but the words taste bitter. The necklace, and the moment I had with it, slips away.

“Come on, we should get out of here. There’s nothing worth seeing.” He gestures dismissively at the market as if the whole scene—the families, the couples, the festive spirit—is beneath him.

“Okay,” I say quietly, falling in step beside him as we leave. The warmth of the market fades behind me, but the coldness between us only seems to grow.

As we walk, his phone dings again, and without hesitation, he’s back to scrolling, completely oblivious to the beauty around us, to me, to anything that isn’t contained within that glowing screen.

By the time we reach the cabin, darkness has settled around us, the world outside illuminated only by the soft glow of the holiday lights. I step inside, feeling a rush of warmth envelop me, and I glance at Mark, who heads straight for the couch and flops down.

“Are you going to watch something?” I ask, my voice tinged with hope.

“Yeah, I’ll find something,” he replies, his attention already back on his phone.

Disappointment floods me again, but I push it aside. I head to the small kitchen area, placing the ornaments on the counter, their beauty contrasting against the rustic wood.

I quickly make myself a mug of hot herbal tea, watching the steam rise as I think about the day. The festival was magical, but it felt like I was living in a dream while Mark remained in a separate reality.

I return to the living area, sitting across from him. “Mark, can we talk?”

“Sure,” he says, barely looking up.

I take a deep breath, trying to muster the courage to express how I feel. “I feel like you’ve been really distracted since we got here. I thought this would be our time to reconnect.”

He finally looks up, his brow furrowed slightly. “What do you mean? I’m here, aren’t I?”

“That doesn’t mean you’re present,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. “I just... I miss you.”

He shrugs, leaning back into the couch. “I’m busy, Alaska. You know how it is.”

“Busy with what? Your phone? It’s like I’m talking to a wall,” I say, my frustration bubbling over.

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m just trying to catch up on some work stuff. Can’t you give me a little space?”

“Space? Is that all you think I need?” I can feel my voice rising, but I can’t help it. “I want to be with you, Mark! I want to enjoy this holiday together, but you’re so absorbed in whatever is on your phone that I feel invisible.”

His expression hardens, and he stares at me for a long moment before muttering, “Maybe you need to find something to occupy your time.”

My heart sinks, and I feel the walls closing in around me. “Fine,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll do that.”

I stand up, grabbing my coat from the hook. “I’m going for a walk.”

“Alaska, wait?—”

But I don’t stick around to hear his excuses. I step outside into the cold night, the air crisp against my skin. I need to get away from him, away from the suffocating silence that seems to hang in the air like a heavy fog.

The snow crunches beneath my boots as I wander into the forest behind the cabin. The trees loom overhead, their branches heavy with snow, and for a moment, I feel a sense of freedom. The world feels quiet, almost peaceful, as I let the cold air fill my lungs.

Suddenly, a noise catches my attention—a rustle in the bushes nearby. My heart skips a beat, and I turn quickly, scanning the area around me. It’s probably just an animal, but a shiver runs down my spine, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not alone.

“Hello?” I call out, my voice echoing in the stillness.

Silence.

I take a step back, my heart racing as I feel that familiar sensation creeping in. Someone is watching. The thought sends a thrill through me, a dark excitement I can’t quite explain. It’s both terrifying and alluring, and I can’t help but feel drawn to it.

As I stand there, the cold air biting at my skin, I realize something. This feeling—the thrill of being noticed, the pulse of excitement from the unknown—it’s what I’ve been missing for so long. Maybe I’ve been afraid, pushing it down, telling myself it’s wrong to feel this way. But right now, standing here in the snow, I’m not so sure. Maybe this is exactly what I need. Maybe it’s time to stop pushing it down.

After all, Mark did say I should find something to entertain myself. He’s made it clear he won’t be paying me much attention. So, maybe I’ll do just that. Maybe I’ll lean into this feeling, let myself explore the thrill of being watched, of being wanted.

A slow smile spreads across my face, the thought sending a rush of excitement through me. My pulse quickens, a new sense of energy buzzing beneath my skin. I can feel the edges of something new, something dangerous yet exhilarating, creeping into my thoughts.

With a final glance at the snowy trees and the quiet night around me, I smirk, turning on my heel to head back into the cabin.

Let the games begin.