To Melt a Frozen Heart ( Honey + Dr.Freon )

[Honey-Bee]

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Name: Amy Marie Johnson
Age: 24
Height: 5’9”
Job: Medical Researcher
Info: Amy was one of those people that seemed to be born with a natural ability to learn and absorb information. The sort of person that had already finished their doctorate by the time others her age hadn’t even finished high school. As a result it seemed like most people with an abnormally high IQ her EQ and social abilities seemed to suffer. It wasn’t a lack of confidence rather it was her inability to read a mood and the fact she often come off as an arrogant, self-absorbed know-it-all that often got called a ‘stuck up bitch’ to her face. It wasn’t like she was purposely mocking them it was just that she corrected them when they said something wrong even sometimes going as far as correcting their grammar. Even with her eccentricities she didn’t have a hard time finding a boyfriend because let’s face it she was undeniably good-looking, Brent and her had already been together for almost two years though lately it seemed that they were getting into a lot of fights even over the most stupid things, apparently she wasn’t ‘affectionate enough’ because she wasn’t all sappy like ‘I love you’, ‘I miss you’ all the time or because she didn’t like to cuddle and then it just had a snowball affect and they began arguing about almost anything.

Fingers glided over her skin with grace and purpose, loving the feeling of soft black lace as it slipped into place. Hopefully at the end of tonight it would be a delightful surprise for Brent. Amy knew that things had been rocky lately but she hadn’t given up and hoped that tonight they’d be able to put it all behind them. She was trying, she’d even gotten off work early because she knew how important this party was for him and was making her best effort to be empathetic though it wasn’t exactly in her nature.

Her black, thigh high socks slipped on just as easily, framing and accentuating her beautifully long legs. Her legs almost looking to inviting, if that was even possible, as they were paired with a short, little burgundy number and a pair of black heeled doc martens.

Admiring herself in the mirror she put on the final touches, a black belt and choker, dark red lipstick and little diamond stud earrings. With one last look she pulled back some of her silky, long hair into a clip, leaving it half down. Finally satisfied she went out the door grabbing her black clutch purse and a heavy winter coat, knowing that it was forecasted to snow.

Amy had made an effort in her appearance, to be on time and she hoped Brent would be great full for it or at the very least not pick a fight with her tonight.

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It only took forty minutes for what was a good evening to turn south, fast. There she was standing in the middle of the room, champagne flute in hand as she stood there arguing with Brent in hushed whispers over the fact she’d once again corrected him while he was speaking, he accused her of having a superiority complex and so she bit back telling him that if he didn’t sprout, stupid, untrue nonsense than she’d have no reason to correct him in the first place which carried on to a point where he finally asked her if she thought he was an idiot or something and Amy not realising that it was more of a rhetorical statement had, in her fury, blurted out a blunt ‘yes’.

Needless to say Brent wasn’t very happy and ended up telling her she was embarrassing him, of course Amy was shocked after all he’d started the argument and yet now he was putting all the blame on her well, she wouldn’t have it. She was putting in so much effort for him and yet he threw it right back in her face and so that was how she ended up throwing her drink right back into his face while telling him, “No, that right there is me embarrassing you”, before storming off, leaving a rather shocked and wet Brent behind.

It was nothing more than coincidence really that she’d seen the sign for roof access but once she did the thought of taking a moment to cool her head and grab a smoke seemed too tempting to resist. Amy did in fact realise how contradicting that was, that she smoked while being able to rattle off the list of statistic from the top of her head how smoking kills but she had faith by the time it took for her to develop one of those numerous diseases that modern medicine would already have an answer for it anyway and if they hadn’t? Well no one was meant to live forever anyway so she might as well enjoy it.

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When Amy first walked out on the rooftop terrace she’d been too consumed by her anger and her need for a nicotine hit to really fully notice how cold it was and how little she was wearing. She lit up her little cancer stick, taking a long drag as she not so silently started to vent about how frustrating Brent had been lately. Five minutes later she was stubbing out her cigarette against the brick, finally making up her mind. She’d apologise, for throwing the drink that is, it was a childish thing to do and no matter how much of an ass she shouldn’t have stooped that low. Then she’d try to have a proper discussion with him and they could either make an effort to get through their issues or break up, she wasn’t spending another moment fighting with him over nothing.

Now that she’d cooled off she began to realise it wasn’t just her temper that had cooled. She couldn’t believe she’d been so stupid not to retrieve her coat first before heading outside into a winters night. No matter it wasn’t a big deal she’d just get herself a pipping hot cup of coffee before going to find Brent. All it took was for her to tug on the door go back inside for the ‘no matter’ to turn into a really BIG matter when she realised she was locked out.

Even if she had a high IQ her first reaction was like anyone else’s, bang on the door and cry out for help. After a couple minutes of needless screaming, the thick door muffling out her voice to an almost inaudible level she checked her clutch for her phone even though she already knew she’d left it in her coat pocket, she was clutching at straws, she was panicked and not thinking logically mostly because she didn’t like the results to her logic. Factoring in the temperature and wind chill factor she’d probably only last two hours, three max if she kept her body moving and producing heat before she feel unconscious. Also factoring in the fact the affects of alcohol and nicotine on the blood causing her body to lose heat more rapidly it’d be back down closer to two. The roof was too high from the ground for her to survive the fall and looking at the thick brick it was probably insulating any noise she’d be making from actually making it through to the other side of the door. Logically speaking she was fucked, by the end of the night she’d be a human popsicle and the only thing that could save her is if someone opened that door from the inside but what were the chances of someone else thinking ‘what a nice cold night to go out onto the roof’. Amy’s heart clenched at the sight of the tiny snow flakes dancing through the air.

Amy had managed to keep herself upright and active for the first thirty minutes, her hands vigorously rubbing her arms to try and generate some warmth, before she started to stumble. Before the first hour was up her legs felt like jelly and she’d ended up slumped on the ground, using the last of her energy to get out her lighter and try and get as much warmth as she could from such a tiny flame but eventually, and quite quickly it ran out of lighter fluid. Slowly her shivering stopped as the hypothermia further set in, her mind seeming to slow down and at some point her mind couldn’t even compute that she was dying or the importance of keeping her eyes open.

And that’s how he’d find her, curled up on the cold, hard ground with her knees tucked into her chest, her skin as pale as snow, her lips a deep purple from the blue pigmentation of her lips mixing together with the red of her lipstick and her eyes half lidded behind her glasses but unresponsive. Amy was amazingly still technically conscious but it was obvious nobody was home, she lacked awareness and the ability to properly process information.

 

[Doctor December]

Brent had, ultimately, enjoyed himself. His new apartment's housewarming party got off to rough start, first because nobody had taken the clearly-written suggestion "BYOB" seriously when reading the event page, but thankfully, Stephan offered to take a small collect then run out and buy some. Then, too little to late, he realized he hadn't really factored that his guests would want snacks. But fortunately, Stephan was still on the booze run and only a call away.

Then of course, there was Amy, with her trademark superiority complex and the arguments it started. They had not been dating long enough to be bickering like this. And in front of everybody, too. Again she had corrected him, and if he had to be honest, the ensuing argument was so frustrating that he couldn't even remember exactly what it was he had said that started it all. But in the end, after her usual attacks, she stormed out, presumably back home to pout about it.

After she left, everybody else, having witnessed her throw her drink at him, approached him and offered their condolences and understanding of how difficult she could be. Some even offered shots. So by the time the party was winding down, Brent had a pretty good buzz going.

He saw Carmen and Dave, the last guests left, out the door with an appreciative wave, then slowly closed it and sighed with exhaust. Then, he put his hand in his cardigan's pocket and remembered the joint someone had given him, and decided that before he took off his black tee, jeans, dress shoes and gray cardigan, he would go up and check out the view from the roof access, wear the smoke's scent would go undetected by neighbors. After a swaggering journey up the stairs, he gave the heavy, metal door a shove with his shoulder - something he probably wouldn't have to while sober - and what he saw seemed to take his blood alcohol level down a few tenths.

Sitting in the light accumulation of snow and ice was Amy. Evidently she hadn't gone home, just upstairs for a smoke, and had just been chilling up here in the most accurate sense imaginable.

Brent sprinted over to her, looking her back in her fatigued, numb stare, and put a hand on her shoulder. "Amy?! What are you doing up here?!" he asked, worried about the pale, unhealthy looking sight of her. "You're fucking frozen. How long have you been out here?"

After a pause for her explanation as he tried to slowly massage warmth into her smooth shoulders and shapely, stocking-ed legs, he got alongside her and scooped her shivering form up, one of his arms lifting her under the knees, the other bracing her upper back. He fumbled to open the door and discovered it to lock from the inside. Not a big deal- he had his key with him, and after some additional scrambling, they were in.

"Don't worry, baby, everybody's gone," he assured, though the thought of them all seeing her looking like a character from that one ice-pun-titled episode of a number of cheesy sitcoms seemed like a fitting karma for what she'd done earlier. "We're gonna get you inside, and run you a nice, hot bath. How would you like that?"

Once in, he stormed her into the living area, sat her by the warm radiator, disappeared for a moment to turn on the bath water to a mild heat, and returned. "It'll be ready in just a minute," he said, then kissed her neck apologetically from behind as he rubbed her shoulders to inspire some kind of warmth. But if she had been out there the whole time she'd been gone, it was likely a futile effort.

 

[Honey-Bee]

His touch felt like hot coals when compared to her ice cold flesh, making her drooping eyes flutter open. She stared straight at him but didn’t recognise him, she could hear the noise coming out of his mouth but she couldn’t process it. At this point she was more like a porcelain doll than a living, breathing human being. Her mouth opened like she wanted to say something but everything was too numb, too foreign, for her to actually say anything.

Soon that searing heat was surrounding her body as he lifted her off the ground, her limbs were slack and motionless as if all her ligaments had been severed. The only movement she seemed to make was the light flutter of her eyelids and the slow, shallow rising of her chest.

More noise exited his mouth and entered her ears, she seemed to be able to pick up on a few of them but she couldn’t quite remember what they meant or how they fit together. She felt like she should know, that something was wrong but she didn’t have the energy in her to panic.

The moment he left her in the living room alone Amy found she didn’t like it. Sure it was warm but not as warm as his arm and didn’t give her an ounce of comfort. She didn’t understand why she didn’t want to be alone but it didn’t feel good and she couldn’t quite put the name to the feeling. While her brain couldn’t recognise it, Amy was frightened, afraid to be left alone.

Amy tried practicing forming words, it was hard, her tongue and mouth didn’t really seem to want to co-operate with her but she knew if she could make the noises he did, she could call out to him. Thankfully he hadn’t been gone long but for some reason, the moment he came back into the room she felt something wet roll down her cheeks. “I’m sorry” she managed to say, her words not coming out smooth but slow and fragmented. Amy didn’t particularly understand why she had said it all she knew was that it felt colder when he wasn’t there, she didn’t want him to leave again. She wanted to reach out to him, to touch him back but her fingers were so stiff and cold, they simply wouldn’t listen to her.