Stained Snow

It was one of those nights where everything seemed so simple that everyone just knew something was going to happen.
Whitney Frost was a young college student, his high school career just behind him. His light brown hair was short and uncut as his icy blue eyes watched her every move. He was still wearing his heavy military boots, the shoe laces were barely untied from a long day. The only sign that he was relaxed was his arm on the arm rest and the other that kept with the beat of the music blasting loudly from the apartment above.
This apartment was on the bottom floor of small complex, the surrounding area covered by trees blanketed in snow and ice. The room was clean to a point; his mother wouldn’t say it was clean but he would still say it was. The bed was covered by a few books and papers that were stacked together. The kitchen had a small table with barely enough room for two people to eat and definitely not enough to cook anything. The counter was clean of everything but cups, plates, and snack food. Without cabinets there was hardly any room for anything beside the counters. Snowflakes scattered across the carpet after being blown in from the broken window. There was a black plastic cover over that seemed to resemble a bag, held on by duct tape of all things.
They were together on the couch. She was in his arms and they were cuddled close together. She was nearly asleep even though the movie was just beginning to start, the opening scene played out with a tiny car driving through the countryside. Not exactly something that was waking her up anytime soon.
She shifted lightly in his arms; her dark red bangs covered her eyes, blocking her vision of the movie. She was officially asleep by this point.
He sighed and considered changing the channel. His brand new, orange Longhorns shirt showed his support for the visiting team and they could use all the support they could get against the Oklahoma team. He rested his head on hers, mixing her red with his brown to create a chestnut red.
The wind blew again; the plastic cover flew off, flying across the room quickly allowing the snow from outside to blow in loudly. Whitney opened his blue eyes quickly at the sound.
He sighed again, leaning up but noticing the cling to his shirt and faintly smiled. He sat up with her grip still tight on his shirt, the want to lay back down seemed like a better idea each moment, but the cold air crept up his arm, making his hairs stand on end. Sienna woke up at the feel of his kiss, letting up her grip enough for him to smirk and free himself.
“Thanks,” she heard him whisper.
“Don’t take too long,” he heard her mumble as she curled up under the covers, watching him with tired eyes.
He shook his head, looking under the bed for the duct tape among the scattered items.
She yawned, glancing at the window and starring blankly at it; lost at words.
“Whitney” She whispered under her breath, setting her feet on the floor to get up. The creak in the old wood floor made a head turn. A gun was quickly pointed at her.
The man before her was an older man; his black hair seemed to match his outfit, his five o'clock shadow also seemed to match all too well. His smirk didn’t hide his fear of the situation, his hand shook the gun, the quiet sound of the pieces shaking made her question him. She figured this was his first time pointing the gun at her, the first time he had been out, and definitely the first time he had broken into a guy’s house. She began to forget that he was pointing a gun at her, the whole idea of who he was behind the mask made her want to separate herself from him even more.
Whitney gripped the duct tape for life before dropping it to the floor. Her eyes darted to him, looking for some hope within his eyes, some sign that everything would be alright.
His fists tightened and his eyes became colder. He quickly jumped at the man; his hand pushed the gun away, a bullet fired. Red liquid stained the couch and Whitney ripped the gun from his hand. He made sure to punch the guy at least once good in the jaw before going to help her.
“Sienna,” he yelled. His eyes went from her eyes to her mouth to her arms. Her body seemed limp and the small movements he could feel were weak. Her heart was still beating, racing even with her eyes flinching. He held her closely, feeling the blood on the back of her neck and covering it with the blanket.
“Sienna,” he yelled again. This time he could feel her cling to his shirt. A small smile was on her lips as she looked up him. The tired look on her face was the same as the last one he had seen.
“Call the police, I’ll be fine…” She said quietly, her shaky hand holding the blanket to her neck, stopping the blood from flowing.
He nodded, taking his cell phone out and quickly dialing the number. The idea of a busy tone made him want to explode.
A crack of glass behind him made him flinch and he turned to look at the man.
Sienna leaned away and looked at him from the corner of her eyes, ducking her head and closing her eyes at the shot of pain.
He was almost out the window when the phone was dropped and Whitney raced after him.
His feet were silenced by the snow while his shoes nearly fell off. The white snow showed their every step, the black figure in front of him was clear to see against the ground. Every touch of the trees made the snow fall, making it easier to follow him.
He could hear dogs barking from behind him. He wanted to look back but continued forward, the weight of his boots seeming to get heavier with every step. There was nothing ahead of them besides the snowy woods and the darkness that appeared to continue on forever.
The barking got louder, his breath getting heavier.
He wanted this to end.
To be back with her.
He was feet from the man when his arm went out and pulled him down, snagging on the bag. The other man knew better than to get caught up in this and kicked his face, jumping up to pull on his bag. Whitney wasn’t going to let go even when he felt a dozen knives dig into his arm. His face was in snow to hide his tears when his fingers released the bag; he could feel his wrists being pulled together behind his back. When the officer pulled his body up, he looked forward at the man running away.
“You got the wrong guy…” he said to the officer, beginning to struggle in his hold.
“Yeah, yeah, that’s what they all say,” the officer joked.
“Seriously,” he yelled and ripped his shoulder away to take off after the man. Seconds later he felt a shot of pain through his shoulder. He dropped to the ground quickly.
The blood began to stain the snow.