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KAYDEN Cold. Somehow not cold enough. Somehow too cold to breathe properly. The ice surrounding my body is biting, an assault that numbs every inch of my bare skin. The sharp, merciless water clings to me, the ice cubes scraping against my legs like jagged stones. My breaths rush out in shallow, controlled gasps, the cold seeping into my bones, sinking deeper with every passing second. The icy grip on my muscles makes the black-and-white bathroom fade into an indistinct blur. My hands tremble slightly, but I force them still as I bring the cigarette to my lips. The acrid taste of tobacco fills my lungs, a sharp contrast to the icy burn. I quit smoking a long time ago, when I thought I had everything I ever wanted. Until I didn’t. Until the life I’d made for myself crumbled to fucking pieces. I didn’t relapse then. But I am now. After today. After I was punched in the gut by the reality and the fucking reminder that I let myself get too close. Too personal. I’m not supposed to enjoy thi