Note: Wow. I am so effing sorry this took so long to post. First my laptop died and then my internet was down. But hey, here we are at last. To celebrate the completion of this story which I have so enjoyed writing, I've created a "soundtrack" for Ice. Here it is, if you're interested:

1. Black River Killer - Blitzen Trapper

2. Staring at the Sun – TV on the Radio

3. Leslie Ann Levine – The Decembrists

4. Every Person – John Frusciante

5. Criminal – Alexz Johnson

6. Dying Inside – The Cranberries

7. Mailman – Soundgarden

8. The Twist – Metric

9. Two Weeks – Grizzly Bear

10. Come Clean (Acoustic Version) – Hilary Duff*

11. Queen – Tonic

12. - - Pelican**

13. Wednesday's Song – John Frusciante

14. Few & Far Between – Frogpond

15. Glitch – Blind Melon

16. Light After Night – Jakalope

17. Snowflake – Katy Rose

18. Drink Me Dry – Cassie Steele***

* = It really has to be the acoustic version, otherwise the tone doesn't fit… at all.

** = No joke, the title of the song is actually just "-," a hyphen. But it's track 4 from the album, The Fire in Our Throats Will Beckon the Thaw, if that helps you find it.

*** = Not actually a necessary track, if you're not into it. But for me, it adds a little something.

Thanks for reading!

It didn't end with Rick, or Jimmy, or being expelled, or losing everything. No, it kept getting worse. Just when I thought I'd hit rock bottom, when I thought maybe things would start turning around, Toby got arrested, and Emma killed herself.

It happened so fast. Bam, Toby's prank is plastered all over the news, and bam, a week later, Emma's dead. It's weird, really. I didn't think I had anything left to lose. When you're already running on empty, it's amazing how life can still keep sucking you dry.

"Spinner! It's all you, man!" Sticky screams, clutching an ice cold 22-ouncer in one hand and the notorious plastic funnel in the other. The familiar muted chant of deviants and lost souls murmurs around me, the fire blazing in the background.

I've been spending a lot of time at the ravine over the past few weeks. I know it might seem fucked up, that this of all places is the one to comfort me, but it's all I can think to do. Every time I think of Emma… my whole body goes cold. I shut down. I freeze. I can't believe she's really gone. I can't believe she wanted out so bad.

The funeral was a haze, black and gray and sober. Manny's sobs echoed loudly in the hollow church, and I could feel her eyes flitting towards me every so often, cold with accusation. Was it me who did this to Emma? Was it my fault?

Mr. Simpson approached me afterwards.

"Did she say anything?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. "I mean… were there any warning signs?"

Warning signs?

Warning signs?

Emma was a methhead.

How do I know if I'm alive?

Emma never smiled. Emma was depressed. Emma talked about death constantly. Emma had watched someone die and had blamed herself and had never really gotten past the guilt. Emma would fuck guys for drugs and get high every night because she really didn't care about anything, especially not life.

Maybe I'm already dead and I don't know it.

In retrospect, yeah, I guess there were warning signs. Every time I think about her, I shiver and realize how I never really knew her.

"Hurry up, pussy, beer's getting warm!" Sticky hollers.

"Just hold on a fucking second," I mutter across the crowd. Standing next to me, Amy spreads her lips and her cracked teeth gleam with a bright smile. She passes me the mirror and I hit two hard lines of ice, back to back. She laughs as I rub my nose, marching through the crowd of drunken teenagers to where Sticky is waiting.

"All right," I say, taking the funnel from his hands. "Pour."

The crowd yells, Sticky pours, Amy laughs, and the meth kicks in right as I'm chugging. A beautiful freefall towards a perfect high. Emma would have loved this.

And sure, you might think that's fucked up. You might wonder what I'm doing here, when all this life has ever brought me is more trouble. You'd think losing Emma, losing everything, would make me change my ways. But what else can I do? What would you do, if it were you? What would you do if you'd lost everything? If you were kicked out of school with no friends? If your girlfriend killed herself and your only other companion was in jail? If everything you ever knew slipped away, one by one, and you couldn't even look yourself in the mirror any more?

You'd get fucked up, that's what you'd do.

All. The. Time.