Where Dawn Never Meets Dusk

Joey snatched my wrist as I plunged into the Antarctic crevice, gripping it white-knuckled. I've got you, Julie! I'm never letting go!

But my name isn't Julie.

Rescued, I asked who Julie was. He looked away, voice strained. You misheard.

I dismissed it as terror-induced hallucination until midnight. Waking to an empty bed, I found Joey's pack overturned, papers scattered. Kneeling, I froze at a five-year-old accident report. Victim: Julie Coleman. Death: fall into Antarctic crevice.

Beneath it, travel photos of a girl identical to mesame poses, clothes, locations as Joey and I had shared. Under those, today's topographic map of our location, covered in calculations of my weight and terminal velocity. Handwritten at the bottom: This time, I will save her.

Joey pushed me. I was his dress rehearsal to rewrite his trauma.

Numbness hollowed my chest. Trembling, I texted our coordinator: Arrange transport out tomorrow. Don't tell Joey.

Antarctica faces months of total darkness. Joeys world would be endless polar night. Mine was finally breaking dawn.

I'm so sorry, Sylvia, the coordinator's reply came a few minutes later. It's peak season, and all transport is booked. The earliest boat we can get to you is in three days.

Okay, I replied.

Our trip was scheduled for five days. As long as I could leave before Joey noticed, I could survive three days. I tucked the photos back into his pack, smoothing the canvas to make it look untouched.

But sleep was gone. The silence of the cabin pressed too hard against my ears, so I wrapped myself in a coat and walked out.

At the cabin entrance, I saw Joey through the frosted glass. He was crouching in his heavy winter gear, painstakingly planting red roses into the pristine, powdery snow. In that blinding white wilderness, the crimson petals looked shockingly bright. To me, they looked like drops of fresh blood spilled from my own chest.

"Julie, I brought your favorite roses," he whispered to the wind.

When Joey first pursued me, he brought me red roses every single week, without fail. I thought it was a symbol of his burning devotion. I never realized that intense, fiery love belonged to someone else.

"It's a pity I never got to capture your face when you saw them back then," he murmured. "But Ill make sure to capture it today."

Joey turned and caught my eyes. His frame went rigid for a fraction of a second before a smooth, easy smile slid onto his face. "Hey, why are you awake?"

I forced my lips to curve. "Couldn't sleep. Needed some air."

He sighed, a look of playful defeat in his eyes. "I wanted to surprise you, but you caught me."

If I hadn't seen those files, if I didn't know the ugly truth, I would have been a fool, weeping tears of gratitude at this romantic gesture. Roses in the snow, how poetic. But they were never meant for me.

"It's fine," I said, my voice flat. "I'm still surprised."

Joey didn't seem to register the coldness in my tone. He waved me over. "Come out here. Let me take a picture of you."

"No, it's too cold."

He unzipped his thick outer parka. "Take mine. I've already warmed it up. Itll only take a second."

I shook my head. "No."

A faint, almost imperceptible frown creased his brow. He walked toward me, bringing a gust of freezing air with him. He reached for my hand, but I stepped back, repelled by his chill. He blinked, stunned. "What's wrong? I thought we promised to document every beautiful moment."

We did promise.

The last time I had refused to take a photo, Joey had thrown a tantrum and left me stranded on a street corner in a foreign city. I didn't speak the language, got horribly lost, and was nearly dragged down an alley by a vagrant. Joey had shown up at the last second to rescue me. His explanation back then was simple: I just want to keep these memories for when we're old. When you refuse to take photos, it feels like you don't want a future with me.

I had melted, blaming myself for not loving him enough, and swore I would never reject his camera again. Now I knew the truth. It wasn't about our future. It was my punishment for failing to play Julie well.

I looked at him, my expression blank. "I don't think a face frozen red with snot is particularly beautiful."

"Sylvia!" Joey's patience was wearing thin.

I let out a soft, mocking laugh. "What? Are you going to abandon me in the middle of Antarctica this time?"

He flinched, his voice softening in an instant. "I didn't mean that. It's just... it wasn't easy to bring these roses all this way. You're being a bit of a buzzkill."

A buzzkill. So be it. I wasn't Julie. I didn't love red roses, I didn't love traveling, and I hated this bone-chilling cold.

"The biggest buzzkill, Joey, is forcing someone to do something they hate." Without waiting for his reply, I turned and walked back to our room.

He followed me, but I picked up my pace, slipped inside, and locked the door.

He knocked repeatedly. "Sylvia, open up. Let's talk this through."

I leaned against the heavy wood, my body trembling uncontrollably. It was too cold here. I wanted to go home. "Get another room," I yelled through the door. "We both need to cool down."

The knocking stopped. I didn't care if he stayed outside or went down the hall. I crawled into bed and shut my eyes.

The night was a restless blur. When I opened the door the next morning, Joey slumped forward, falling right into the room. I gasped, stepping back. He lay on the floor, blinking sleepily at me. "Morning, Sylvia."

I frowned. "Did you sleep outside my door all night?"

He pushed himself up, offering a tired smile. "Yeah. I couldn't leave you alone."

A tiny, traitorous part of my heart twitched. Joey wrapped his arms around me, burying his face in the crook of my neck, his voice turning soft and pleading. "Yesterday was my fault. I shouldn't have been so pushy. Don't be mad, okay? This is the last leg of our trip. Let's make it perfect."

I let out a bitter, silent laugh. I was actually feeling touched by his little performance. The rescue was done, the path was halfway walked, and he was so close to healing his old wounds. He had to bow his head to keep his perfect puppet in line.

After a long pause, I forced a single word past my lips. "Okay."

Not because I wanted to finish the trip, but because I decided to play my part in his theater one last time.

Before we set out, Joey draped a heavy winter parka over my shoulders. One of our tour group members looked over, confused. "Isn't that jacket style from five years ago?"

Joeys hand hesitated on the zipper. "I just think the older designs look better."

It wasn't about the design. It was because Julie had worn it.

"Joey, you know I don't like blue," I said.

"You look great in blue. It brings out your eyes."

"But I don't like it. You said you wouldn't force me anymore."

"There's no time to go back and change now. Let's not keep everyone waiting."

There were still ten minutes before departure. Changing would have taken two. But to keep his perfect Julie fantasy alive, he chose to paint me as the selfish one.

Todays itinerary was to see the penguins. But I have a phobia of birds with sharp beaks. The moment we got out of the vehicle, I instinctively shrank behind Joey.

But he didn't notice. Instead, he pushed me toward the colony. "It's a rare chance. Go get a photo with them."

"Joey, I'm scared."

He looked baffled. "Scared of what? You love penguins."

I wanted to scream that I wasn't Julie, that he needed to stop forcing her dead ghost onto my living body. But I kept my voice low. "Joey, I hate sharp-beaked animals."

He froze, a flash of deep disappointment crossing his eyes. While the others were soccer-mom excited, snapping photos, Joey looked at me, then at the penguins, clearly unwilling to give up. He softened his voice. "Let's just take one together. Just one. I'll protect you."

Before I could object, he handed his camera to our guide and pulled me close in front of the flock. My skin crawled. I stared stiffly at the lens. The shutter clicked, and Joey immediately let go. "Stay there. Let me go see how it looks."

He abandoned me to check the camera. Suddenly, one of the penguins waddled toward me. Panic surged. I tried to run, but my boot slipped on the ice, and I tumbled backward toward the freezing lake. "Ah!"

My scream made Joey's face pale instantly. He whipped around and sprinted toward me, catching my falling body. The world spun, and I crashed into his chest. He was shivering violently, terrified. "Sylvia, are you okay?"

His voice cracked with unshed tears. I looked up and saw his eyes were rimmed with red. "Joey, are you that afraid of me dying?"

He went rigid. "Don't say that word, Sylvia. I don't want to hear it. You're going to live a long, long life. We're going to be together forever."

But he had written those exact words on the back of his photo with Julie.

Who did Joey actually want to be with? I didn't know, and I didn't care anymore. Because my future would no longer include him.

Due to an approaching blizzard, we were forced to stay in the cabin. Joeys mood was visibly low. He was distracted during dinner. I thought he was still shaken by the morning's near-accident.

But when I leaned closer, I heard him whispering to a travel brochure. "What a shame. We can't go after all."

He wasn't traumatized. He was disappointed. Disappointed that the places he couldn't reach five years ago would remain unvisited.

A wave of cold mockery washed over me. I looked away and focused on my food. Joey suddenly turned to me. "Sylvia, are you disappointed we can't make it to the polar coordinates today?"

I never cared about that place. I wanted to say it, but instead, I murmured, "I never expected much from it anyway, so no."

Joey stared at me, his mouth opening and closing. I knew he wanted to call me a buzzkill, or lecture me on the beauty of the polar circle. But in the end, he only said, "Right. Everyone is different."

It was the first time he acknowledged my individuality. But it was far too late.

That night, the heater in my room broke. Since it was late and no technician was available, I was forced to share Joey's room again. His mood shifted dramatically. He pinched my cheek playfully. "Want a warm foot soak?"

I wiggled my freezing toes and nodded. He beamed, rushing around to find a basin and fill it with hot water. He even bought dried roses from a lady next door at an exorbitant price. Our group chat was filled with envious comments about how attentive he was.

As the hot water warmed my skin, the icy wall around my heart softened just a fraction. Until Joey pointed his camera at me.

My body tensed. My mind flashed back to the photos in his bag. Julie had a photo just like this, soaking her feet, smiling at the camera. Every mundane detail of their lives had been lovingly recorded. And the warmth I was feeling now was just a cheap copy of that happiness.

I had almost let my guard down over a basin of hot water.

My face went cold. Joey noticed. "What's wrong? Is the water cold?"

I pulled my feet out. "No, I'm warm enough."

"Oh." He looked crestfallen as he carried the basin out.

As I dried my feet, I noticed a velvet box peeking out from under his pillow. Curiosity got the better of me. I pulled it out and opened it. Inside was a large, brilliant diamond ring. I slipped it out and saw the engraving on the inner band: S.Y.Sylvia Young.

He was going to propose.

But I knew he wasn't marrying me. He was marrying the vessel that looked like Julie.

Hearing footsteps, I quickly put the ring back and pretended nothing had happened. Joey walked in, took off his coat, and lay down beside me. He wrapped his arms around me, smiling. "Sleep early tonight. The guide said the blizzard will clear tomorrow, and we can head to the polar spot."

"I've got a surprise waiting for you there."

My heart rate didn't even flicker. Because tomorrow, I was leaving. The coordinator had messaged me that a spot on an earlier ice-breaker had opened up. No matter how grand Joey's surprise waseven a proposalI didn't want it.

The next morning, the storm had cleared. Joey got up early to prepare, trying to keep quiet, but I was already awake, pretending to sleep. Once the door clicked shut, I sat up and packed.

There wasn't much. Most of the gear was bought by him. I only took my own clothes and my passport. I left the blue parka behind. Anything he had bought me on this trip, I left.

Within minutes, I was done. My eyes fell on Joey's backpack. A sudden urge took hold of me. I zipped it open and pulled out the bundle of photos tied with a rubber band.

The top photo was Julie at the South Pole, head tilted, flashing a silly peace sign. On the back, it read: Julie said this was the happiest day of her life. Me too.

But beneath it, there was a new note written in Joey's hand: Julie, this is the final stop. I'm here to say goodbye. From now on, there will be no more replacements. I'm going to love someone new. Her name is Sylvia Young.

My hands shook slightly as I read the words. My phone lit up: The car is ready to pick you up. Can we head out?

I hesitated for two seconds before replying: Yes.

So what if Joey had finally woken up? Three years of deception wouldn't magically vanish. Every moment he loved me as a ghost had grown into a thorn in my flesh, impossible to pull out, impossible to digest.

I stuffed the photos into a small grey canvas bag and left it on the corner of the table.

Joey came back to the room to get me. We ate breakfast, put on our coats, and walked toward the waiting vehicles. After a few steps, I stopped and pulled his arm. "Joey, I forgot something in the room. It's in a grey canvas bag. Could you get it for me?"

He blinked. "Is it important?"

"Very important," I nodded.

He patted my head. "Alright, you scatterbrain. I'll get it."

The moment he turned back toward the lodge, I took off.

I ran like my life depended on it toward the black SUV parked in the distance. The freezing wind rushed down my throat like a mouthful of knives, but I didn't stop, and I didn't look back.

The door of the SUV was open. The driver looked shocked as I bolted toward him. I threw myself into the back seat, scraping my knee hard against the doorframe. Tears stung my eyes from the pain. "Drive!" I screamed.

"Wait, is there anyone else"

"Drive!"

The engine roared to life, and the vehicle lunged forward. The cabin, the snow, and Joey all shrank into a tiny dot, dissolving into the white horizon. The suffocating weight on my chest finally began to lift.

Back at the cabin, Joey searched the room frantically. When he finally spotted the grey bag in the corner, he breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't open it. He just wanted to get back to me. But when he stepped outside, the spot where I had been standing was empty.

His heart skipped a beat, but he quickly reassured himself: Sylvia must have gotten too cold and went to the car.

He ran toward the tour vehicle. The guide rolled down the window. "Where's your girlfriend?"

Joey's face drained of color. "She isn't in the car?"

"No!"

Joey's hand lost all strength. The grey canvas bag slipped from his fingers, hitting the hard pack. The contents spilled across the snow. "Hey! Your things!" the guide called out. Joey looked down, and his world began to spin. The pristine white snow could no longer hide his filthy secrets.