Page 44 of Lucky Night

You’re here, after all. Here, and not home with the boys you claim to love above all things.

You jumped out your window six years ago.

You chose this fire over them.

Eight

And with that…she needs to go away for a little while.

So she does.

She lowers her face into the duvet.

She stops struggling, and submits to the panic.

It beats against her, and beats against her.

Which is awful. But she deservesit.

So she’ll takeit.

And she does.

For a long time.

How long? Hard to say.

But eventually, she senses a change. Her heart stops racing. The awful sick falling sensation in her stomach recedes. Her hands relax their death grip on the duvet.

She comes back into herself, into the room.

She keeps her face buried in the soft linen but takes a few deep, steady breaths. She’s never felt anything like that before. And now, does she…?

Yes. She feels better.

Well, calmer, let’s say. The fear battered her, wore her down to a smooth little nub, but that’s okay. Being a smooth, quiet little nub is okay.

There’s a distant crash. A muffled curse.

She lifts her head. The bed is empty.

She hears the toilet flush.

Should she check the news? It might disturb this fragile peace, and yet…she feels around in the duvet and finds her phone. Her heart kicks up as she searches but…

Oh. The news is definitely not awful.

@FDNY says the fire is close to being contained.

She double-checks, triple-checks, skims various sites. The internet is in rare agreement: the situation is under control. It’s only a matter of time.

She allows herself a tiny bit of hope. They might be okay. This might be almost over.

The bathroom door slides open, and she turns away. The peaceful nub grows a few spikes. She’s still furious. She hears him sigh, the soft thumping of pillows being plumped. He must pick up his phone, because here comes the tippy-tapping again. Christ, is he drafting his last will and testament?

No. He’s certain that’s not necessary.

The fool.

---