Page 33 of Heritage of Fire

Today is a particularly depressing day. Dark skies hover over the warehouse, blocking out the sun that was visible earlier this morning. The scent of damp earth wafts through the windows, which I’ve had open almost every day. Something about thewhisper of rustling leaves provides a sweet solace I’m not used to.

Maybe it’s because my bedroom back home didn’t have windows that opened. Obviously a major code violation when it came to fire safety, but my parents were more concerned about people gettinginthan being able to get out.

With today’s ominous weather, tea and a book sound like the perfect way to spend my afternoon.

I pull out the kettle and the cinnamon apple tea I got from the store. They only had five different selections at the rural grocery shop. But cinnamon reminds me of what Giulia used to make us when we were sick.

When the water starts to boil, I reach for a mug, pulling down a white one with the wordsI Stole This From the World’s Best Bossinked across the front.

I chuckle. Nik’s humor must be how he copes with this world. I’ve seen him focused, determined, loyal, and charming in the little time I’ve spent with him. Never shaken.

Reaching for the kettle, one of my blistered fingers grazes the scalding side.

“Ouch!” I let out a strangled cry as the throbbing pain pulses with each of my heartbeats.

I quickly pad into the bathroom and scour the vanity for some cream and bandages. Mumbling over all the first aid material Nik seems to own, I finally pull out the antiseptic cream and spread it over my fingers. The relief is almost instant.

I find the bandages Nik used buried deep in one of the drawers. As I reach for them, something shimmery catches my eye. Deep blue lines the bottom of the drawer, under boxes of Band-Aids and cans of shaving cream.

I pause, contemplating. Finally, curiosity gets the better of me, and I grab for the glossy thing—and pull out a photo.

My jaw goes slack as I stare. It’s a portrait photo, a tender moment frozen in time. A woman’s arms are wrapped around a little boy who appears to be about five or six. His hair is light blond, and a dimple shows as he smiles and leans into the woman. Long blonde hair skirts around her face, her hazel eyes an exact match to Nik’s.

His mother’s eyes are filled with a combination of pride and affection. The soft studio lighting, from what I’m assuming was a department store photo session, casts a glow on their faces highlighting the warmth in each of their smiles.

I continue to stare. Unable to put the photo back.

Why is this here? In the bathroom of all places, stuck under cheap drug store items. I stand, holding the picture. There are no personal photographs, and no photo albums in this apartment. Not a hint of his family or where he comes from. Except for this.

An uneasy feeling creeps over me, having invaded his personal space. But doesn’t he want this displayed?

Maybe I should ask him about it.

I leave the bathroom and place the photo on the island, chewing on my lip in indecision. The only proof of a woman’s presence in Nik’s life is buried in the bottom of a drawer.

The door to the apartment shuts quietly at 1 a.m. Normally, I don’t hear Nik come home, but tonight is different. I sit on the still-made bed, cross-legged, staring at the bedroom door. Light from the single lamp on my nightstand casts shadows along the walls.

Listening, I hear the keys drop onto the counter, and the refrigerator door opens. Ice clinks, and the crinkling of awrapper makes me smile. Most likely a protein bar. I discovered those two weeks after our wedding.

The food I’d been buying at the store was only being eaten by me, and I was baffled by such a large man living off so little. That is, until I found his stash of protein bars and powders. Drawers full of flavors, like apple pie and birthday cake—the man has a year’s worth, atleast. I made a mental note to check when he was getting low, so I could pick up his favorite ones from the store.

A slap on the counter invades my thoughts. The sound of paper, or a photo, being crushed.

Heavy footsteps march to the bedroom, and I start to question myself.

Should’ve left it, Luna.

The door slides open and Nik’s glare levels me where I sit.

“Where’d you find it?”

His tone is cold. As if this is an inconvenience he deals with every day.

“I found it in the bathroom drawer when I was getting a new bandage. Thought you may want it.”

Nik narrows his eyes at my newly wrapped fingers, nostrils flaring. He strides past the room’s threshold, both hands in his pockets.

“I don’t. Next time, leave something like that alone.”

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