Page 2 of Let it Sizzle
Samira starts rocking beside me, her eyes wide and wet. She whispers the words I gave her like a prayer. “We stay small. We don’t let the fear get bigger than us. We stay small. We don’t let the fear…”
I join her.
“...get bigger than us.”
The door cracks with a sound that makes me jump. The dresser scrapes across the floor. My fingers clutch Samira’s shoulder, nails digging in too tight, but I can’t loosen them. My breath shortens, comes out ragged.
The lock gives.
His boot slams through the door. A jagged piece of wood flies across the room. I see his legs first—jeans stained with grease, fists at his side, heavy with rage. He’s breathing like a bull, loud and furious, and he’s inside now.
“Come out here, you ungrateful little—”
I stop hearing him. Everything slows.
My vision narrows. My body folds in on itself. I can hear my blood rushing in my ears, feel my fingers going numb. Samira’s still whispering beside me, but it sounds far away.
I don’t know if I’m going to move. I don’t know if I can.
Then there’s a crash. A different voice.
“Get the hell away from them!”
It happens fast. A blur of noise and motion. I hear a struggle. Something slams into the wall. My father grunts. Then there’s silence again—sharp, stunned silence.
I blink and crawl toward the light pooling in through the broken door. The shape of someone kneeling meets my eyes.
Levi.
His face is flushed, his shirt is torn at the shoulder, and there’s blood on his lip—but he looks steady. Fierce. He looks like the only real thing in the room.
He crouches down, one hand outstretched toward me. His voice is quiet but strong.
“Serena. It’s okay. I’m here now.”
For a second, I don’t believe him. Then I look at Samira. Her eyes are on him too. Hope flickers there. Real hope. It hits me like a wave. I reach out with shaking fingers and place my hand in his.
He grips it gently. And just like that, I can breathe again. I feel safe even though we are still in the same house with my dad.
The adrenalin has stopped pumping and I can feel my heart rate slow down to normal.
The grip on my hand is the last thing I register before everything goes black.
My knees buckle beneath me, but I don’t feel the floor. There’s only warmth—arms strong enough to hold me, even when everything else falls away. I hear my name once more, spoken low and urgent. “Serena… stay with me.”
But I can’t.
It’s too much. Too fast. My brain, my body—they can’t hold any more.
The next thing I know, I’m looking at a florescent light.
There’s the sound of a kettle whistling somewhere in the distance and the faint scent of soap and lavender. I blink against the haze, throat dry, limbs heavy, heart racing even though I’m not in danger anymore.
I sit up too quickly. A dull ache pulses in my head, and the blanket around my shoulders slips.
The couch beneath me isn’t mine. It’s too soft. Too safe.
Then I remember.
