Page 4 of Through the Flames
The room in the background had an air of familiarity to it because I recognized it from a Zillow listing.
Fuck. I blew out a breath, spearing my fingers into my hair. So much for my carefully curated plans.
My girl just went and dropped a fucking hand grenade on them without even realizing what she’d done.
Leaning back in my chair, I stared blankly at the picture. I squeezed my eyes shut before slowly opening them again, in utter disbelief.
Then I sat up straight and began deleting the housing threads I’d been sabotaging. Well, there was no fucking point anymore.
She just went from wide open to locked down. And not by me.Yet. Fucking torture.
I’d been so goddamn close.
I’d made space for her in my world, both physically and mentally.
Colt was gone — though admittedly that was only circumstantial — I’d furnished her room and stocked the house with her essentials.
I’d been ready.
And now Sierra was standing between us, an annoying, and even worse, unbribable obstacle.
Inconvenient, but manageable. This just meant I had to adapt.
Mulling it over, playing through different scenarios in my head as I spun the mini football in my hands, I decided on my new objective.Get Ella into my house, even if it was only temporarily.
Let her see what it felt like while appeasing the obsession deeply rooted inside of me. Let her want tostay.
Two
Hunter
At night, the house felt huge and empty.
The cold walls and high ceilings made my room feel even bigger. Moonlight filtered in through the large window, painting long shadows across the room. They looked like monsters.
I wasn’t a little kid anymore. I knew the shadows were just the branches of the tree outside, shivering in the wind. The real monster was downstairs.
My hands clenched into fists on top of my covers. I’d smelled the whiskey on his breath earlier and knew what that meant.
It used to scare me. Sickly sweet fear coursing through my veins, immobilizing my body. Now, all I felt was rage.
Rage because I wasn’t bigger yet. Rage because I couldn’t hit him. Rage because he was doing this at all.
He was yelling again. Mom told me to go to sleep, but their muffled voices were getting louder and louder.
She said everything would be alright.
That’s what she always said. But in this big, cold house, it never was.
I wasn’t stupid. I knew our family wasn’t normal. Dads weren’t supposed to treat moms like this. They weren’t supposed to be angry all the time. I’d never seen Colt’s dad do anything like that. His mom never looked sad and never had bruises.
I pressed the pillow over my ears, wanting to escape, but I couldn’t escape their yelling. We couldn’t escape him.
I could hear Dad’s heavy footsteps on the marble floor downstairs. His voice sounded like thunder in these big rooms.
Mom’s voice was quiet, like a soft song trying to stop a storm.
I stayed still, trying to make myself small, like I could disappear. I never did.
