by Amity Cross
“Integrity,” he replied, laughing in my face. “That’s what it’s about.”
My lip curled as I stared him down, struggling to keep my temper under control. No, I didn’t want to fight him because I’d made Lori a promise. She didn’t come to The Underground anymore, but her boyfriend did. If I fought him, I would be breaking it, and I didn’t want to hurt her any more than I already had. If I fought Hamish—win or lose—I would be drawn into her stratosphere once more.
I’d promised to leave her alone and never contact her again, and I intended to honor it. I owed her, not her grudge-wielding boyfriend. I didn’t need to explain myself to him.
I thought about all the things I could throw in his face—my promise, my shit existence, my misery, saving the ashen-haired woman from the fire—but it wasn’t worth it.
Hissing, I shoved him back and stalked off, the crowd parting like I was the embodiment of my namesake. A storm was brewing, and they were scrambling to get out of the way before they were steamrolled.
It was better I remained anonymous. Here, out there, and when it came to that fire. It was better for everyone if I kept punishing myself with obscurity.
I was glad the ashen-haired woman was okay. At least her life was repairable. Mine had gone up in flames a long time ago.
5
Callie
I woke with a start, sweat sticking my flimsy T-shirt to my skin.
Wiping my forehead with the back of my hand, I stared up at the ceiling, trying to shake off the dream. I still seemed to be within it even though I knew I was back in reality. Fire, clear as day, crawled up my curtains, and smoke the color of darkness was choking my lungs.
Blinking furiously, the image began to dissolve, and I was back in my room.
The darkness was broken up by the streetlight outside. Artificial light was creeping around the cracks in the curtains, leaving lines across my bedspread. The city was quiet, the little side street in the inner city suburb of Northcote was empty. Everyone was asleep, but I was wide-awake.
Who are you?
Rubbing my eyes, I reached for my phone and checked the time. One thirty-two a.m. Groaning, I unlocked the screen and checked my notifications out of habit. Social media was the great distraction of the twenty-first century if you asked me. People could say whatever they wanted online, and who the fuck cared if it was true or false or blatantly offensive? Take away accountability, give a person some anonymity, and it was a free for all.
Still, I couldn’t help checking to see if I had any messages. Slave.
There were a lot of comments about the fire and some shares and likes on older images and posts, but there didn’t seem to be anything from my mystery savior. The man with the chestnut bordering on chocolate eyes was still as mysterious as ever.
Setting my phone down, I rolled over and closed my eyes. My mind heaved with images, thoughts, and a strange longing, and sleep was beyond me. Frustrated, I picked up my phone and opened it again.
What was I doing? It was almost two in the morning, I was exhausted yet wide-awake, my body was coiled with a weird-as-fuck frustration, and I was dreaming about being burned alive. I needed to get something off my chest, but what was it?
The man. That was what. Who are you?
I tapped the notepad icon, and a new note appeared. Staring at the flashing icon, I allowed my thoughts to roam freely. I wasn’t the best writer in the world, but I had to get this out. He’d disappeared after doing such a selfless thing and had forced me to live without closure. I needed to tell him how I felt. Not how I found him hauntingly handsome but the ‘thanks for saving my life’ part.
My fingers flew over the little keyboard, and I went back and fixed some autocorrects, but I put it all out there. My life was in such a limbo state, with everything up in the air, I just had to tell somebody. I had customers who were dying to sample my creations in person, so I had to tell them what was going on, right? I owed it to my followers to tell them the story…
Honestly, it was more of a selfish reason that drove me to copy and paste the note into my social media accounts and attach a photo of the burned-out shop and another of me with one of my cakes—a ten-tiered wedding extravaganza I’d made a few months ago—and hit post. I wanted to find my handsome stranger. It was becoming an obsession with the amount of time I spent thinking about him and not rebuilding my business. I knew it was only two days since the fire, but I knew me. When I became fixated on something, look the fuck out.
Reading over the post again, I edited a typo.
My name is Callie Winslow, and two nights ago, I was almost burned alive.
I was painting in the storeroom of my soon-to-be-opened shop, The Fitzroy Cake Company, on Brunswick Street, Fitzroy.
You guys already know about me and my dream to one day have my own little slice of the retail pie (pun totally intended) and share my sugary creations with the world. Cupcakes with rainbow buttercream icing, a ten-tiered wedding cake to help celebrate a special union, a slice of red velvet and chocolate sponge with chocolate ganache drip icing to cheer up a dreary afternoon. Small, humble, personalized happiness on a plate. That’s The Fitzroy Cake Company’s core value…and mine.
The shop was set to open next weekend with free samples, balloons, glitter, and music, but unfortunately, I’ve had to postpone it. To when? I don’t know.
Two nights ago, a fire broke out in the kitchen. Within minutes, it had engulfed the entire room, leaving me trapped in the back with no way out.
I remember lying on the floor, smoke filling the tiny storeroom, then the sound of crashing glass. A man appeared through the flames and scooped me into his arms like an action hero. A stranger with the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen. He saved me and made sure I was delivered to safety, and then he disappeared without leaving his name.
He disappeared, and now he’s all I can think about.
I dream about smoke and fire, and it always ends with you saving me.
My shop can be rebuilt, my dream repaired, and The Fitzroy Cake Company will have its time to shine, but I was so close to suffocating, being burned alive or worse. You saved me from a terrible fate. You risked your life for a stranger, not even knowing if you would be able to help let alone get out yourself.
The man with the chocolate eyes. The gruff, sad, handsome stranger who I just can’t shake.
Whoever you are, please let me say thank you. Please let me shake your hand and speak the words.
You saved my life…and haunted me instead.
Please. Who are you?
Satisfied, I turned my phone off and promptly went to sleep. It seemed hashing it out helped after all.
I woke feeling groggy but oddly calm.
The sound of clattering footsteps rumbled down the hall, and a moment later, Macy threw open my bedroom door. She had this irritating habit of never knocking, which had resulted in her seeing my boobs more times than I could remember. The first time she’d done it she was all like ‘Nice tits, Callie!’ then promptly started talking to me like nothing was out of the ordinary.
This morning, she was dressed for work—as an administration assistant at an accounting firm in the city—in her usual getup of a cute silk blouse tucked into a black pencil skirt and sexy black kitten heels on her feet. Perfect hair and perfect makeup completed the ensemble.
“Uh, Callie?” She held up her mobile phone, a quizzical expression on her face. “Have you seen this?”
“Seen what?” I rubbed my eyes as she flopped down on the bed beside me.
“I think your midnight social media post has gone viral.”
“What?” My heart did a full somersault with a twist, and I snatched up my own phone. Unlocking the screen, my mouth fell open when I saw the notifications that had been lighting it up while I was asleep. It was still going—banners were appearing thick and fast. I would have to turn it off at this rate. “There’s thousands of them… Oh, my God, I can’t look. Do I want to look? I can’t. Look for me.” I tossed my phone at her.
&nb
sp; She laughed and scrolled through her own. “It’s all good. You’ve mobilized an army.”
“They aren’t trolls?” I asked, my shoulders sagging. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Callie, calm down a little. Take a deep breath…then look at your post.”
Taking a deep breath, I said a little prayer and picked up my phone. Opening the Facebook app, I tapped on the notifications and was led to my post.
There were tons of shares and likes, but the comments were nothing but positive. Well, there were a few jerks typing out negative things about my weight, but most of them were nice. Things like I’m glad you’re okay, I’m sorry about your shop, I hope you find your mystery guy, and I’ve shared in case someone I know knows him.
“Holy shit, Macy,” I said in total disbelief. “I didn’t think it would end up like this. I wasn’t even with it last night. I was completely brain fried.”
She snorted. “It’s done now.”
“I mean, I was dreaming about the fire… I was rattled…” I glanced up at my housemate, suddenly feeling sick. “Mace… Have I done the right thing? What if he didn’t want to be found, and now I’ve forced the guy to do something he didn’t want to do?”
“If you ask me,” she began, putting down her phone, “he can’t expect to save you, then not have you wonder about his identity. It’s common sense. After this, if he still doesn’t come forward, then you’ll know for sure either way. It’s all you can do. Reading the post might be enough of a thank you.”
She was right. I couldn’t force the guy to do anything. Besides, I didn’t know him at all. He could be anyone, but it didn’t stop me from conjuring up his image again.
“I can’t stop thinking about him,” I murmured. “It’s borderline obsessive, actually.”
“Was he hot?” Macy asked with a wicked grin. “He was hot, wasn’t he?”
I nodded, a smile pulling at my lips. “Yeah.”
“I knew it! It’s about time you were obsessed with a guy,” she declared. “You need to get yourself some cock, girl.”
“Macy!” My cheeks heated with embarrassment. She was so forward about these things, and a part of me wished I were like her. If she wanted sex, she went out and got it. If I wanted sex, I went out and flailed around like a moron and came home alone and miserable. I was so clueless.
“Don’t be such a prude,” she said with a giggle. “Anyway, let the post run its course, and if he wants to talk, he’ll let you know. Simple.”
It didn’t feel simple. I knew I would be glued to my phone all day, hitting refresh until I wore a hole in the screen.
“Well, I’ve gotta fly,” Macy said, standing and smoothing down her skirt. “I’ll see you tonight. If you need anything, call me at work, okay?”
I nodded. “Sure.”
She stopped at the door and glanced back. “And Callie? Don’t obsess. It’ll happen, or it won’t. Either way, you’ll be just fine, I promise.”
Smiling, I pushed down the nausea rolling in my stomach. “Sure.”
Before she left, she made a face. “You’re not going to do that, are you?”
“Nope.” I grinned sheepishly and picked up my phone to refresh my messages.
It was going to be a long day.
6
Storm
My fight at The Underground tonight hadn’t exactly gone to plan.
The plan was to win, but instead, I’d had my ass handed to me by Blade. It was like another dose of karma was thumping me in the face, and this time, it was retribution for being a knob to Faye last night. I experienced a lot of karma these days.
Making my way through the crowd, I rubbed my side. That kick had to have busted a rib. Maybe I should get it checked out.
“The shop burned to the ground,” a woman was saying. “And some guy just leapt into the flames and saved her.”
“Her cakes are amazing,” another woman added. “Did you see this one? It’s shaped like a fairy garden with little toadstools and grass and everything. It’s chocolate inside.”
“It’s a shame about her shop.”
“Yeah, I hope she finds the guy.”
“To think he just left without leaving his name like that. It would drive me mad.”
I froze, my heart leaping. They were talking about the ashen-haired woman. They had to be. How many other stupid fuckers leapt into burning buildings in this city?
I should’ve kept walking, but I turned to the group of women, temptation flowing through my veins thick and fast. She was looking for me. Green eyes was looking for me.
I had a chance to know her if I wanted. I’d walked away because I knew it was the right thing to do, but selfishly, I found myself wanting to run after her. Maybe she would be different. Maybe she would see the real me, not the lies.
Elbowing my way forward, I approached the women.
“Hey,” I said, ignoring their startled glances when I pushed my way into their group. “Who’s that you’re talking about? That fire on Brunswick Street the other night?”
The woman next to me eyed me curiously. “Yeah. Did you see it?”
“I live near there,” I replied. “I saw the trucks.”
“Some woman was trapped in there,” the girl across from me said. “Some mystery guy saved her.”
“Now she’s looking for him,” the girl to my right said. “He never left a name and disappeared right after.”
“It isn’t you, is it Storm?” the girl opposite asked, narrowing her eyes.
“C’mon girls,” I drawled. “You know me. I’m a complete fuckhead. Of course, it isn’t. Can I see that?” I nodded at the cocky girl’s phone.
“You’re right. You are a fuckhead. You jumped out of my friend Rhiannon’s car at the Alexandria Parade traffic lights the other night rather than let her suck your cock.” Rolling her eyes, she handed me her phone so I could see the post.
I shrugged and took the phone. “It happens.”
“It was a total dick move,” the girl to my right said.
“Girls like your friend Rhiannon always think they’re the exception to the rule,” I said, glancing at the screen. Callie Winslow. Her name was Callie Winslow. “They always think they can turn the asshole good, and all it takes to mend a broken past is a few decent orgasms. Ain’t going to happen.” I handed the scowling girl back her phone. “Nice doing business with you.”
Retreating, I left the women to their death stares and swung by the bar. I’d need a beer for this.
“Quite the beating you took tonight,” Faye said, handing me a Corona. “You on your period or something?”
Narrowing my eyes, I saw she was still pissed I’d turned her down. She would just have to deal. Besides, there were plenty of other cocks lining up for her to ride, and she didn’t even have to buy a ticket.
“Nice to see you too, Faye.” I snatched the beer and flung a ten-dollar note at her. “Keep the change.”
“You know, there’s a reason why everyone hates your guts, Storm,” she called out after me. “You’re not helping yourself!”
Ignoring her, I weaved through the throng of people and found a quiet corner. Sitting on a couch in a darkened alcove—a couch that had probably seen its fair share of disinfectant—I sipped at my beer and contemplated looking up the beautiful Callie Winslow and seeing what she had to say about me. Her story seemed to have gone viral if those bitches were talking about it, so it was a good thing she didn’t know my true identity. If she did, it would be another kind of headline.
Taking out my phone, I nursed my beer between my knees and downloaded the Facebook app. I couldn’t believe I was doing this shit. Ever since my stupid ass was smeared all over the news and the Internet, I’d steered clear. I’d deleted every profile I’d had online and had never dared go back. People could be vicious as fuck when they weren’t held accountable.
I had to create a profile to continue, so I made one and set my name as Storm R, leaving the picture and other details blank.
Tapp
ing the search bar, I typed in her name. Callie Winslow.
I knew I was tempting fate and fueling a strange attraction I didn’t know anything about, but I did it anyway. She was going to be disappointed, and I was still going to be a miserable bastard.
The results loaded up, and there she was. Pale blonde hair, green eyes, and a smile to kill for. Tapping on the photo, it enlarged, and I salivated…and it had nothing to do with the giant wedding cake behind her.
She had curves but was still delicate, and she had a happy almost carefree way about her. I could see the pride in her eyes and the uninhibited joy her chosen profession had afforded her. She looked like an angel. A completely fuckable angel.
Exiting out of the photo, I read the post that had caused such a ruckus, and my hands started to shake. They actually fucking shook. Pussy.
She was a baker. A pastry chef. Was that what they called it? It was her shop that burned down, the dream she’d worked all her life to achieve, and now it was a pile of ash. The Fitzroy Cake Company. She’d almost gone down with it until I’d shown up.
You saved my life…and haunted me instead. Please. Who are you?
Turning over my phone, I grabbed my beer and downed a mouthful. Casting my gaze out over The Underground, I didn’t know what to think. About any of it.
I could still smell the stench of smoke lodged in my sinuses, and the feel of her in my arms was as vivid as the kick on the ribs I’d copped in the cage the hour before. She’d only spoken about a dozen words to me, but I remembered every single one.
Picking up my phone, I opened her profile and began scrolling, and a more complete picture of Callie Winslow began to take shape. There were a lot of photos of her cakes and pastries and a lot of selfies, but there was no guy. Was she alone?
You haunted me instead…
My finger hovered over the message icon. She would be disappointed when she found out the truth about me. She would believe the lie—that I was a perpetrator of domestic violence—and she wouldn’t feel the same way about that night. She would look at me like everyone else did. Those pretty green eyes would be filled with hate.
