Among the Flames

by Lya Lively

“Oh. I’m so sorry-,”

  “Don’t be. It happened. It’s whatever.” I desperately need for it to be less of a big deal as it seemed to be; if he thinks it’s any worse than I do, then I’m the bad guy. If he thinks I should be more broken than I am, then maybe I’m more messed up than I thought I was; maybe I’m worse than my mom after all.

  Silence.

  “Cancer,” he said finally. I stole short glances at his sullen face; I’d never seen someone so distraught and heavily weighed on by the destruction of his thoughts. No one, except my mom. “Dad was a drunk,” he smiled and let out a broken laugh to hide the shards of glass he felt peeking through behind his eyes. “He was abusive, to our mom mostly, and he left one day with his band because somehow that was more important than his own-,” he sighed slightly, his chest barely rose as if it pained him to breathe. “It’s just been Cam and me for a while, and I never got close to her before she... passed.” His gaze looked lost by the destruction of things that were beyond his control.

  I openly stared at him for a second, the perfect words floating into my mind, “You are so brave and quiet I forget you are suffering.” I told him, quoting someone who found a way to perfectly place the emotions in my head better than I could.

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s a quote. Ernest Hemingway.” I said quietly.

  “What from?” He cocked a single eyebrow, seemingly just going through the motions.

  “Don’t know; I’ve never read his work, to be honest.” It was my turn to tell him about my parents, but I couldn’t. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to, but I didn’t know how to.

  “You don’t have to-,” He assured me, reading the expression on my face.

  “House fire, it killed them both. I snuck out, and when I got back it was already up in flames; everything was gone. The whole house. Ashes.”

  “Oh. Do they know how it started?”

  “I don’t know.” I lied. I mean, I didn’t know, but I had a pretty good guess. “I don’t remember much of what happened, I sort of just... left.” I wasn’t lying, necessarily. “Haven’t turned back since,” and then I was. Every night, every flashback, was a stab in the back trapping me in this endless emotional Hell.

  “I’m sorry, but wouldn’t you like closure? Like, just to know?” His words were hesitant, slow and reluctant.

  “Yeah, well, the more you turn back, the more knives you wish you didn’t see stabbed. It’s all just much nicer to slowly fade away not knowing than to be haunted by a truth you can’t change.”

  “I guess. But wouldn’t you just be haunted then by what you think happened rather than just know something that could be a simple truth,” He asked simply.

  “If there’s anything I’ve learned it’s that nothing in life is simple.”

  Somehow his face had gotten closer to mine while we were speaking. I hadn’t noticed before, but now that I did it made sense of my skipping heart. I could feel the strength of gravity from our faces being inches apart; his breath against my face was warm and almost frantic. I could even feel his hand as it found its way onto my arm, shooting electricity through my veins as he held it in place.

  “Sometimes things are simple,” he whispered, his face coming closer to mine. “We just find ways to make them complicated when they’re important to us.” I could feel his eyes studying me like he was watching and waiting.

  “So what is this?” I asked my voice barely audible. I could practically feel his face against my own, the anticipation like fire, burning like Hell as his hand brushed up against my bare arm.

  “Complicated.” He said in a muffled voice. I leaned in closer to him, but before our skin could touch he whispered, “Can I kiss you?”

  I was so taken aback by the suddenly increased anticipation I couldn’t help but whisper back, “please.” He kissed me.

  But I couldn’t stop my mind from working, from plotting the stars in the sky while feeling his lips pressed against mine and the sound of the other campers’ low hum of sleep. I felt the crisp warm air seeping into the tent, felt my own heart beating at an even pace, and mentally plotted our moment in grave detail on the map in my head.

  I pulled away from him worriedly and rested my forehead on his shoulder; the thought of Drew sprang into my mind.

  “We can’t do this,” I said quietly, my heart now fluttering to the sound of his shaky breath.

  “I know,” he whispered against me, and we kissed there in my little tent, under stars, among the flames.

  FIFTEEN

  Hayden

  I found it hard not to flinch when we sat beside each other in Alesha’s VW stopped at a gas station and he grabbed my hand. His fingers found their way woven between mine, wrapped tightly around my hand. Only his thumb was loose to gently stroke my hand, and it was... My heart fluttered, eyes glued to his silhouette.

  I almost wanted to say something, but the words weren’t coming out of my mouth; I thought about Drew and how this would hurt him even though we weren’t officially together, and I thought about Eric and how something about everything still bothered me, but I didn’t know what.

  He didn’t look at me. It was as if the actions weren’t his own and he was simply acting purely on instinct rather than personal intent, but when the van doors opened, and the others appeared my hand was alone again, lying cold and limp beside me. I still wasn’t sure how I felt, but I hoped one of us would figure it out soon.

  “See,” Kara blurted from the front seat. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  Tony said nothing and glared at her. Shortly after Noah kissed me, his gray eyes piercing through the veil of darkness that once consumed my disastrous thoughts, Tony was “bumped” and fell into the lake. It was incredibly funny for anyone who wasn’t Tony, understandably.

  “Yeah,” Noah agreed, not looking at me. “It was alright.”

  What, I thought uncomfortably. Did I do something wrong? Was I not good enough? Doesn’t he like me anymore? A lump caught in my throat, did he ever truly like me?

  “Hayden,” Alesha was calling back proudly, “what’d you think?”

  Now I could feel his eyes were undeniably fixed on me as if he were waiting for an analysis of how he did. I facially shrugged, “It was fine,” I said nodding nonchalantly. “About as cool as I remember it to be.” I smiled, feeling his disappointed stare slowly dissipate.

  The short distance between us was filled with agonizing silence while everyone else either slept or remained physically rested. Occasionally I would give up and assume he was sleeping right before I’d see his eyes flicker while he stared at the things we drove past the daylight dimming.

  We rode smoothly past a man, looking maybe early 50’s, mowing his lawn in a ratty old wife-beater stained by sweat and dirt. His skin was like old leather, dark and wrinkled but still beautiful in an old-person kind of way where you understood each wrinkle was the product of something significant.

  He kept to himself, just as he did after we’d met and he’d decided he hated me at that moment. Outside he looked so peaceful and centered with his thoughts, while inside I felt like a prisoner to my own mind. I could’ve screamed, and I felt he’d not notice. I could’ve cried, and I felt he’d not care. I could’ve confessed every sin of mine, and I felt he’d put a mirror to my scars and call them scratches. I felt dead inside, at any other time I felt like nothing more than a pile of bones held together by tissue paper slowly [ripping/tearing] at the seams. But at this moment, looking at him, a spark ignited in my chest. It wasn’t much, but it was just enough to feel almost alive. I almost felt like there could be something that made it almost worth it to live.

  ***

  The apartment was warm when we got back. “Damn,” Noah said when we entered, “it’s way too hot in here.” He made his was quickly over to the knobs to change the temperature.

  I watched him moving, taking each stride anxiously before turning the knobs with deliberate, determined hands. “So aren’t we going to talk about this?” I blurte
d randomly; I almost hoped the words were just a trick of my mind, my ears playing tricks on me, but then I almost wanted to know the answer. At first, I thought he couldn’t hear me, or maybe he was just ignoring me, but then his shoulders fell while he tilted his head. “At least,” I was starting to feel breathless. The last thing I wanted to do was ‘talk’ about it. “At least look at me,” I instantly regretted my request when he turned slowly to face me, expression unreadable.

  “What’s there to talk about?” He said shrugging his shoulders carelessly.

  “You’re kidding.” I could feel the disappointment welling up in my chest; I don’t need this I thought pitifully. Just drop it; it’s obvious he doesn’t even care.

  “Fine,” He said slowly reading the expression on my face, “What do you want to talk about?” Noah stepped closer, just far enough to be comfortable. But I want him to stand closer...

  I stared at him until I felt more anger than curiosity, and the games he played with my head became a means for war. My insecurity levels were high, but looking at him now I didn’t see all of my faults, my mistakes, my demons; instead, looking at him now, all I saw was him. All I saw was his dumb expression; all I saw was a person outside of myself, and I wasn’t yet sure how I felt about that.

  “I’m not playing games anymore, Noah. You kissed me, and I’d like to talk about it,” I blurted forcefully, awkwardly watching his expression change from his casual poker face to surprise.

  “Ok,” he said eventually, moving slightly closer. “What about it?”

  I felt my breath as it caught in my throat, I honestly didn’t think I’d get this far. “What... did you think?” NO, I change my mind! I don’t want to know the answer to that! “I mean..., why did you do it?”

  He smirked while he leaned himself against the back of the lay-z-boy and crossed his arms smoothly, “What do you mean ‘why’d I do it,’ you’re a pretty girl and I’m a single, good-looking guy. Think.”

  I wanted to be mad at this pathetic excuse of an answer, but instead my heart fluttered a bit in my chest, and my stomach twisted into knots. “Pretty?” I asked with more than a hint of disapproval. And suddenly, I found a word that hurt me more than ‘nice.’

  He nodded, “Sure; you’re pretty. Blue eyes, nice hair, and a decent body. Pretty.”

  All of my emotions were hatching out from within me; it was as if there was this hidden cave deep inside my mind that was uncovered for the first time. I wanted to scream, I wanted to reach across and strangle him with every ounce of strength I possessed, I wanted to run and leap into his arms, but I also wanted to cry, I wanted to hug someone who truly cared for me, and most terrifyingly I just wanted to run.

  Instead, mustering up whatever was left, I spoke slowly. “So you don’t like me.” I smiled sadly, tears in my eyes ignored.

  His face dropped from cocky to almost sympathetic and self-aware, just a second before it went back to his casual deadpan that was nearly indecipherable. “I don’t,” he said softly.

  I thought back to when he held my hand just after when he had apologized to me for hurting me just moments before, but I was too weak to assume he meant anything other than what he had just said. So instead I just accepted it as the only truth I knew, “Good,” I mumbled nodding knowingly, “right, because it would be awkward if you did,” I mumbled thoughtlessly trying to salvage any pride I might have left. It didn’t feel like anything, to be honest, “You know,” I laughed a fake, pathetic little chuckle. “Because we live here together and.. yeah.” I brushed my hair out of my face and crossed my arms, wishing I could just shrink into the smallest spec of dirt I felt like and become invisible and not exist anymore.

  I don’t know why I thought someone could truly like me, I laughed quietly to myself, ridiculous.

  Noah

  I watched any pride or sense of wellness evaporate from her eyes the second I smiled. It was only downhill from there watching the light in her eyes be further vanquished by the words I decided to say. Every ounce of beauty and innocence, every drop of purity masked in her youthful exuberance died, and I was the one who murdered it.

  I was the one whose simple forming of meaningless syllables and expressions and movements killed and broke the tiny sliver of hope for security she had left. That was me, no, that was my father.

  “Pretty?” she asked with disappointment bleeding through her lips like poison. I remembered when her tiny voice cried out weakly for help when she slept, “Sure; you’re pretty. You’ve got nice blue eyes, soft hair, and a decent body.” The guilt screamed inside of me for lying to her, well, for withholding the whole truth. I shouldn’t have kissed her, I thought dumbly. But there was something about it that almost made it seem like I didn’t have a choice.

  “So you don’t like me,” she said while staring blankly, eyes filling with heart-wrenching tears that took the strength of gravity itself to keep from falling, and yet there they were.

  “I don’t,” I mumbled softly, watching every inch of her break finally. It was the hardest thing I’d done. I lied to a girl, who made me feel whole, and stared blankly as I let her fall apart.

  She began talking thoughtlessly, babbling. She nodded numbly at my silence; I watched her dimming eyes sink solemnly to the ground.

  After a few more moments of silence, she walked away, carrying her suitcase with her, into her bedroom. I waited; almost hoping someone would drive through the wall and run me over, saving both of us from my mistakes. Instead, I just sat alone with the low hum of the AC. I don’t understand how anyone so innocent could be interested in my pathetic self, I thought pitifully, ridiculous.

  I slowly stalked over to my room, pulled out my notepad and a pen from my dresser, and wrote. I tried to keep my tyrant to bound pages, because even when they cut the sting isn’t nearly as severe as the thoughts and emotions being laced in black ink and malevolence.

  Even though I'm writing this through tears, I feel nothing,

  and there is no way to truly describe it without you thinking I'm something

  And something awful at that because the words

  I have chosen to make me seem sad and lonely without hope

  But I am only alone with the thoughts that tug and pull at this tightrope

  I tied around my neck, to see if choking felt as bad,

  as sitting in the corner of a crowded space not knowing where your head's at.

  SIXTEEN

  Hayden

  With the help of Kara, Drew and I sort of became a thing. It felt strange like I was greedy to expect a guy to like me or for me to keep his interest instead of other girls. We have another date set up, but it still almost feels unreal. Like, I almost feel somewhat comfortable in my own skin, but should I? It’s like whenever I start to feel good or happy I can’t help but wonder if I deserve this life at all. Should I even have the right to be happy after everything I’ve had to endure? Hell, maybe I don’t even deserve to be alive right now, my parents aren’t.

  Mid-thought there was a knock at the apartment door; I could hear Noah standing up to open in from where I remained hidden inside my bedroom, the door open just a crack. I watched his shadowy figure cross across to see who was there; I half expected it to be a break in as maybe God’s way of taking away another person or thing I hold close to me. Maybe I was just being punished for something I haven’t figured out yet.

  I listened to them talking. “Hey man,” Noah said calmly. “What’s up?”

  The person at the door was too far for me to hear any more than muffled deep tones. Finally, I saw Noah’s shadow back up and let another one join him, “Drew’s here,” he yelled out before making his way back toward the living room.

  I took a deep breath, not sure I was ready for this occasion. If there was anything I grew to dislike, it was intimacy of both physical and emotional sort. I tugged at the layers of my jacket, pulled the ends together like a security blanket to protect me from my deafening thoughts that had the potential to drown out any positivity of thi
s moment.

  Somebody wants you; I told myself, you can be happy now. But deep down something about it still didn’t feel right, and I had to admit to myself that I still wasn’t happy and I would have to accept that I wasn’t quite sure why.

  I walked quickly past Noah, refusing to make eye contact with him, “Ok,” I said soberly, “let’s go.”

  I was already through the door when he stopped me, “But wait, isn’t Noah coming?”

  “What?” Noah and I both said simultaneously.

  I glanced at him, but refused to give him too much of my attention, “No, I don’t think that he is.”

  It could have been dropped and that would have been the end of the conversation, the mood of the situation would have changed and everyone would have forgotten what made them uncomfortable, and life would have gone on, but it didn’t. Instead, he continued to explain to us why he thought this was going to be a thing.

  “But, Kara said this was gonna be a group thing,” He said questioningly, the nervousness becoming more apparent on his lightly freckled face, dark brown eyes masking a false confidence that he chose to hide behind.

  “Since when,” I wasn’t sure if it was Noah or me who asked, but I’m pretty sure we were both thinking the same thing at that point.

  “Uh, she texted me yesterday,” He looked indubitably uncomfortable, and started fidgeting awkwardly with his watch. “I mean, it’s fine if that’s not what you wanted to...” I could feel Noah standing behind me, full of the same surprise and confusion as I was.

  I shook my head, “No, it’s fine. It’s not a big deal; we’re all friends here, I’d just like to talk to Kara,” but I don’t have a phone. I walked over to the corner where the counters intersected, hoping to find a house phone or something like it, but nothing.

  “Do either of you have a phone I could use to text Kara?” I asked them both. Drew stood there looking dumb for a minute or two, so Noah offered me the house phone.

  He came up casually to where I was, reaching around me to dig through the drawers. “Oh, sorry,” I said getting out of his way, suddenly feeling my cheeks burn.