Nothing happens.
“I’m a real piece of work, yeah?” I say to the man who claims to be my father.
“That’s not going to work,” he says. Or maybe I’m the one speaking—hell if I know.
I reach for an old magazine lying on top of one of the boxes and bring the flame to the corner of the pages. It ignites immediately. I watch the fire travel up the pages and toss the burning magazine onto the couch. I’m impressed by how quickly the fire swallows the couch, and I swear I can feel the fucking memories burning along with the piece of shit.
The trail of rum is next—it’s burning in a twisted line. My eyes can barely keep up with the flames as they dance across the floorboards, flicking and cracking, making the most comforting sounds. The colors are bright, fucking mad and they angrily attack the rest of the room.
Over the sound of the flames, Vance shouts, “Are you satisfied?”
I don’t know if I am.
Tessa wouldn’t be, she would be sad that I destroyed the house.
“Where is she?” I ask, searching the room, which is blurry, and filling with smoke.
If she’s in here and something happens to her . . .
“She’s outside. She’s safe,” Vance assures me.
Do I trust him? I fucking hate him. This is all his fault. Is Tessa still here? Is he lying?
But then I realize Tessa is too smart for this. She’d already be gone. Away from this. Away from my destruction. And if this man had raised me, I wouldn’t have become this bad a person. I wouldn’t have hurt so many people, especially Tessa. I never wanted to hurt her, but I always do.
“Where were you?” I ask him. I wish the flames would grow. At their small size, the house will never burn completely. I may have stashed another bottle somewhere. I can’t think clearly enough to remember. The fire doesn’t feel big enough. The small flames don’t match the size of my fucking anger, and I need more.
“I was at the hotel with Kimberly. Let’s go before the fire department arrives, or you get yourself hurt.”
“No—where were you that night?” The room is beginning to spin, and the heat is suffocating me.
Vance seems genuinely shocked and stops, shifting completely upright. “What? I wasn’t even here, Hardin! I was in America. I would never let something like that happen to your mum! But, Hardin—we need to go!” he yells.
Why would we go? I want to watch this shit burn.
“Well, it happened anyway,” I say, my body getting heavier and heavier. I should probably sit down, but if I have to play these images in my head, so does he. “She was beaten to a bloody fucking pulp. Each of them had their way with her, they fucked her over and over and over . . .” My chest hurts so fucking bad, I wish I could reach inside and yank everything out. Everything was easier before I met Tessa, nothing could hurt me. Even this shit wouldn’t hurt me like this. I had learned to suppress it until she made me . . . she made me feel shit that I never wanted to, and now I can’t seem to turn it off.
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry that happened! I would have stopped it!”
I look up, and he’s crying. How dare he fucking cry when he didn’t have to watch it—he didn’t have to see it each time he closed his eyes to sleep, year after year after year.
Flashing blue lights pour through the windows, scatter across all the glass in the room, interrupting my bonfire. The sirens are fucking loud—holy shit, they’re loud.
“Get out!” Vance shouts. “Get out now! Go out the back door and get in my car! Go!” he screams frantically.
Fucking dramatics.
“Fuck you.” I stumble; the room is spinning faster now and the sirens are piercing my ears.
Before I can stop him, his hands are on me and he’s pushing my drunken body back through the living room, into the kitchen, and out through the back. I try to push back, but my muscles refuse to cooperate. The cold air hits me, making me dizzy, and then my ass lands on the concrete.
“Go to the alley and get in my car,” I think he says before he disappears.
I scramble to my feet after falling over a few times and try to open the back kitchen door, but it’s fucking locked. Inside I hear multiple voices, all shouting and something buzzing. What the fuck is that?
I pull my phone from my pocket and see Tessa’s name flashing across the screen. I can either go find his car in the alley and face her, or I can go inside and get arrested. I look at her blurry face on the screen, and the decision is made for me.
I can’t for the life of me figure out how the fuck I’m going to get across the street without the cops spotting me. The screen on my phone is duplicated and shifting, but somehow I manage to dial Tessa’s number.
“Hardin! Are you all right?” she cries into the speaker.
“Pick me up at the end of the street, in front of the cemetery.” I lift the latch on the neighbor’s gate and end the call. At least I don’t have to go through Mike’s yard.
Did he marry my mum today? For his sake, I hope not.
“You wouldn’t want her to be alone forever. I know you love her; she’s still your mother,” Tessa’s voice rings through my head. Great, now I’m hearing voices.
“I’m not perfect. No one is,” her sweet voice reminds me. She’s wrong though, she’s so very wrong, and naïve, and perfect.
I manage to find myself standing at the corner of my mum’s street. The cemetery behind me is dark; the only light is coming from the flashing blues in the distance. The black Beemer pulls up moments later, and Tessa stops in front of me. I climb into the car without a word, and the door is barely closed before she floors the gas pedal.