As We Burn

Twenty-Four.

I once heard that if you look a tiger directly in his eyes, he is less likely to kill you. Something to do with losing the element of surprise, I think. I don't know why, but this survival tip pops into my mind as I stand frozen, only a few feet away from Mathias Avery. My entire body is telling me to run, so I keep my eyes set on Mathias' coal irises as steady as possible.

"I like the costume - it's clever," he says with a friendly smile. I'd be less afraid if he wasn't smiling at all.

"My friend thought of it," I say.

"Ava, I assume? Blaise said she's sneaking around here somewhere, too."

Blaise. He must've recognized her and told Mathias, which is how he recognized me beneath my mask - he's connected the dots.

"We were drunk and we heard about the party-"

"You don't have to bullshit me, Ambrose. I know you're here because of Crispen," he tells me. My chest tightens at the name. How much does he know about me and Crispen, about us? And how?

Mathias turns toward the inky sky and leans his elbows casually on the railing of the balcony. The small light bulbs illuminate his sharp, handsome features. He's visually perfect, but it's almost too perfect; as if he was designed in a laboratory to be perfectly symmetrical. There's nothing unique or interesting to look at. He turns his head toward me again and nods, gesturing for me to join him. He's relaxed, poised, and my palms are sweating. He's unpredictable. Slowly, I remove my mask and walk closer to him. I put both of my hands on the cool metal of the railing next to him, tightening my grip in case he randomly decides to toss me over. My nose is hit with the smell of cologne, the obnoxious kind that gives me a headache if I'm around it for too long. I follow Mathias' gaze out into the stars, which cluster overtop fields of similar luxurious properties, spotting pools and fountains everywhere.

"You care about him?" Mathias asks, breaking the silence. I'm taken aback by his tone, as if he's actually interested in my feelings for Crispen. I nod.

"A lot," I admit, swallowing. My mouth is dry and sticky, as if I'm chewing on cotton.

"You shouldn't,"

"Excuse me?"

"I'm not trying to be a dick, seriously. But I've seen this, over and over and fucking over again," he shakes his head, huffing. He rubs the tip of his nose. "Did he tell you how we met?"

"No," I mutter, trying to calm myself. I've really come to hate learning new information about Crispen; it hardly ever leads anywhere good.

"He looked like shit the first time I saw him, in one of my classes during first year. I thought for sure he was on something, so I invited him to a party, you know, as bait to see what was up," he explains. Of course, the first logical solution to help a drug addict is to invite them to a university party.

"It was when he got there and didn't even smoke some weed that I knew there was more to the story," Mathias continues. I listen intently, consuming as much knowledge about Crispen's past as possible, adding more to the mental checklist I keep filed under Crispen St. Clair. "That's when it clicked, why I felt this weird type of connection with him so quickly. Fucking daddy issues."

"Daddy issues?" I ask, raising my eyebrow to see if he's joking. Mathias' expression remains lost in his story.

"We're both products of fucked up father figures," he says nonchalantly. I bite my lip. Is Mathias Avery really opening up to me about his trauma right now?  I squirm at the uncomfortable idea that perhaps I've judged Mathias' too harshly; it seems to be a character defect of mine. I need to remember I'm not the only person in the world who's been through shit.