As We Burn

Thirty.

I sit on a bench outside of the conservatory entrance, waiting for someone to come through the door. I'm not sure how long it's been and I can't be bothered to check my phone, but I suspect it's been a while. Winter bites at my ears, neck, and the tip of my nose. The sting keeps me distracted from my thoughts, which I've directed at counting the loose stones on the walkway. I've just reached two hundred and thirty four when I hear a clicking sound, and a student pushes through the metal door. It takes me a moment to come back into my body, but when I do, I rush to catch the door before it closes. Memories of the last time I entered this building whisper in my mind, but I ignore them as I descend into thick, humid air. It thaws the frozen skin on my face, but does nothing for the numbness inside of me.

"Oh, sorry but we're just closing up for the night," the desk attendant tells me. I think it's the same girl as before, but I'm not sure.

"I just need a few minutes," I say. My voice is embarrassingly weak, and I can see the pity on her face. Thankfully, it works in my favour.

"A few minutes," she agrees, and swipes a card through the lock. It lights up green, and she pulls it open. I'm relieved when she closes the door behind me, leaving me alone in the conservatory.

It's more beautiful than ever; a few string lights are still lit, warm hues falling over the dark jungle. I feel as though I'm interrupting something, disturbing the peaceful slumber of the wild creatures. There's a heavy silence only broken by the trickling of the waterfall.

I make my way over to the bridge, where the leafy canopy above casts shadows among the moonlight. It's the perfect spot, so I sit down right in the middle. I sit right there and let myself fall apart. First, it comes as a quivering tension in my chest, and then pushes itself out through small, hot tears that stream down my face. I think about everything; Crispen's secrets, his lies, his love. I think about my mother, and how desperate she is to cling onto her life as an addict. I think about Onyxus, and how the privileged few get to pull all the strings they want. Fuck, I even think about school and how I have projects to be working on, pictures to take. I choke on my tears and cough, and for a moment I wonder if the girl at the front desk can see me through cameras. At this point, I really don't care. Just then, white light from the doorway opens and pours into the conservatory. A few little birds tweet warnings from the treetops. I bet that's her now, coming to drag me out of here. I bet she thinks I'm high on some sort of drug, coming here at this time or night. I wish.

A figure heads down the path toward me, but it's too tall to be the girl from the front. Maybe she sent security. I wipe my eyes and begin to stand when the moonlight illuminates the last face I want to see right now. Crispen.

I stand, ready to bolt.

"Wait," he pleads. The rings on his outreached hand sparkle under the light, his snake tattoo fitting in the wild surroundings. Here I am once again, caught in the cobra's stare. Despite how angry I am, I listen to his demand. I stop instantly, as if my body is a slave to Crispen's voice. "Tell me what happened."

I swallow and clear my throat. I take a shaky breath.

"Ava-Ava told me. About your past. Your house, the fire. It burned down the same day your dad died, didn't it?" I try to sound like I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt, but I can't tell by his eyes that I've hit something hidden. The wildlife around us has gone quiet — as if they're all listening in. Or maybe they just sense a predator in their midst.

"The night my father died was the worst night of my life. Despite all of his fuck ups, that night was truly a nightmare," he says firmly. "I came home from school, and he was already drunk. My mother already had marks on her arms and her face. My sister had gone to a friends house, thankfully. I tried to lock myself in my bedroom like usual, but it just continued all night. No music, no movie, could block out the screaming and shouting and shattering. But still, I stayed away," Crispen continues.

My eyes fill again with the familiar feeling of tears, but this time they aren't out of anger. Instead, they're brought on by the sorrow I feel for him. I was a hider too, but he had it on a whole other level. I let him continue his admission. 

"Then...everything went quiet. My mother drove off, and left me there. Maybe she didn't even know I was home, I don't know. I waited for some sort of noise, even waiting for my father to come search me out. He never came. It was around midnight when I finally left my bedroom and went looking. The house was a disaster, glass and paper everywhere. All of my mothers books had been torn to shreds, my paintings face down on the floor..." His eyes begin to water and suddenly I don't know if I will be able to handle what's coming. But I know I have to, if I want to know the truth. If I want any future with Crispen at all.

"I found him. In the garage. Just...hanging there. It was the most horrific thing I had ever seen. I threw up, right there, on the garage floor. I cried. I screamed. I begged him to come back. I started smashing things, whatever was left. One of those things happened to be gasoline, which spread over the floor and towards the house."

Crispen pauses, his voice cracking on last word he says. He looks away, into the bush, as tears fall down his face. I can hardly even see them through my own.

"I said my goodbyes and grabbed one of his cigarettes," he chokes. "Had a few puffs then threw it to the ground."

With this, Crispen puts his face in his hands and begins to sob. "I just...I just wanted it all to go away."

He doesn't sound like Crispen, he sounds like a boy. Like a little boy who just wanted the bad stuff to end. Who wanted a normal, happy family. Instantly, I move toward him and wrap my arms around his body. My wet cheek presses against his.

"It's okay. It's okay, Crispen. You were just a kid," I tell him. His fingers grasp at my skin, pulling me closer. "I love you," I say. I say it for him, but for me too. Because if anything, Crispen's confession has only solidified that no matter what, I will always love this man. Even if the world burns around us, I will forever be branded with the mark of Crispen St. Clair. He pulls away slightly, our eyes meeting.

"It isn't me - the other fires," he breathes into my mouth. "I swear. Somebody, somebody fucking knows and they're using it against me."

I freeze as another puzzle piece falls into place. If Ava could connect the dots, anyone could. And that person could use Crispen's secret to torment him.

"Come on," I say, my hands on his shoulders. "Let's go home."