INTO THE FLAMES

Chapter 13

Three days.

Three days since I broke down in front of everyone.

Three days since I lost everything with Matt.

Three days since I've come out of my room.

These three days have been some of the worst of my life, even compared to the days following my attempted suicide. Last year, everything felt foggy and sort of like a dream, like I was floating through Landon's apartment, not able to feel the walls or the floor or the cold of the tiles beneath my feet. This year, it's painfully real. I can see myself in the mirror and feel the heat rising to my cheeks as I think about myself on the floor in front of him, crying and screaming and pulling at my hair. I think of the way he looked down at me with his mouth in the shape of an O, trying to figure out what the hell he did and why the hell it was happening.

I can't risk walking into that hallway.

Mom's the only one I've seen. She brings me breakfast, and leaves a kiss on my forehead when she sets the bagel or waffle of whatever the hell it is on the side table. She comes back about an hour and a half later to take the tray, but most days, I'm awake, and I'm well-aware that she sits on my bed and strokes my hair softly. She studies my face, and if she knows I'm awake, she never lets that on.

She comes back at lunch, then at three to take the tray, but ends up snuggling beside me in bed. She stays there for a while, and when it's just mom, holding me like she used to when I was a kid, time seems to slow. Suddenly, there're no deadlines, stress, places to be, or people to be or expectations to uphold. There's no Matt or Aria or Timothy or Detective Branch. It's just me and my mom.

Sun streams in through the windows as I picture what I could be doing right now. Running with Matt. Sorting through photos. Taking photos. Having coffee with mom, who's home for the summer from her elementary teaching job. 

I drag myself out of bed and remove the ragged ball of hair from the top of my head. Using my fingers to act as the hairbrush that I lost, I run them through my hair, which had grown well past my shoulders and covered most of my back.

I sighed, and looked at my closed bedroom door. There was so much out there, so many people and so many opportunities, only if I just opened the door and faced what was in that hallway.

I pulled on a pair of jean shorts and blue tank top. I pinned my hair back into a loose bun, and a few strands fell in front of my face, landing on my eyebrow and tangling with my lashes.

I looked at the girl looking back at me. She looked so much different, so much stronger, so much more sure of herself and what she wanted. I inhaled sharply. The only thing keeping me from being her was me and Jax. And he's never coming back.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

When I talked myself into throwing the door open, I couldn't hear anyone. Had they gone into town and forgotten about me? Or had they known I wouldn't've wanted to go?

I drifted consciously down the hallway, peeking my head into each room, trying to find anyone. Aria's bedroom door was sealed shut on the right side of the hallway, the plain tan door the same color as all the others, just so much louder.

When I couldn't find anyone, I gave up and walked down the stairs, into the kitchen. I was expecting to see mom standing at the island with a cup of coffee and a decor magazine, dressed to the nines even though she wasn't going anywhere. I expected to see my sister in an oversized sweater with a scowl on her face, trying to knit whatever it was she's been stuck up on.