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Blinking out of some sort of daze, she stepped back. “I-I…” Her head whipped around with someone’s complaint about her delaying the line, and when her attention returned to me, her bravado was gone. Soft cheeks blushed a pretty strawberry hue, and she rushed out of the café.
“Wait!” I called after her, disappointment coursing through me unexpectedly.
Her hands splayed against the other side of the glass, and she looked inside, disappointment filtering into her eyes too. A moment later she turned around and left. For good that time.
* * *
The sound of arguing reached me in the middle of the night, waking me from sleep. It was accompanied by flickering and crunching noises, and the faint smell of smoke.
Fighting the heavy sleep, I sat on my bed but when I tried to place my feet on the wooden floor, it felt hot. Startled, I stood on the mattress, hearing the shouts become louder and louder. I rubbed my eyes, pushing the sleep away, and fear replaced my confusion. My parents had never argued like that. Never.
An explosion reverberated through the house, and the smolder fully reached my room. My eyes widened when the wooden planks on the door began to glow orange and red, wafts of smoke rushing through them.
Jumping to the foot of the bed, I pulled my boots on, and watched terrified as the flames incinerated my door.
“Mom!” I screamed, my eyes stinging from the smoke. “Dad!”
I was only nine years old, but I tried to remember the fire drill at school. Jumping on the floor, I dropped and half crawled along the edge that didn’t feel hot yet. Staying under the smoke cloud, I made my way to the now open doorway, and stood, trying to run out of there.
I couldn’t. The entire house was aflame on the other side.
My gaze immediately found my parents as they tried to make their way to me, using a wet blanket to slap at the flames and make a safe passage for them. Suddenly, a second explosion raged from the outside.
“We are coming for you, baby! Stay away from the fire,” Mom yelled, with only the bathroom between us.
Nodding, and trying to repress my fear, I stepped back, glancing at the flames on both sides of the hallway. Tears stung my eyes as the heat waves licked my skin; I was terrified, but I knew my parents would come for me. Crouching, I held my knees, looking at them.
“We are almost there, Brax,” Dad promised. “I got you.”
A scream ripped through my throat with the next explosion, and the back door burst into the house from the blast, flying straight towards my parents. Pushing my mom out of the way, Dad jumped in front of her, stopping the door with both hands. The explosion raged in what seemed like an endless stream of fire.
“Get Braxton out of here!” he yelled a moment before the flames reached him.
“Dad!”
“I won’t leave you,” Mom argued.
“Save him!”
Our desperate cries mixed as the fire consumed him before our eyes.
“Dad!” I swallowed the scream as I jumped awake on the bed. My entire body shook violently from the nightmare, every inch of me drenched in sweat while I struggled to draw in breaths.
It took a moment for me to realize I was safe, in my small room under Mrs. Reyes’ roof, and not reliving that moment.
Shutting my eyes, I forced myself to breathe. It had taken years before I was able to bury that memory, and now it was back. Haunting me. Why was it torturing me again?
Once I was able to successfully get the oxygen into my lungs, I pulled the sheets away and walked to the door, barefoot, wearing nothing other than my sleeping boxers. Slowly opening it, I looked both ways to make sure I hadn’t awakened anyone.
My heart still slammed against my chest, but I made my way to the hallway bathroom and splashed cold water on my face—taking away the remnants of that wretched night.
Ever since the “episode” when I last visited my mother, the nightmares had returned. Witnessing her relive that horrid event tore at my insides. I had done that to her. Seeing me, reminiscing about the past had caused her mind to get confused until she could no longer tell the difference between what was real and what wasn’t.
That was what a delusional disorder did to people. She wasn’t crazy, her mind just hadn’t been strong enough to withstand what happened to us. In all honesty, after watching my father die that way, I wasn’t entirely sure how I wasn’t suffering from the same thing.
Taking a few drawn-out breaths, I managed to get my heartbeats under control, but as I stared at myself in the mirror, I couldn’t help but turn. My mind might somehow be stronger than my mother’s, but I did not come out unscathed from that fire.
Lifting my left arm, I allowed my fingers to follow the ridges of the disfigured skin—it ran from my hip to the bottom of my shoulder blade. A constant reminder of what I had lost. However, it was also a reminder of what I had gained after we escaped that raging inferno.
