Let Me Burn by Elodie Colt
Ella
I’m as energetic as a stoned slug. Thinking back to the last days I’ve spent at Zoya’s, the most productive thing I’ve accomplished was setting up my stuff in Holly’s old children’s room—a task that was done in five minutes.
My laptop rests on my lap, heating my thighs, but my empty stare is on my new phone. It stays unresponsive in my hand. No messages from Ross. No messages from anyone.
Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I shove my laptop away, scramble out of the creaky bed, and traipse over to my aquarium sitting on a rickety Victorian art table. Using my overlong nails, I rip open a bag of blood worms and plop a handful into the water to feed my three remaining dragonflies. Skitters and Bitsy hurry to catch their food while Hopper remains motionless on the small rock jutting out of the water, his two fiery red eyes directed at me.
“Don’t give me that dirty look, boy,” I mumble. “I know this is not home, but you’re about to see the big, big world soon, so just hang on a little longer, okay?”
He snaps his jaw, and I unveil a sad smile before I veer my gaze to the only window in the room. Instead of a six-story plunge down and nothing but brick roofs lining the horizon, I have an unobscured view into a lovely garden where a sprinkler rotates on its axis to water the bushes and flowers. Vines of ivy snake along the white-painted window panes and gray stucco sidings up to the steeply pitched roof, giving the old Tudor-style house a charming storybook character.
An array of vases in various sizes decorate the windowsill. Their design reminds me of the stuff grandma hoarded in her house. Dusky pink porcelain painted with flowers in all kinds of colors. They clink on the wood whenever someone tramps on the floorboards above, or a heavy storm rattles the foundation. I hate them.
And I hate that there are six in total.
Puckering my lips, I flick my forefinger against the smallest vase. It wobbles for a second before it topples over, rolls over the edge, and drops to the floor. It shatters on impact, breaking into a hundred porcelain shards. I heave a sigh. Holly won’t mind. She told me she’d never found the time to get rid of the old junk since she inherited the house and moved in here with Zoya. Guess I did her a favor.
My phone knock-knocks, and I startle, whirling around to eye the screen lighting up with an unread message. The second it takes me to remember that I’ve deleted the Silent Sins app, a god-awful feeling of hollowness spreads in my chest. I rub a palm against my breastbone where the dragonfly pendant used to warm my skin, and amble over to my phone lying on my bed. I growl. My new telephone company has sent me yet another bullshit welcoming text.
Collapsing onto the mattress, my thumbs punch the digital keyboard as I navigate to the settings to change the ring tone. If I want to forget about Ross, I need to shove every memory of him into a never-meant-to-be drawer in my head. I’m even sleeping with the bedside light on, so I don’t fantasize about his voice echoing in the darkness.
But every time I wipe out a reminder of him, it feels like chopping off a limb. The pain exploding in my heart whenever my stupid, masochistic mind conjures a flashback rivals the agony I felt when Mom died. How fucked up is that? I left him. It was my decision. I turned my back on Silent Sins to protect him.
And yet, every day I have my phone in my hand, I navigate to the app store and let my thumb hover over the Silent Sins app. Every day I’m waging an inner war, seconds away from installing that damn app just to reread all his messages, to remember the secrets we shared, to see the picture of Crawly sitting on his shoulder. My account is active for another week. I could log in one last time. I could text Ross, tell him that I’m sorry for how things ended between us, explain to him that—
“No!” I reprimand myself, flinging my phone onto the pillow and launching to my feet.
I had a reason to lock him out, and it’s hanging right next to the aquarium—a dead dragonfly cruelly nailed to a piece of paper. Luka’s warning, one I won’t forget so fast. Spidey’s wings are getting brittle. Not long, and he’ll crumble to dust. I could have buried him somewhere, but I kept him as a reminder. A reminder to never let any man close as long as Luka Sokolov roams this world.
It’s only a matter of time until he finds out my new number. Chances are he already knows I’ve moved to live here with Zoya and Holly for the time being. It wasn’t my idea. They could both become Luka’s targets, and I’d never forgive myself if something happened to them. Actually, I planned to go to Sierra Leone (that was where my finger landed when I spun the globe in my living room), but Zoya threw a tantrum and thwarted me by nicking my passport, credit card, and the fucking keys for my bike.
My phone pings with my new ring tone, and I groan. If it’s that stupid telephone company again, I’m going to switch to a prepaid.
I stomp over to my bed and fetch the device. It’s a message from Bex.
Bex: Got your new number from Holly. Wanna meet this week for coffee or something?
“Shit,” I mutter to myself, clawing a hand through my slightly greasy hair.
I’d totally forgotten about her. Come to think of it, I’d put her on the back burner the entire time. We’d meet at her place, spend the night with movies and sex, and then I’d walk out the door with dirty fantasies about Ross. I’ve never invited her to go out with me. I’ve never even called her. No idea why she isn’t sick yet of chasing me like a dog.
I ogle the screen, tapping a finger against my lips. That girl fell in love with me, and I’m treating her like shit. She deserves better.
Gathering my wits, I press the call button and put the phone to my ear.
“Hello, beautiful,” Bex’s drawl comes over the speaker.
“Hey.”
“You didn’t tell me you had a new number. I sent some nude pics to your old one.”
She chuckles, and I force a laugh out, too. “Sorry, I kind of forgot to send out a message to all my contacts.”
“It’s fine. So, wanna meet sometime this week?”
“Uh, yeah, well…” I scratch my head, struggling for words. “Listen, things are quite complicated right now, and I’m in the middle of figuring out—”
“Ella,” she cuts me off in a consoling tone. “You don’t need to explain. We can keep this casual.”
Casual, right… Where have I heard that one before?
I wince. “Bex, I can’t. Casual doesn’t work for me, and everything else is just not in the cards right now. You deserve more commitment than what I can give you.”
The moment of silence that follows floods me with dread.
“You’re breaking up with me on the phone?” she says at last, sounding surprised and hurt.
My eyebrows squish together. So much for casual, then.
“It’s not a break-up, Bex,” I argue, unable to keep the annoyance from my voice. “We’ve never been together.”
A sardonic huff echoes over the speaker. “Yeah, whatever… Have a great life, Ella.”
The line goes dead, and I stare at my phone for a moment before I plop back onto the bed.
Great. You fucked that one up big-time. And what for? For a man you’ve erased from your future.
Huffing, I slap a palm against my forehead. There’s this picture in my head, one that pops into my mind all the fucking time. A picture of him. A tall, sturdy man with dark, floppy hair, gentle eyes, and a killer smile. Where did we meet? Where did he spot me? Did I spot him, too, and my gaze just moved past him, or did he never show up in my periphery?
It already occurred to me that we might have met at the Crawford Crescent fundraiser. He told me he was working in the jewelry industry. Loads of people had attended. Maybe he’s Nick Crawford, the handsome guy who led the auction? He seemed so familiar, the sight of him tweaked my heart…
No, it can’t be him. His hair was too long, his frame too short, and his voice was totally different—similar in its accent, but not the same. Warm but not hot. Powerful but not destroying. Sexy but not disarming.
Drilling both my palms into my eye sockets, I whine into the emptiness of my room. I could have saved myself all the suffering if I’d just fucking asked him. Now, the mystery of Ross will always haunt me. Torture me to the point I want to scratch the skin from my bones. It’s like recognizing an actor in a movie, the name already hovering on your tongue, but no matter how hard you try to remember, it won’t spring to your mind.
Knock-knock.
I startle out of my reverie, grinding my teeth. I can change the ring tone of my phone, but I can’t do shit about the sound of someone knocking on my damn door.
“Ella, dinner is ready,” Holly’s jaunty voice drifts into the room.
I sigh, peeling myself off the bed. “Coming.”
The scent of onions, fennel, and mushrooms floats in the air as I shuffle out to join Zoya and Holly in the dining room. I’m not hungry, but I already got an earful from my sister this morning for leaving my bowl of cereal untouched, so I drag my feet over the rugs on the floor, trying to look as if I weren’t suffering from the flu. I deflate into a seat at the dining room table just as Zoya places a steaming plate in front of me.
“Sweet potato bowl with spiced lamb and mushrooms with an extra scoop of yogurt sauce just for you,” Holly declares, winking at me.
I reciprocate with a tight smile. “Thanks.”
Forking up a sautéed mushroom with a drop of sauce, I pop it into my mouth.
“I know you two like it spicy, so I added some chili,” Holly says when she sits down next to me.
The meal is as spicy as a pancake with three layers of sugar, but I keep the complaint to myself. I can already feel a heavy argument coming down the pipeline, the same one we’re having every damn day.
“Tastes great,” I throw in, just to appear somewhat responsive.
Zoya plops down opposite me, throwing me an expectant look. “We can cook together next week if you want.”
They’ve been trying to cheer me up the entire week. My mood is still in the dumps, though.
“Sure.”
From the corner of my eye, I can see Zoya sending Holly an ominous look. I pretend not to notice and swallow my bite of red onions. Ugh, too much cumin…
“Zoya told me you make the best tacos,” Holly says for the sole purpose of striking up a conversation. “I’d like to know how you make them. I could use some new recipes.”
My fork grates on the plate as I impale a piece of fennel.
Don’t think about the tacos you made for Ross. And don’t you dare think about the hot sex in the Room he gave you as dessert.
I bop my head, keeping my gaze on the mint leaves drowning in my yogurt sauce. Naturally, my lethargic attitude rubs Zoya the wrong way, and she slams her fork down onto her plate, the loud clank making Holly jerk in her seat. Here she goes…
“God, your face is putting everyone in a bad mood. Stop moping about already, will ya?” Zoya snaps, putting the bite on me yet again. “I wanted you to come here so we can help you, not to watch you pining away.”
Sighing, I plonk my cutlery down and drag my challenging gaze up to her, not gracing her with a comment on my part.
She purses her lips. “What happened to your bike, huh? The left side is full of scratches. Did you have an accident?”
I cross my arms. “Yes.”
Her eyes blaze up. “Oh, and when did you plan on telling me?”
I’ve pissed her off. Totally my fault. I’d promised to keep no more secrets from her, yet for some reason, I tend to do the opposite.
Leaning forward, I prop my elbows onto the blue-checkered tablecloth. “You want to know what happened? Fine. After our last fight, I took a tour with my bike, drove too fast because I was stupid and upset, and skid on the ice. I came away with scratches, but in case you forgot, we were not exactly on talking terms, and a short time later, I landed in the hospital with blades and syringes sticking out of my ass.”
A flicker of guilt softens her gaze, but I keep mine hard as steel. She’s hell-bent on worming every secret out of me, so she’s getting the full dose.
“Then I received some more threats from Luka, so I grabbed my gun and met him at Prospect Park Lake. I was about to pull the trigger when a guy showed up out of nowhere, shot Luka in the arm, and chased him off. Turned out Ross sent a friend to keep me from committing a murder.”
Holly has stopped eating, her fork hovering over her plate, her bugged-eyed gaze bouncing between Zoya and me.
“Last time I met Ross, he told me Luka wasn’t an issue anymore,” I continue. “No idea what he did to him, but clearly, not enough. Luka is still here, sticking to me like shit on my shoe. He sent me a text right after I quit Silent Sins.”
Zoya averts her gaze, her lips pinched, and I sag back in my chair.
“You think I’m a coward for bailing on Ross,” I mutter. “You think him digging up my identity behind my back was a grand gesture of love. You think he’s my salvation, that he can get me out of this shithole, and that I’m crazy for not giving the guy a fucking chance. But what you don’t understand is that Ross and I can never be together as long as Luka is my second shadow. He threatened to kill him, dammit!”
I push back my chair, its legs grating on the floor, and dart to my feet.
“I didn’t ask him about his name because I knew I was better off not knowing,” I add, depleted. “I didn’t want to meet him because it would have made things ten times more complicated. I didn’t want to give him a chance because… I knew there was never any hope for us.”
A big lump of pain makes me choke on the last word, and I turn tail before the first tear can betray me.
We all have our demons, but mine follow me at every turn. My monster is real. It’s easy for others to talk, to offer their help, and put in their two cents, but they don’t know what it means to live a life that will never be their own. To have someone pulling the strings, holding the reins, making the decisions for you. To have a leash around your neck, one that chokes you every time you make a wrong move.
Crushed, I retract to my room and walk over to my aquarium. Hopper buzzes around agitatedly when I lean down, his pretty wings flapping against the glass. I wanted to drive to Prospect Park Lake tomorrow to set him free, but why wait? I’m not Luka. I don’t want to keep him in this cage, no matter how much it will hurt to have him gone.
“Ready to explore the big world, boy?” I mutter to him, carefully opening the lid. I grab one of the five remaining vases and catch the full-grown scarlet dwarf, quickly slapping my palm on top to keep him inside.
With a heavy heart, I pad over to the window and open it. The sun is setting, dipping the tops of the trees in an orange glow. The sea sends a salty breeze over Coney Island, rustling the ivy leaves crawling up the façade.
“Have a great journey,” I say before I pull my hand away.
Hopper soars into the air, his blood-red wings glittering in the sunlight, and flaps away. I follow the insect with my eyes until he disappears on the horizon.
Sighing, I prop my elbows onto the windowsill and let my gaze wander over Surf Avenue. A bunch of kids plays football at Seaside Park opposite the street while a trio of punks hangs out on a bench, passing a joint along.
That’s when a nagging awareness creeps along my skin. I tense, jolting my gaze over to a spot behind a tree. Squinting, I detect some movement, but I can’t make out much from the distance.
I don’t need to. He’s here. I’ve developed a sixth sense for Luka ever since I’d drilled my gun into his chest. If I were a skilled sniper, I could shoot him blindly, but I only have a Glock with a range of seven yards, and I can hardly fire a bullet in a crowded place.
Hanging my head, I close the window.
You had one chance to kill him. One chance to get free. You fucked up.
And now, you will forever be his slave.