Twenty Nine.
I stew in my thoughts for days.
No sign of Cullen, or Edward, or E. Whoever the hell he is.
I wear different emotions. Anger fits best the longer I keep it on. I bite my mum's head off when she asks me about him. She doesn't care and keeps on at me, prodding and poking me into an angry wasps' nest.
Angie and Jess treat him as if he never existed, a ghost as flimsy as my smile. Sam asks questions without speaking, and is able to decipher my silent answers well enough to leave me alone. Rose is the only one who worries about him with her soft heart and ruminating mind. It's not healthy for me to spend too much time with her. My stomach plummets like a rock when I let myself think about him.
I take to hanging around at Delly's. In Carmen's company, I feel most comfortable. She lets me work in the back office to keep me occupied and away from trouble, but also to keep a quiet eye on me, and for that, I'm grateful.
It's been almost two weeks since Cullen was escorted from school. Another day spent at the club, I drag my feet as we finally lock up. I've no other reasons to avoid going home. I hope Mum is out or at least alone. My tolerance for bullshit has burnt out. The shrill sound of sirens race past us, a blur of neon-blue screams, as Carmen pulls down the shutters. One after the other. Police, fire engine. Police, fire engine. Ambulance.
Carmen crosses herself, muttering Hail Marys under her breath. "Do you need a lift home? It's not too far out of my way."
A bus pulls up opposite, its brakes squeal and hiss. "No, I'll catch the forty-three. Thanks though."
"Take care tonight, Bella. I'll see you this weekend." She gives me a hug and disappears around the corner in a flurry of colour and curls, and I cross the road and jump on the bus.
We don't get far. The road ahead is closed, traffic snarled up as people try to get home, redirected through the back streets. It'll be quicker to walk, so I ring the bell, and jump off. The air is churning with the smell of burning wood and toxic plastic. I catch the whisps of a conversation between a policeman and a man balancing on his bike, edging to be let through.
"There's a fire down on Mill Road. No traffic is being let through, Sir. If you follow the signs, they'll lead you around and back onto Highgrove."
I should walk alongside the stopped cars, but I know the shortcuts. The light is fading fast but it's not witching hour yet. I slip up an alleyway and round the back of the buildings. I'm not the only one who's had the same idea. We're safety in numbers.
Around the corner we see the building, fire crawling up its side. A crowd has gathered to watch from behind a cordon. We're a distance away, but the heat still snakes its way over and flicks its tongue on our cheeks. Water is being sprayed into the upstairs window, already blackened and crumbling. It's no match.
The row of old shops is mostly derelict, waiting for the demolition teams and the developers to move in. This fire is doing their job for them, tearing the building apart flicker by flicker, eating at its insides. I overhear someone say it's a hairdressers, that the stock went up in seconds. I think I can smell the hairspray. It reminds me of mum.
I should go home, but I still find myself there when the sun has disappeared, the flames painted on the back of my eyes when most people have moved on. The building's skeleton is still holding, but its bones are brittle, and it won't be long before they're dust.
As it gives up the fight, heaves its last breath and collapses, cracking and splintering, I see a figure sat away from the dwindling crowd. He's sat on a wall, his hood up, hands in pockets. The flames dancing for his pleasure.
I edge around the crowd to get closer, to make sure I'm not seeing things, but there's no mistaking Cullen. The shock is a backdraft, heat flooding my cheeks, sucking all the air from my lungs. He's mesmerised. The flames set alight the look on his face, the small smile that shouldn't exist so close to destruction.
I step back, disappearing into the crowd to be invisible, but never taking my eyes off him. I've learnt my lesson. He is one of the last to leave, but not before me.
I wait until he's far enough away to follow him, keeping to the shadows. I'm sure he'll hear me, my heart louder than footsteps, but he doesn't turn around, still lost in the flames.
He's quick and keeps to the dark edges too, but I see him so easily now, like a spark escaped from the fire. It draws me closer. He's the oxygen I need to burn.
Sorry this took so long. Life happened. I missed you guys. This is an unbeta'd mess.
Layathomemom - you're the nuts.
xx
