Audrey shook her head, as if it would help, and watched the smoke swirl in the air over the head of the retreating figure that was her long-lost childhood nemesis. The proper thing to do would have been to run the opposite direction, but as fate had it, he was walking in the same direction she would soon be heading. If only she could force her feet to move. Light began to blind her peripherals, but all she saw was Matt's red hair, swaying gently with his loping stride. A loud, blaring horn, followed by quickly fading shouts of profanity jerked her brain to awareness, and with a sharp, squealing gasp, she scuttled out of the street. Unable to read her own expression, Audrey shoved her hands deeper into her pockets and began to walk, focusing on keeping her pace unhurried and as fearless as possible. Why was he here? she wondered, exposing her hand to the cold to push her dark hair out of her face. Maybe this would be her only chance to confront him. Maybe if she ran a little, she could catch up to him and see why his sudden presence had come about. Or maybe he would turn to next corner and be gone from her life all over again, like the day he left Whammy's.
Home was a tall, narrow apartment building that seemed to be falling apart more and more with every passing day. Audrey approached it quietly; as if afraid she would be discovered lurking in the shadows. She leaned a shoulder on the crumbly brick wall, watching as Matt continued walking down the trash-filled street. She knew he wouldn't turn around, as he never was the type to look back, but nonetheless, she found herself hoping against hope that he would anyways. Audrey heaved her chest in a heavy sigh as Matt turned the corner at the end of the street. Instead of moving immediately, she closed her eyes, face to the dark sky, and forced herself to take in a lungful of the cold night air, trying to convince herself it wouldn't have mattered anyway. She forced her lethargic legs to move to the door to the building and began dragging herself up the 150 steps to her cramped apartment. It was always 150 steps, and it always would be. There was never any point in counting, but Audrey did it anyway. Perhaps the numbers gave her mind something else to think of for a moment.
Fumbling with the keys in her cold fingers, Audrey managed to open the corroded lock of her apartment. She stepped sleepily into the darkness, peeling off her coat and dropping it by the door, where she knew there would be a chair. Kicking her shoes off along the way, she fumbled for her futon, relishing the idea of a cigarette once she lay down. Her living quarters certainly were small enough, smaller than she realized in the darkness, and her shin connected with the base of the futon with a soft thud. Audrey didn't have time to think to stifle herself before she let out a rather loud "Fuck!" while grabbing at her leg and falling onto the futon, dropping her bag in the process.
Groaning through yet another sigh as she heard the contents clatter over the cold floor, Audrey rolled to her side to feel around for the carton of cigarettes, now frustrated with more thoughts than ever bouncing around her head. Her fingers landed on the carton, and she pulled out a cigarette, reaching into the pocket of her jeans for a lighter. Lying on her back, she put the cigarette to her lips and took a long drag, holding the smoke in. She angrily pushed it through her lips with an irritated groan. Why was he here?! What possible business could he have here? Maybe she was self-centered to think for even a fleeting second that he had come for her, but of course, Audrey knew better. The day Matt left Whammy's was the last he'd spoken to her, and even then it was a simple "See ya, kid", tossed carelessly over his shoulder on his way out.
She wanted to see him. She wanted answers. She wanted him to leave. Audrey sat up suddenly, flying off of her sofa, grabbing her bag off of the floor without putting everything back in it, throwing her coat on, and had her hand on the door knob when she realized she was being an idiot. There had to be a smarter way to go about this, as she was insistent. Standing dejectedly by the door, Audrey flipped on the light. Her arm flopped to her side. There had to be another way around this. There always is.
Audrey sank to the floor in front of her purses spilled contents, shrugging out of her coat and leaving it where it landed. She picked a graham cracker out of it torn package and nibbled it somewhat grumpily, tossing assorted things back into her bag.
A flickering light caught her attention. Audrey looked up from her mess on the floor, her eyes scrolling up and widening as they took in the flaming curtain. And then her brain understood what her eyes saw. Audrey jumped to her feet, looking about frantically for something to smother the fire with, and finding nothing, she let out a whimper, flying to put on her shoes. She tied the Chucks quicker than she'd ever tied anything before in her life, and ran to the window, stomping on the long drapery to no avail. Audrey let out a sharp, shrieking gasp as a loud fwoam! of fire traveled from the trashed sketching paper crumpled and scattered on the floor to catch the other set of drapes aflame. She now stood in front of a wall of fire, and Audrey was completely scared out of her wits. She scurried back to her bag on the floor, shoving anything she could into it with a quick vigor, now coughing and blurry-eyed from the increasing amount of smoke. Audrey could feel her pale skin growing hotter, and with quick glances over her shoulder, she saw the fire growing quickly, spreading to her futon. Audrey tried to breathe a little deeper to calm herself as she scrambled to her feet, but the smoke was only getting thicker, and the only words that ran coherently through her panicked head was Vitamin K. She bolted to the cabinet, tore it open, and grabbed a box of graham crackers. Turing as quickly as she could manage, she made to run to the door. In all of Audrey's graceful glory, the toe of her shoe caught on the rug, and she fell face first, dropping her crackers and her consciousness.