Zach:Spicy Sausage!
Declan:You’re a thundercunt Jonas. Fuck Salads.
Me:Spicy sausage. Get a few.
I toss my phone on the counter, dinging with repeated texts while I change into my workout gear. I check the thread quickly, chuckling at the idiocy, then head down to the gym to meet Jonas, Mav and Nick. We better get our pump on cause apparently pizzas are gonna be here in an hour. It’s just enough time to get my head out of my ass and settle my thoughts.
After a workout and a large pizza of my own, I’ve managed to convince myself that everything will go to plan on Monday morning. I’ll apologize, Holly will forgive me, and we’ll be friends.
Easy.
6
HOLLY
Ituck away my conversation with Becca, putting it in the corner of my mind, unwilling to examine it too closely. Somehow the idea that Micah’s thinking about Brent and the way he hurt me every time he looks at me feels worse than him just not liking me.
I spend the rest of my day puttering around my small apartment, doing chores and making myself a quick, cold supper. Brash Auto pays well, so I’m hopeful I can ditch the ham sandwiches and peanut butter soon. If I’m very careful, I can build up my nest egg and still afford a little higher grocery bill. I watch a couple of cooking videos on my secondhand laptop, tapping into my neighbor’s Wi-Fi, then head to bed early.
Sunday’s laundry day, so I boil water to make tea, pulling back with a squeal when I unplug the kettle. That stupid outlets spark every time I use it them, but the building manager doesn’t seem to care. I pour the water over the tea bag in myI Heart Catstravel mug, $1.99 at the thrift shop, and tuck it carefully down the side of my laundry basket along with a dog eared paperback. Then I pull a small knife out of the drawer and wrap it in a napkin, stuffing it down next to my tea.
I do heart cats. I’ve never actually had a pet, but I think I’m a cat person. I would spend as much time as I could with my friends’ pets when I was little. Momma said animals were soulless and didn’t belong in the house. That didn’t make sense to me even then, but pushing her on it would have ended up with me on my knees for hours, praying to cleanse my sinful heart.
From everything I’ve learned in my twenty-nine years on this earth, people are the soulless ones. I’ve never met an animal that wanted to hurt someone just because they could. Animals are born pure and are corrupted by bad owners. Maybe that’s what happens to people too? Maybe we’re all born pure, but we’re slowly diminished by the people around us. I hope that’s not true, because if it is, then there’s really no good left in me either.
It takes me way too long to get my basket down to the laundry room. I know I should get smaller baskets, or break the loads up, but I just don’t ever seem to do it. Instead, I wait until I have nothing clean left, then pack down the basket as tightly as I can to try and fit everything in it. Dragging it down behind me, one slow step at a time. When I lived with Brent, I thought it was such a hassle to take the laundry out to the garage. Only now, after hauling everything down four flights to the basement every week, do I appreciate what I had.
I can’t help the little spurt of pride in my chest when I look at my full basket. It’s filled with items that I chose. Sure, they’re mainly thrift store clothes, but after years of wearing only dark colors my husband approved of, my heart thrills at the bright colors and cheerful patterns. The vibrant clothing somehow makes me feel stronger than I actually am. Like a better version of me. Maybe their vibrancy, their color, will slowly leach into me, turning me into someone bright and vibrant too. I smile as I imagine my skin swirling with bright patterns and shapes.
I’m lucky today. The laundry room isn’t busy this morning, the only occupants a few harried women. I’ll be able to leave the knife tucked away for now. I started carrying it after being cornered in here by a man. I got lucky that day. Someone else came in and he took off, but I won’t ever make the mistake of being unprotected again. I spend the morning reading and watching the door to the room carefully. It’s not until I’m tucked back into my apartment though, with the locks all secured, that I take a full breath.
Crawling into bed that night, I pull out yesterday’s conversation with Becca, unraveling it in my mind. Wondering if she might be right. That Micah doesn’t hate me. Wishing it were true won’t make it so, but a tiny swirl of interest floats in among the anxiety I feel about seeing him tomorrow.
Working with someone who hates you is hard. Working with someone who pities you would be harder, I think. The smart move would be to avoid the whole subject, just put my head down and work. But this thread of curiosity doesn’t feel like it’s going away. At a minimum, I should apologize to him for yesterday.
I treated him unfairly, I know that. He’s never shown a hint of violence, and I shouldn’t have reacted like he had. I wish it was as simple as snapping my fingers and poof, the panic I feel around men would disappear. It’s not, I’ve tried. But for Micah, for peace at work, I’ll try.
I fall into a restless sleep, unable to escape the memories of Brent. Images of our past mixing in with our present. Screaming. So much screaming.
I wake disoriented, and it takes me a minute to realize the screaming is real, and it’s coming from outside. Slowly, the smell of smoke fills my nose. My whole body breaks into a sweat as the cries become clearer.
Fire.
As I sit up, I get a big lungful of smoke. Coughing and choking, I drop to the floor. My thoughts are a swirling mess, but one thought rises above the others.
Get out. Get out now.
I crawl on my hands and knees to the door, pressing my hand against it. My entire third-grade class practiced this. I remember firefighters bringing a miniature house to our school. We all crawled inside, and when we smelled the strawberry scented smoke, we crawled out to safety. There were popsicles and firetruck rides for us when we got out. It was fun, most of us giggling as we crawled out.
I’m not giggling now.
This smoke is black, choking, and even down on the floor I can barely breathe. The door isn’t hot, so I swing it open and crawl towards the stairs. Most of the screams are below me, and when I look back, I see an orange glow pushing me to move faster. I slide down the first set of stairs on my stomach, then the second, sobbing when I reach the second floor landing. Almost there. I don’t expect the heavy weight dropping onto me, or the tumble down the stairs. And I don’t feel the scraping and banging of my body as it rattles down the stairs. I just…drift away.
7
MICAH
She’s late. She’s never late and I’m spinning the fuck out. I got in at 7:45 as usual, rehearsing my apology the whole drive in, and no Holly. She’s usually here right at 7:30 and has the coffee going by now. But today everything was still locked up and dark. Where the hell is she?
