Page 25 of Oxygen Deprived

We worked for nearly twenty minutes in silence to get the wood to the side of the house, and the last fifty pieces or so went right outside Aspen’s backdoor.

Then, without another word, he walked up the front walk, and straight inside her house, leaving the door open as he went.

“Aspen!” Downy called from inside the house.

I followed, almost out of curiosity rather than need.

I followed the sound of growling to the kitchen where I saw Downy facing off with his dog.

“Sit,” Downy ordered.

The dog backed up, protecting the muffin in her mouth.

“Drop it,” he said fiercely.

Mocha stared at him, then promptly tossed it up in the air, caught it, and swallowed it nearly whole.

“You shithead,” Downy said. “How’d she even get that?”

“She brought it in with her. I tried to get her to let me have it, but as soon as I got the packaging off it she ate it,” Aspen said.

I couldn’t listen to them bitching anymore, though. Not with Aspen’s legs only inches away from the open oven door.

“Can you please close that,” I said. “You’re going to burn yourself.”

Then, almost as if in a movie, she whipped around.

The bottom of her sweater whirled out behind her, and I swear I watched as the damn thing caught fire as the end of it grazed over the burners on top of the stove.

Her sweater went up so fast that the only thing I could do was tackle her to the ground.

I hit her hard, and her body slammed to the floor under mine.

Almost instantly, I was up and off her, rolling her around, back-to-front, again and again.

“Shit!” Downy said, dropping down to his knees beside us.

I moved completely off of Aspen, rolling her over so I could see her face.