Part of me wants to shut them inside this stupid thing with their disappointment, but they evacuate so quickly I can’t. Everyone but Derry, the biggest offender of them all. If I wasn’t so overwhelmed by my captivity, I might’ve minded my manners better. Obviously, they’ve worked diligently on preparing this gift for me. What’s the customary requirement to show appreciation for something you don’t in any way appreciate? Smile and nod? Middle finger salute? It was meant as a gift. I should receive it as a gift. Not with distaste. Absolutely not with dread. Only, I can’t offer them platitudes. I can’t lie to them. I can’t even pretend to like it.
“You really hate it?”
“Derry, you know how I feel being cooped up in this house, generally. House arrest in lieu of prison. What made you think an actual cell would be a good idea?”
I’ve told him repeatedly how stuck I feel. I’m appreciative of the protective walls. To a point, they’re necessary, but this sort of captivity seriously isn’t floating my joy boat. There was a time in my life I would’ve latched onto the chance to shut myself off from the world, lock the doors, and chuck the key, but my family helped me through that. Reverting isn’t an option.
“I thought you wanted some privacy,” he offers.
I do long for privacy. I need quiet reflection, but that doesn’t mean I want quiet reflection in the way of a ten-by-ten lockbox.
“You told me about your shut-off switch and the protective glass you put yourself in,” he persists. “This is the real thing, just steel substituting glass.”
“I discuss blowing myself up to save the world from the flame-induced misfortune that’s me, but I don’t see a gasoline can anywhere.”
“We can decommission it,” he suggests.
“No, it’s for the best. It’ll keep everyone safe from me.”
They were right to build it. It’ll protect them from me. It’ll protect everyone. While the whole premise was to keep the disaster out, in this case, it’ll keep the disaster in. Not a bad thing, regardless how smothering the prospect is. Where they went wrong was trying to hand it off as a present instead of the prison it is.
“It wasn’t built to prioritize our safety,” he explains. “It was built to offer you sanctuary, to give you a place where you could go to get away from everything.”
I shrug. “The concept isn’t lost on me.”
“I’m failing miserably at not being able to read your mind.”
I circle my index fingers and thumbs. “Yep.”
“You don’t make it easy,” he claims defensively.
“Why would I?” My annoyance is bubbling over in my tone, and his reciprocal frustration isn’t helping.
“No one meant this as a cage for you.”
“I’m aware,” I grouse. “Doesn’t make it any less of a cage, does it?”
Derry, more than anyone, wants to rein me in. He thinks I take careless risks, seldom missing an opportunity to tell me so. Yes, he cares about me. That’s why I let him say the things he needs to say. It doesn’t change my mind, but I always let him speak his peace, even if I spend most the time considering all the unpleasant places he can stow his opinions. Tepid news: it’s where the sun doesn’t shine.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
“Is this big reveal a result of what happened today with Brody?”
He sighs.
There’s my answer. “Brody is no more of a threat than I am to all of you. He’s already controlling his ability with striking prowess. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours.”
“We don’t know how this new ability will affect him.”
“Did you ever stop to think it’s my fault!” My voice resonates in the close quarters. “I did this to him.”
He furrows his brow. “Brody’s responsible for what happened to Brody. He exhibits no restraint with you. He needs to be more careful.”
“When you were coaching me on control, you didn’t behave this way,” I remind him.
“Things were different back then.”
“That was a month ago!” My shout echoes back, piercing through me and giving me goosebumps. Apparently, I do the mad voice weirdly well. Derry flinches.
“He pushes things too far.”
“He doesn’t treat me with kid gloves,” I counter. “He gets the gravity of the situation we’re facing. You don’t seem to see it. I can’t tell whether you’re looking the other way because you’re scared or if the change just...changed you.”
“Well, maybe I should have a conversation with Brody about putting a shock collar on you.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Maybe he can control you where I evidently can’t.”
Red. All I’m seeing is red. “You must be joking.”
“No, I’m serious as the heart attack you’re determined to give me.”
“Clearly, we’re having a communication malfunction,” I snap. “Let me explain this in simple terms so you understand precisely what I mean. Get. Bent.”
He lifts a brow.
“You don’t get to play the protector card anymore,” I rage on, “and you definitely don’t get to control me.”
“I’m just worried,” he admits, though we’re well past explanations. “I’ll do that forever.”
“You need to worry about you, and I’ll worry about me,” I advise coldly.
“Brody is just as protective, yet you don’t have a problem with it.”
“Brody would never rein me in. He’s protective, yes, but he wouldn’t stop me from doing anything and certainly wouldn’t try controlling me. If I wanted to go, he’d go with me. He wouldn’t stand in my way.”
Derry sighs again.
“Hot news, fresh off the press: you don’t get to do that anymore,” I lash out further. “You’re a human now. You don’t get to tie me down since you set yourself free. It doesn’t work that way.”
That’s what he’s doing, forcing his will on me. He demanded his freedom from Sumair status, and he did it for him. His choice to make. Not mine. He chose to free himself from that burden while the rest of us are still carrying ours around.
Does he regret it? Part of him must. He’s more concerned than ever about my safety. He feels powerless to protect me, but he needs to realize the weight of his worries is smothering me. Just like I can’t breathe in my bomb shelter, Derry isn’t giving our relationship any breathing room. He’s suffocating us.
My flame flashes forward. “I can’t breathe!”
“You need some space.” He steps back. “You just need some space. I get that now.”
“You don’t get it!” The flame spreads out, blistering my skin as it moves. “I can’t even touch you, Derry. Can you imagine how that makes me feel?”
“Of course you can touch me,” he contends. “I’m right here.”
“I burned you just by letting my thoughts trail off.” I take another step away from him for safe measure. “When’s the last time you kissed me? Really kissed me?”
He thinks about it.
“Exactly!” Maybe he’s finally getting the point. “You’re the one who needs protecting. Not me. I can’t even touch you without burning you.”
“You won’t hurt me,” he insists. “You’d never hurt me.”
“Not intentionally.”
“Brody wouldn’t hurt you,” he retorts smartly. “Not intentionally.”
“Get. Out!” I roar, the fire spilling from my fingertips and fizzling out when it connects with the flame-resistant floor. Smart jailers.
He opens his mouth to say something but decides against it, making his way begrudgingly to the ladder. I don’t look up at him as he goes. I’m staring at my fingertips, waiting for the fire to free itself. The presentation of my tomb was perfectly timed. I’m on the precipice of my fiery transformation, and as shielded as everyone is, I’m still terrified. For once, I’m terrified for me.
I haven’t been in a fight before. My father puts up the wall, and I’m afraid to show any emotions, especially those of anger. In truth, I wasn’t ever close enough with anyone to warrant such strong feelings. Indifference was the shield I couldn’t afford to lower.
I convinced myself I was resisting authentic connection to protect people. In reality, I was protecting myself from the hot garbage they’d deposit in my fire fuel tank if I let them in. It contaminates all my hopes and dreams, chews them up, and spits them carelessly out without a second thought.
I lay down on the twin-sized bed in the far corner, waiting for the blistering inferno to consume me, but it isn’t my time to go. My tears drown the flame. My potential transition is stalled by my sadness. I am, in fact, incarcerated. A prisoner to my own emotions.