As We Burn

Twenty-Five.

Beautiful. Violent. Vulgar. These are the words that come to mind as Crispen's hooded eyes study me. They're a darker blue than ever, and I look away quickly out of fear I may become completely submerged in them. I can't stand to see the sadness they hold. Dark blood drips down his left cheekbone, towards an open cut on his bottom lip. I want to press my own lips against the open wound and take away any of the pain this man has ever had to endure. Instead, I wipe away the blood with a warm cloth. We sit together at the dining room table, the same way we sat when I bandaged his hand the first night we met. He's yet to say a word to me, only giving my hand squeezes or nodding when I speak. He didn't chime in when Bella told us the black pills were some form of deliriant, a powerful drug that can cause delusions and hallucinations. She thinks it helps Mathias' guests reveal information, helps him control them. My mind instantly went to Crispen's visions. I've yet to bring it up; I'm still unsure of the exact root of his silence. I haven't even told him about the camera in the library. His jaw tenses as I wipe at the wound on his forehead with an alcohol wipe.

"Are we going to talk about what happened?" I murmur.

"What do you want me to say?" he mumbles, playing with the rings on his fingers. The one he plays with is in the shape of a bat, fitting for Halloween.

"I don't know, anything," I say. The room feels as though it's full of unsaid words that are whispering from every corner, begging to be heard.

"I'm sorry I'm not overjoyed that someone I once considered a friend has been drugging me," Crispen snaps. I know he's been through a lot tonight, so I don't take his tone personally. Still, I'm not sure I like that he's so quick to turn on me.

"So you do think he's been drugging you?" I ask, softening my own tone. He glances at me briefly, and his expression is almost apologetic. His eyes return to his hands.

"They call it Dream. You know what Jackson told me when I asked what the effects are? Facing your deepest, darkest fears," Crispen tells me. "Like walking into a nightmare."

I apply a bandage to his cut, and open a new sterile wipe to clean up the cut on his lip while I rethink what Crispen just said. Why would Crispen's fears involve fire?

"Who's Jackson?" I ask. It's the first thing that escapes my lips.

"Gold teeth."

"He told you? Just like that?"

"Of course not," he retorts. I don't prod further; I don't need to hear about any more violence tonight, and I'm almost positive Crispen didn't use kindness to persuade Jackson. There's no way all of his cuts and bruises are from Mathias alone.

I silently continue to clean up the cut, pondering what to say next. If Mathias is truly drugging people with hallucinogens, the authorities need to know. The victims come before any of my melodrama.

"We need to go to the police," I tell him. He laughs a short, fake laugh.

"Mathias' family are connected to half of Laurelwood's law enforcement. It would just get swept under the fucking rug," he explains. "Just like..." His voice cracks, his bottom lip quivering as he trails off. Is he referring to his father's suicide?

"Oh, Crispen," I say, wrapping my arms around him. Surprisingly, he doesn't resist - instead, he completely falls apart right there on my shoulder. Deep, breathy sobs wrack his body as he collapses against me. It's the worst sound I've ever heard, digging deep into my soul, but I hold myself together in order to hold him. He needs me right now. This is what we do, him and I. We anchor each other, something neither of us have ever experienced before. I imagine It would take a tsunami to make me let go. After a few minutes, Crispen's sobs slow, and he breaks away from me. He wipes his face with his shirt, his eyes bloodshot and swollen.