THE FIRE SAGA

FLAME 81 - DEVIATION

I turn quickly, my hair cascading over my face. The man before me sweeps it away. I jerk back from his uninvited touch. He's pleased by my retraction. Of course he is.

His baby blue dress shirt contrasts his caramel skin. He's a walking travel brochure, but his beauty is only skin deep. He wears his monster on the inside. It skulks, claws dragging up my spine.

"Barry's been tended to?" Derry disrupts the awkward stare down.

Matthew doesn't take his eyes off me. "He refused."

Derry grabs my hand. "Why?"

"He prefers to wait for her."

The vehement reference heats my cheeks. While Tally purposefully invokes that specific reaction from people, she isn't here to defend herself. He has no right. When I open my mouth to tell Matthew exactly where he can stow his assumptions about her character, Derry squeezes my hand, advising me to leave well enough alone.

"He could be waiting indefinitely," I admit.

"It's his choice," Matthew states sourly. "Our free will is stripped in the conversion. I won't perpetuate the cycle."

"I'll talk to him," Derry offers. "Getting help doesn't have to mean he's given up on her."

"He'd be better off if he did," Matthew spits bitterly.

"It's her choice, too," I remind him.

"Her choice." He scoffs. "They're all the same, taking and taking without giving back."

His tone is parental, but he's sorely mistaken if he expects me to vie for his approval. I don't even care if my untactful responses burn the bridges he's built with my friends. Derry feels obligated to maintain pleasantries. I'm hindered by no such obligations. As the only option, using Matthew was a priceless relief for the Connells. They put up and shut up as a means to an end. They don't need to anymore. They have me.

"Don't presume to know her." I shake Derry's hand off before he grinds my knuckles to dust. Does he seriously think I'll shut up? He'd have better luck slapping that hand over my mouth. If Matthew can voice his opinions, I have every right to voice mine.

"When Mel first asked for my assistance, I gave it, promising I wouldn't interfere with her cause if her cause didn't interfere with the balance I've instilled here. We're at a crossroads." He grits his teeth, losing some of his propriety. "Why did you come here?"

I'm not a psychiatrist. I can't shove a magical pill down his throat that chases away all the worries in his world. I can't make him like himself or the people around him. What I can offer him is the opportunity to change back into something he can stand the sight of in his endless hall of mirrors. That's what my friends want from me. They want me to offer him humanity. If I fix his skewed view, maybe he can find a bit of balance. Will it even make a difference? His bigotry is deep rooted. Should I help someone so openly prejudiced against the people I care about? Yes, because anyone can change. They just need a chance to. "We came here looking for help. The end goal now is to help you."

"Such a sight you are in the looking glass," he coos mockingly. "I see a lost little girl thrown into a role she isn't capable, and won't ever be capable, of playing. How can you help? Reverting me back will only compound my daily guilt for living as I am. You offer to help me under the guise of improving things for me. You don't think ahead to all those who will starve in the supper line without me. You're so obsessed with your impending doom that you can see no further than now. Now is irrelevant.

"You can't rectify something you don't fully understand. You can go lie down in your nice, warm bed and wait for the power inside you to consume all you know. You can't control it.

"While your friends feed you platitude reassurance, they don't explain the marionette strings you mistake as towlines. The Tribunal will use you until nothing is left, but it'll be worth it, right? You'll continue to try. You may even find the strength to fight. To what avail?

"You think I'm not privy to your vaccine? You haven't cured the cancer. It's in remission. I'm after eradicating the disease, full stop. Unless you can offer me that, you're useless to me."

I fold my arms across my chest. For someone who hates himself so much he installed mirrors on every possible surface to constantly be reminded, Matthew could certainly benefit from a deflation exercise. He can play the role of the giant head, and I'll be the pushpin. Pop goes the ego. Good game. Point to me.

"There it is. Block me with your defensive posture for speaking the truth you don't want to hear," he goads. "Like me, you'll keep cleaning up the mess someone else makes until you grow bitter, wondering why you should bother."

"You're not a monster. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you'll stop behaving like one," I redirect. "You can't change what happened to you, but you can learn from it. You can absorb it, sponging out all the bad from the good. You help people. Helping people is a good thing. I've felt what a Sumair feels when the hunger sets in. It's nearly unbearable. Have you ever felt that? Do you even know what it is you're helping them overcome? You've never had to want. Energy has always been given freely to you. It isn't me who's naïve. It's you.

"Your enemies didn't ask to be what they are any more than you did. This isn't a good situation for either side. Stop pretending you're the only one this affects. We can work together. Whether you want to be part of the progressive movement or a roadblock is up to you."

I won't behave like him. I'll stop blaming myself for everything and start looking for ways to use the gift I've been given. I'm in control of my reflection and the one responsible for the face staring back at me. While my body is transitioning into something different, something more, it won't change me. It can't.