• BURN ME •

• 3 •

MANTRA ~ Bring Me The Horizon

Flame

Lost in the labyrinth of my own thoughts, I watch them. Sophia and the white-haired anomaly. Snow. The name itself is an oxymoron, a cold descriptor for something that ignited a flicker of... something... within me this morning. He's a puzzle wrapped in an enigma and dipped in... something else entirely. The way he looked at me. Through that curtain of pale lashes, those unnaturally wide eyes. Blue. Empty blue. Dull. Yet, underneath, a tremor. A silent plea in those depths. Keep going. The ridiculous thought surfaces unbidden. And his pulse. Goddamn it, his pulse. Felt like a trapped bird fluttering under my fingers, frantic, fragile. He hadn't fought. Hadn't even flinched, not really. Just... yielded. Accepted. Disturbing. And... Yes, handsome. Reluctantly, I acknowledge the undeniable aesthetic truth. Pretty face. Means less than nothing. Beauty is a mask. A deceptive facade hiding... what? Danger? Vulnerability? Both? He doesn't stop me. That's the crux of it, isn't it? Don't resist. Doesn't protect himself. Doesn't... protect her. Sophia. My sister. My responsibility. My face tightens, jaw clenching until the muscles ache. Nothing touches her. Nothing harms her. I won't allow it. Sophia breaks away from him, dismissing him with a casual wave of her hand, turning, finally, towards my car. The car door slams, echoing in the sudden silence of my internal monologue, jarring me back to the present. She's already radiating anger. I can feel it. Taste it in the air, acrid and sharp. Ten miles, hell, a hundred. I could smell her moods shifting on the wind. And anger... anger directed at me... it's a familiar, unwelcome scent. She gets in, a controlled fury simmering beneath the surface. Slams the passenger door with unnecessary force, the sound echoing in the confined space. Fixes me with a glare, eyes narrowed, lips pressed into a thin, unforgiving line. Silent recrimination. The air in the car thickens, charged with unspoken accusations.

I sigh, a quiet exhalation of resigned frustration. Pointless to fight it. Pointless to try and defuse it. I just... start the car. Engine grumbles to life, filling the suffocating quiet, a mechanical buffer against the impending storm. She breaks the silence, her voice tight, controlled, but edged with a dangerous tremor. "Snow is staying with us this weekend." A statement, not a question. An ultimatum, delivered with the casual cruelty only family can perfect. "We have to give a presentation." My jaw clenches. Vision blurs for a fraction of a second, a red haze momentarily clouding my perception. I force myself to focus, to breathe, to maintain control. I look up, meet her challenging gaze head-on. "No." The word is blunt, clipped, final. A dry, humorless laugh escapes her lips. "That wasn't a question, Flame." She's mocking me, her tone laced with exasperation, with a weariness that cuts deeper than any anger. "He's coming over. This is my house too, remember? And if I want a friend to come over, he'll come over. I just wanted to tell you beforehand." She crosses her arms, a gesture of childish defiance, a petulant imitation of stubbornness. I click my tongue against my teeth, a sound of barely suppressed irritation. "No," I repeat, the word hardening, taking on a sharper edge, a dangerous undertone that leaves no room for argument. Meaning clear. Intention absolute. Silence descends again, thicker this time, heavier, laden with unspoken resentments, with the weight of years of unspoken tension. She stares straight ahead, out the windshield, her profile rigid, unyielding. Then, she speaks again, her voice lower now, but amplified with a simmering, barely contained fury. "Yes, Flame, he is. And you will behave yourself."

The command hangs in the air, a direct challenge, a gauntlet thrown down. "How many times do I have to tell you? I'm not our mother." The words are like a physical blow, landing with brutal force. "Nothing is going to happen to me. You're not going to ruin this... friendship for me, do you understand me? I'm fed up with your bullshit, Flame. Let me have my own life." Her voice rises, cracks slightly on the final words, echoing in the confined space, reverberating against the walls of my control. Her words, deliberately chosen, aimed with pinpoint accuracy, hit their mark. Right in the raw, bleeding heart of my fear. My guilt. My... failure. "I just don't want you to make the wrong decisions," I whisper, the words barely audible, a choked confession of my deepest, darkest fear. She laughs again, dry and hollow, devoid of humor, laced with a bitter cynicism that chills me to the bone. "But that's exactly what you learn from, Flame." Her gaze snaps back to mine, sharp, accusatory. "When you fall on your ass with something, you have to get back up again. I want to learn that too. Why do you always put up such a fight about it?" Her voice softens, just a fraction, tinged with a weary, genuine confusion. A plea for understanding she knows I'm incapable of giving. Seriously. Desperate. And utterly, completely, pointless. Because I'm goddamn terrified. Terrified that those hijos de puta who did what they did to Ma are still out there, breathing, plotting, waiting. Waiting to finish the job. To come back and break Sophia too. Just like they threatened. Just like they promised before they left me for dead.