Fire Burning

Ties

The drive was quiet at first.

Not uncomfortable — just heavy, like the air between us was soaked in everything we didn’t know how to say yet.

I sat stiffly in the passenger seat, my duffel bag at my feet, hands twisting nervously in my lap.

Outside, the town blurred past — the glow of streetlights bleeding into long streaks, the empty sidewalks flashing by like ghosts.

Riley drove one-handed, his fingers tapping a slow, casual rhythm against the steering wheel.

Every now and then, he glanced over at me — quick, soft looks like he was checking if I was still breathing.

"You okay?" he asked finally, voice low, careful.

I nodded without looking at him.

Lie.

But he didn’t push.

He just reached over — slow, deliberate — and brushed his fingers lightly against the back of my hand where it rested on my thigh.

A simple touch.

Barely anything.

But it made my whole body tense like he’d set a match to me.

"You don’t have to talk about it," he said. "Not if you don’t want to."

Tears stung the back of my throat again.

I swallowed hard and nodded once more.

Still silent.

Still drowning.

I grabbed my phone from my jacket pocket and typed out a quick text —
Me: Hey. Staying at a friend's house tonight. Don’t worry.

I didn’t wait for Sarah to respond.
I just tucked the phone back away and leaned my head against the cold window, letting the vibrations of the car hum through me.

I didn’t know if I was running away or running toward something worse.
I just knew I couldn’t stay there anymore.

---

Riley’s house wasn’t what I expected.

It was small — tucked back on a street full of overgrown trees and cracked sidewalks — but it was... warm.
Soft.

The porch light spilled golden onto the driveway.
The living room window glowed with the low flicker of a TV left on mute.
It felt lived-in.
Safe.

Dangerous.

He parked and killed the engine.

Neither of us moved for a second.

"You can still back out," he said quietly, watching me.

I shook my head.
"Not gonna happen."

He smiled — slow and real and wrecking.

"Good," he said, and hopped out.

He circled the car and opened my door before I could even reach for the handle — offering his hand like it was nothing, like it was everything.

I let him help me out.

I let him carry my bag.

Because right now — I didn’t want to be strong.

I just wanted to breathe.

---

Inside, the house smelled like clean laundry and something faintly sweet — vanilla or cinnamon maybe.