BURN (Wattys2015?)

that wasn't my intention

Seventeen steps. Five empty coffee cups. Two beer cans (crushed). Thirty-three cigarettes. Eight large cracks in the concrete. 

You swallow hard before sliding your weary backpack off your shoulder to ravage for your keys. The backpack sighs, grumbling slightly in protest. It's traveled even more than you have, you know. You find your keys at the bottom, underneath a dogeared paperback and a greasy takeout container. You pull them out, smiling at the jingle. You've never told anyone this, but you love the sound of keys clacking together. You never told anyone because you wouldn't think they'd care--it's not that important.

The key finds it way into the lock, happy to be home. The door clicks hello and swings open, and the smell of comfort drifts out to drag you inside. It feels...content. 

You set your backpack down, kicking it across the freshly swept floor. It's used to the abuse, and masochistically relishes being tumbled around. Wait, freshly swept? You hadn't been there in weeks. There should be a fine layer of dust greeting you, and a musty scent. But no, you find no dirt and the only scent that greets you is a smoky lavender, from a scented candle. 

"Hello?" You say, not really expecting a hello in return, but instead expecting an explanation for the invasion. 

"Oh," A soft voice echoes from inside the bedroom. Feet patter along the hardwood, and a glowing woman stands there, her full lips parted in surprise. "I didn't expect...you to be back."

You crane your head to look behind her, and she futilely tries to block the view. But you saw it, a hairy leg disappearing from behind her. Gross.

"You have a guest?" You smile faintly, your eyebrow slightly creased. Her eyes widen in fear and she looks around the room, at the paintings taped up all over the walls and ceiling, and shrugs. 

"I mean, yeah, I guess?" Her voice is laced and worry, and also something else. A sense of nostalgia, maybe? She doesn't want to let go of the past, but it doesn't matter because the past already jumped.

You nod and move into the kitchen, opening the fridge and rifling through it's contents. She walks up behind you, tapping her foot impatiently. You can tell by the tense silence that she's wound up, wanting to speak. But you're too easygoing for that. 

"Look, I don't know why you came back here." She starts, her chin trembling. You look up over the fridge door, holding a can of jalapenos and a jar of peanut butter. You set them down on the counter, swinging the fridge door shut with your foot. You grab a butter knife and set out eight peppers, slathering them all in the crunchy peanut butter. She wrinkles her nose, disgusted. "Listen, anyway, I just hope you didn't come back for me. Because I'm sorry, but I found someone else."

You pop a peanut buttered pepper into your mouth and chew slowly, looking at her impassively. Swallow twice. Speak. 

"I didn't come back for you. I came back because I live here."

"Oh."

"Plus, I have school coming up. So, yeah. I kinda had to come back." Pepper number two, swallowed.

"I just didn't want to wait for you, that's all."

"I didn't want you to." Man, these peppers are good.

"What do you mean?"

"I wasn't planning on ever coming back for you," There goes pepper number four, into the void. "Although I was going to come back for school."

"You mean...?"

"Yeah." Pepper five and six come in at once. The spicy and the creamy and the crunchy are such a satisfying combination.

"Oh. Well, I guess it's good I found someone else."

"Yeah. Think you can find someplace else, too?"

"Oh. Um, now?"

Pepper seven is hotter than the rest. And the peanut butter has more nuts. "Yeah. I own this place. Don't really want you here."

"Okay. I'll go."

"Okay."

"Thanks, I guess." She runs a hand through that thick hair. You used to run a hand through it, too. "For the summer."

"Goodbye." You say, biting into the last pepper.