And So She Burned

9. Burned & Mirrored

The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, miles to go before I sleep. --- Robert Frost

I wasn't sure what happened that night in the forest. I wasn't sure I wanted to know. But it didn't matter—I had, ultimately, dismissed it from my mind. For the moment, at least. It was extremely difficult to do two things at once, after all.

Sort of.

I sat in the middle of the floor at Cece's house, my legs spread out to do the splits. I was almost flat on the floor, but Cece was much better at it than I was. We had always loved the idea of being gymnasts as kids, but neither of us were coordinated enough to do anything like that, so we settled for practicing splits and other stretches.

"So," she began conversationally. "How've you been dealing with everything that's been going on?"

It had been a few days since the forest incident, and I had told no one about that, so I figured that Cece meant all of the murders. "I've been . . . dealing, I suppose. There isn't really a good or bad, y'know? It's more like . . . peeling an orange. If you can get it all off, you're lucky. If the peel comes off in little segments, you make a face and get the fuck over it."

Cece flinched at how sharp my voice became at the end of my random analogy. I sighed mentally. "Sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you—"

"No," she interrupted. "You're telling me one thing, but your tone says another. It's far easier to hide in darkness than light—isn't that why we all lie? But trying to hide in the darkness, or light, doesn't work with your best friend. Tell me what you are really thinking."

I must have gaped at her for a solid thirty seconds before she folded her body in half and reached down her leg as to stretch further. "It isn't that hard, Auna. Khan and I love you, and we want to help you."

I knew she was right—even though Khan wasn't with us, he would've agreed. I could let my friends help me. I didn't need to be secretive all the time.

"Fine. I'll tell you what I'm thinking. But it's not exactly cheerful." I told her this with a wry smile. I wasn't delusional; I knew that I was a real human being, not a character in a book. That meant that the attention was not on me, and that my life wasn't a drama. I wouldn't be caught dead saying, "My life sucks! I hate it and I'm sad and no one understands me!" Because it wasn't true. I had people that loved me and cared for me—even if that group of people was one fewer in number since a month ago.

"I'm thinking that it could have been Mr. Greysen who killed my mom. I think it could've been my own father who killed her. But I'm also thinking that it doesn't really matter which one it was. Because if I get even the slightest clue it was one of them . . . I will hurt them."

Cece watched me for a moment as she can up out of her stretch. She continued to observe me as she stood and brushed off her leggings. An unreadable expression passed over her face before she said, "I hope you torture whoever did that to your mom. I hope you make them pay."

There was an odd moment of silence, of kinship. We both hated the person who could kill another in cold blood that way, and were glad we did.

It gave me a weird sense of friendship.

I pushed myself out of my splits position and wrapped my arms around the slightly shorter girl. "Thank you, Cece. You're the best friend ever."