Recovery And Magic

3

Ian showed me to my room. It was tucked in at the end of the hallway on the left side. It was pretty spacious. The bed had a nightstand next to it, fresh blankets and pillows were on top of it. A closet and desk was placed on the other side of the wall. The closet door was slightly open, from the crack it looked like new clothes.

It was clean, new, untouched. And soon to be burnt with me in it. If it can last the night.

"So this is your room." Ian smiled. "You can make it into whatever you like. The closet has a bunch of clothes and sizes so if some don't fit, go ahead and tell us. We can take it and-"

"Can I be alone for a while?" I mumbled, staring at the light brown carpet. "I'm really tired and I just wanna sleep."

Silence. Hanging the air, probably tearing off the smile of Ian's face. The quicker the better. Too bad it only lasted for a second. Swept away from him letting out a cough.

"Yeah sure," Ian said. "It's been a long day, so I can imagine. We can bring up your food up later-"

"I'm good. I just want to sleep."

It didn't sound like his smile was murdered. It still sounds like there was hope buzzing around him. I kept my eyes to the ground, focusing on the fabric. Hope is cruel. From him or anyone. It means you can still live. And it makes it easier to break off and die.

"Of course," he replied. "You get a good sleep and we'll get started with training tomorrow. If you need anything, you can knock on any of the doors and we can talk."

I half hearted mumbled something I think it was supposed to be "thanks" but I didn't care. I heard Ian shuffling himself out and closing the door. And the silence came back, flooding the space with its thick invisible liquid.

I was alone in my new room. Fresh clothes waiting to be tried on. A bed ready to slept on. Blankets to wrap myself in so I can be warm.

All waiting to be burned by me. Added to the pile of ash and soot that caked my skin. To choke out my lungs. It'll take years but I'm sure that's how I'm gonna die.

I just sat on the carpet and laid down there. My back tensed as it found the familiar hard surface. The sore muscles around my spine groaned once they made contact. It's not comfortable but it's where I belong. Minimize the possible damage I could do when I'm asleep. Give someone a chance to snuff out any stray flames that decide to slip out of my hands when I'm out.

If that happens, they might just kick me out. Saves them the trouble of getting used to me and my shit. Saves anyone from getting third-degree burns or scars. Or having their house burn in the middle of the night cause I had a nightmare. Or their tray randomly setting afire after they bullied me.

How am I still alive? Why do I even let anyone put up with me? It's not like I've done any good so far in my life. I'm seventeen, homeless, got arrested for letting my fire commit arson, and found out I'm a freaking witch.

As if finding that out puts everything in perspective. Words can't change what I am. I'm still a freak. An uncontrollable monster. Giving it a different name isn't gonna make it better.

A knock silenced the thoughts. Draining the silence out of the room as the pressure slid off my chest. My eyes focused back on the ceiling, where a blanket of darkness covered it. All the sunlight that poked out from the window was gone. It's night already?

I slowly got up, straining out knots that got tied up from laying on the ground. You think I get used to it by now. I fumbled around, reaching for the doorknob as my eyes adjusted to the dark. Opening up there was a dull light that covered the hallway, hums from downstairs could be heard if you strained your ears hard enough.