Pyro (Sequel to 'Burning in Water')

Chapter Four: our vulnerability was never weakness

He had slept on the couch that night, under a moth-eaten blanket Darcy found in the hallway cupboard. Neither said another word.

The morning dawned early and grey. Through the large open window, Jim tried to follow the sun's progress above the horizon but became lost in the large clouds. He sat up when he heard Darcy's steps on the stairs. When she appeared at the doorway to the kitchen, he opened his mouth to give a witty yet charming greeting, but stopped in his tracks. 

Darcy looked devastated. Her hair, which had been in a loose bun, was wild, thick strands of it floating around her shoulders in an almost menacing way. Her face was puffy, and she had dark circles around her eyes. In the softest voice he could manage, Jim said 'Good morning darling.'

Darcy barely acknowledged him. She turned the kettle on and set about making breakfast. Jim sat quietly on the couch, watching the horizon. 

He hadn't expected to feel a presence next to him, to have a cup of tea thrust into his hands, and the couch to dip next to him. He looked over to see Darcy sipping her tea, staring out the window. They sat in silence as the wisps of smoke dissolved in the cold morning air.

Once Darcy had finished her tea, she stood. 

"Care for a walk?" Her voice sounded short to Jim, the voice of someone who had not slept in the last week. But it still sounded beautiful to him. So he simply nodded.

They walked through the small town next to each other, the cold morning air making an ocean between them. It was when they arrived at a park that Darcy broke the silence.

"Why?" Such a simple question. And then the dam broke, because simplicity was not was Darcy understood, and seemed to fit the situation as well as her father's trench-coat had when she was only ten. "Why me? Why now? Why did you think, in any possible scenario, that..." She trailed off. 

Jim took a moment to think. "I was able to get whatever I wanted in life, make anything happen with a snap of my fingers. But there was one thing I could never do." In the quiet, they could hear each other's breathing. Darcy's breath was weak, as she unconsciously tried to keep the warmth within her. 

"I could never make you love me." His confession was so quiet that she could have missed it. 

"I was thinking about what you said," Darcy began slowly. "Last night." 

"I do love you, you know. In my own sick and twisted way," he laughed. Darcy kept silent. 

Together they sat on a cold Tuesday morning, in an empty park, on a frozen bench. Slowly, Darcy began to realise she was shivering. Jim noticed as well, as he started removing his large overcoat.

"No, Jim, I can't take that you'll be cold-"

He didn't say anything and simply lay it over her shoulders. Such a simple action.

It smelt warm, like whiskey and musk and vulnerability. Darcy felt her heart break, just a little bit, as she breathed it in.