SEVENS

WILD FIRE

A|N: Violence/Abuse Warning!!! (Also strong language but that's not new)

It was one of those things that you saw coming but could do nothing about. Like the man tied to the railroad tracks in old movies or watching someone else crash their car.

Things happen, they happen fast, and there's often nothing, not a single damn thing you can do to stop them.

Sometimes you could make the blow softer though. Like how a kettle has a hole in the lid and spout to release steam, keep the pressure from building up too much.

Mark wasn't like the kettle. He was more like a wild fire. You just have to let it burn.

The ride home after practice was silent for most of the trip. I found out that Mark often dropped some of his players off at their homes on the way back from school. Each parent came out and said hello when their child was dropped off and Mark seemed genuinely happy to talk to them. But with each new player dropped off I wondered more and more how he could have everyone so enraptured by him. It dug my grave miles deeper, the community loved Mark, any negative thing I could say about him would be thrown back at me. The ungrateful foster child, who even after being forgiven for killing the generous sheriffs son won't accept his foster father.
I could feel it, a festering, burning thing grow between us and it made my stomach curdle. The hatred was boiling over and soon the steam would be hot enough to burn.

After dropping off the last player, with a smile to him and his parents Mark pulled the car away from the curb and began to steer it back towards his house.

I didn't speak. He didn't speak. I barely breathed. The ac blew in our faces, on our necks, and still I felt the fire of his rage burning me. The fear that I had been repressing all day was making it hard to move in anyway.

But without a move of aggression we made it back to the house. As soon as the car was parked I had my buckle unlatched and the door wide open. I bolted for the relative safety of the house and used taking a shower as an out for talking to or being near either Mary or Mark. I wasn't sure what would happen if I was near either of them for more than five minutes.

I had the shower turned up as high as the lousy water head would allow it to flow and the heat was also hot enough to fill the small room with steam in seconds. But I stayed clothed. My jeans and worn black sweatshirt didn't leave my sweaty body. I nearly fell to the toilet seat, bracing one hand on the back of the tank and using the closed lid as a seat.
I tried to just focus on breathing but found that even with the steam my chest was tight and my airways constricting.

I could—could, set something on fire, the— the barn out back. It would burn no problem. And it would be enough of a distraction, it was possible Mark and Mary wouldn't notice I was gone until I was safe. I knew where Pierre lived, I could go there, maybe catch them before they left— no their plane was scheduled to depart yesterday— I could—
I couldn't breathe, the tub in front of me swam, tile and plastic melting before my eyes, mixing with the spray of the water.
The shower continued spouting hot water and I continued sitting dazedly on the toilet lid.
Maybe I could contact Reece, somehow. Maybe steal Mary's phone, find his contact. I— he would come back for me— I knew he would keep me safe, he'd never held his brothers death against me, or—or I didn't think he did. If he did hate me— want me dead as much as his father did— he'd never shown it. Maybe he wouldn't come, he was scheduled to be deployed soon after his vacation anyway, why would he want to waste his small amount of time off—waste it on me.

I bit into my hand, the pressure of my teeth clenching around my thumb anchoring me back to my body. I could feel spit trailing down my wrist. My breathing hard and fast and hot against my fist.