Ignite

Chapter 27

"How are you today, Claudia?"

I glance up at Muhammad, playing with the fray in my jeans. I find it hard to look at him today. The sky beyond the window is grey today, and it makes him too visible.

I always find it easier to talk to Muhammad when it's bright, or late in the afternoon, right on sunset. That way, when I'm spilling my secrets, I'm only doing it to a silhouette. I can't see how he's reacting to me.

"I think you already know. Sylvia talked to you, didn't she?"

"Yes. Sylvia came and spoke to me."

I look back down at my jeans, trying to ignore the headache pounding behind my temples, the scratchiness of my eyes.

"She's worried about me."

Muhammad observes me, his gaze steady on my face.

"Do you understand why?"

I stay silent, staring at my legs.

After a few minutes, he tries a different angle.

"She said you've been sleeping a lot."

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to think, and whenever I'm awake, I do."

Muhammad types something, and I know, just from the tapping, that he's not happy with my answer. His typing is always more disjointed when I've said something that bothers him, that pulls his mind more towards how to respond than the words he's writing.

"You don't see a problem with that?"

I close my eyes again and let out a breath.

"Please," I whisper. "Please, I don't want to talk about this today."

There's a brief silence and then Muhammad wheels out from behind the desk so he's in front of me, resting his arms on his legs.

"We don't have to, Claudia. But Sylvia is worried, and that isn't going away."

His voice is kind, understanding, and I look up at him, exhausted by my endless issues, by the raw stitches holding them shut and the hands that claw them open; again and again and again.

"So, I'm not allowed to be upset anymore?" I ask. "Is that it?"

"Of course you're always allowed to be upset. But you came here today, and that makes me think Sylvia wasn't the only one surprised by the intensity of your reaction to seeing Annabelle."

Her name makes me flinch, and a spark ignites within the foggy nothingness that has occupied my mind since the weekend.

"Don't say that."

Muhammad tilts his head to the side.

"Say what?"

"Her name."

Muhammad is watching me carefully now and I look away, pulling at a hang nail.

"Why don't you want to hear her name?"

"I just don't, okay? She'd always been a shit mum and then she nearly killed me. I never want to talk about her again."

Muhammad sits back, fingers drumming against his legs, and we stay silent for a long time.

I take a couple of minutes to realise the silence isn't uncomfortable, that somewhere along the line I'd started feeling calm in Muhammad's presence instead of persecuted.

I wasn't sure if that was a good thing, considering he could send me and Jake away again if he wanted.

"Can I ask you one more question about her, and then we'll move on?"

I want to scream then, but I bite it down. "Fine."

"It seems like all your anger at her doesn't stem from just the fire."

"No, it doesn't."

"Why is that?"

I consider this for a moment, unsure how to phrase it.

"Mum was an alcoholic," I murmur eventually. "Dad left when we were young because of it, but she blamed it on Jake and I instead. Mostly me, though. She said I was too much for him."

"Were you?"

I shrug. "Maybe. She always said I was a lot like her, I never wanted to be though."

Muhammad sits back, watching me carefully.

"You know we've never talked about the day of the fire," he says. "We've talked around it, about your feelings and emotions, but we've never touched on what happened."

I swallow, staring at him.

"Is that what you want?"

Muhammad shrugs, but I can see it in his eyes. He wants to know. He's being professional about it, but deep down he's like everyone else — fascinated by the morbidity of it, the danger and adrenaline and gut-wrenching horror.

I do a quick calculation, tossing up which outcome would be the lesser evil.

"If I tell you about the fire, will you leave me alone for the rest of the day? No more questions?"

Muhammad's jaw tightens, displeased, but then he nods.

I eye him for a moment longer, unconvinced.

"Do you promise?"

"Yes, Claudia, I promise."

Muhammad's words are dry, but there's sincerity behind them and I let out a breath of relief.

"Okay."

I fall silent, trying to collect my thoughts, to push back the walls I've placed around every aspect of that day, every thought and feeling and sound.

As I do, I feel a twinge in my back, a ghostly sweep of heat down my spine.

Then I begin to speak. 

...

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Next chapter out in a week!

- Skylar xx