Igniting the Flame (The Ignited Girl Series Book 2)

by EJ Everette

  His sneer is even more pronounced than before. This time, he spits directly on my face. There is nothing I can do to wipe it off, unable to move my arms and too weak to fight it, so it falls, slowly down my cheek, dripping onto my exposed collarbone.

  “You dumb bitch!” He smacks me, hard, but I barely feel it. When I heard about Charlie, when I found out the truth, that Eric had been using me the entire time. That he had manipulated me to get to my brother, to get in my pants, to try and brainwash me into accepting this world, I had run. I ran through the woods for what felt like hours, only to be found and drug back all those miles by the guy I thought I loved. I should have known better. I had lived through so much in the two years prior, abuse and hatred everywhere I turned. People can’t be trusted. And yet, I had failed myself and Charlie here. I had let my walls down and where did that get me? Trusting the one person who lived only to bring me the worst kind of pain. Pain that right now, thanks to so many injuries and so little food the last few years, I was grateful only existed within me. When he pulled the switchblade from his jeans, wiping someone else’s blood onto his shirt, and grinned at me, teeth showing in delight, I turned it all off. I focused on building that wall back up. Through every tear of my flesh, every smack, punch, and kick, I channeled my waning energy into cementing my emotions behind the bricks, one by one.

  The wall, harshly thrown together with jagged edges and layers upon layers of stone, rises higher in my mind. There can be no giving in. I will never allow myself to be tricked like that again. As much as I want to believe the guys won’t hurt me, trust that they want only to protect me, they could be misleading me even now. My body may be a victim to their power, to this prophesied mumbo jumbo, but my heart and mind will remain mine.

  A knock on the bedroom door pulls me from my internal masonry. When I call out, Charlie opens the door and shuffles in. He has been resting since we got here, probably hasn’t even eaten, but he has looked worse than he does now. I scoot over so he can plop into bed next to me, his long 5’9” frame already taking up more room than the last time the two of us shared a bed to talk. Maybe he has grown since the accident. Shit, I don’t know. His dark jeans are ruffled like he slept in them, which he probably did. He wears a light blue long sleeve henley, also slept in. His dark brown hair is pushed all around his face, his glasses just barely straight on his nose?

  Once he is situated, he scoots low under the blanket before holding so still, I swear he must have fallen asleep again.

  “You want to talk about it?” His gruff voice, more man than child in nature these days, makes me jump after so much silence. Here I thought we were just going to lay here, quietly stewing in our feels for a while. No such luck.

  “Talk about what?” I answer because, let’s be honest, there is a serious amount of shit going on in my life right now. Going to have to be a little clearer little bro.

  “Dealer’s choice,” he answers. “I overheard some arguing outside through the window, but I didn’t really hear what you were fighting with the guys about. You can talk about that. I mean, if you want. I’m here, and stuff.”

  “When did you grow up so much, Char? I mean, seriously? Aren’t you like ten or something?” I poke him in the ribs and he laughs, pulling away from me to prepare his own attack. Within moments, we are wrestling around all over Leanne’s bed in a full-on tickle war. Charlie does a great job of avoiding any of my still-healing wounds. I, however, seem to completely forget I was in a fire less than ten days before and still have a ways to go to get back to full health.

  “I. Am. Twelve.” He exhales out in heavy breaths while dodging my stellar advances. “And a half, actually. Almost thirteen.” He pulls back from me suddenly, all his playfulness gone. His face is stark white, his eyes large as they stare at a spot on my arm. I look down to meet his gaze when I see it. Blood.

  “Charlie. Char,” I shuffle off the bed and head into the ensuite bathroom. “Charlie, talk to me. It’s just a little blood from one of the cuts on my arm. I’m fine. Charlie? Answer me. I’m fine, you hear me?” He mumbles something in response and I breathe a deep sigh of relief. I pull the bandage from my arm where my wound has reopened, blood oozing out of the gauze wrapping. Rinsing it off, I look over my shoulder to see Charlie, propped up against the headboard, staring off in the distance. Shit.

  “Charlie. Hey. I’m fine.” Nothing. He isn’t even blinking. Shit! Think, Gray. “Char, you’ll never guess what happened with Finn’s sister Darla this week.” I finish rinsing the wound, patting it dry before attempting to tape it back up. Huh. It looks like it's already closed back up. Might even be a little pinker, healthier, than I remember. Weird. I throw the gauze on, tape it down using my teeth to cut the thick medical tape the hospital sent me with, then put the supplies away before heading back into the room. Charlie is tense and I need to reach him somehow.

  “Hey, did you hear me? Darla invited some guy over this weekend. Tanner has been staying at Finn’s house since he got discharged and they told Leanne and I about it.” I plop down next to him, leaning into him to show him I am fine. His eyes flicker down to the now clean area of my arm, searching for any sign of injury. “Anyway, Darla had some punk come over who was like sixteen or something. She is only thirteen. He acted all big and bad until Finn introduced him to Tanner, in his wheelchair, and said he was the last guy who tried dating Darla! Can you believe that? The poor kid ran away screaming. Don’t think he will be back.” I push my hand into his, feeling his fingers clasp mine. Oh thank heavens. “Hey, come back to me bro. You good?”

  He squeezes my hand tightly but I don’t pull away. Charlie doesn’t talk much. We usually have, at best, a few minutes of conversation before he checks out and locks himself in the room or in the old treehouse.

  “There wasn’t much blood. I thought there would be more, but I guess that’s the thing with fire. Everything burns. It doesn’t bleed.” His voice is low, so soft I barely hear him, like a whisper through pressed lips. “I saw her. I wanted to help you. I just. I didn’t know…” His words hitch at the pain, tears pouring down his face. I pull him into me, careful to avoid tearing anything else causing a repeat of the blood situation. For a moment, I do what I have always tried to do, and I hold and protect my brother in his grief. So often he pulls away from me, hiding his agony. This, this moment is as much for me as it is for him. I let him cry, even wail a bit, grateful Leanne and her parents aren’t due back anytime soon. Finally, his sobs turn to sniffles. He pulls his head from my arms, wiping tears and snot all over his sleeve. Gross. There’s my kid brother.

  “You were not meant to help me, Charlie. I need you to know that. You are a kid. Shit, I’m just a kid, too. There wasn’t anything anyone could have done.” The words leave my mouth, meant for my brother, but something clicks for me, too. There was nothing else we could have done in that moment, myself included. “Sometimes, things just happen. Even when they hurt us. Even when they tear us apart. What matters is how we pull ourselves back together afterwards. We have to be strong enough to fight the urge to stay scattered about in pieces of pain. We have to tug at the threads, knit them back together, and keep going.” I push his hair back from his face. It is getting too long and I am half tempted to ask Leanne to cut it when she gets home later.

  “I… I don’t know how. She was helping me, you know. Grams. Did she tell you?” Once again a little boy, Charlie looks so broken in this moment, my own anguish reflected back at me. He deserves so much better than this.

  “You never have to do this alone, bud. I am always going to be here for you. Grams loved you, just like I do. I am glad she was helping you. I will help you however I can. Promise. Just let me, okay?”

  We lay back now, our hands still clasped between us, providing comfort for each other. Charlie tells me about how Grams triggered his love for writing. One day she came home, shortly after we started living with her, to find Charlie unresponsive from an overdose of his anxiety medication and something else he got from who know
s where. I remember that day and how terrified we both were that we would lose him. What I didn’t know was that Grams sat with Charlie in the hospital one day while he recovered and gave him hell for his behavior. Crazy lady. That woman never could hold her tongue. Charlie tells me how she ripped into him, a scared nine year old boy. She told him there were so many wonderful things to live for that he hadn’t even experienced yet. And, even better, there were things he could create with his mind to help him escape that he couldn’t do if he was dead. Grams gave him a journal, one I have seen him writing in more times than I can count since then. Together, in the hospital room, they made their first story together. They wrote about magic, forces of the earth, and the ability to overcome evil.

  We stay like that, flat on our backs, eyes at the ceiling as if we are looking up at the stars and not the popcorn raised drywall above us. We talk about Grams. We talk about Charlie’s stories. Sometimes we cry, other times we laugh so hard we could cry again if we hadn’t run our tear ducts dry already. At one point, Leanne came home and snuck in the room. Charlie stayed silent and she must have realized we needed some more time. She came over and kissed me on the forehead, set plans for coffee in the morning at one of our favorite cafes, then left, hands full of her clothes. She must be staying on the couch or in Char’s room tonight to give us some privacy.

  I don’t know when we fell asleep, but I know Charlie slept without any terrors. He was snoring before I was able to doze off, a sound that brought me more joy than I thought possible on such a weird day. Moments like this, with the people who truly matter to me, is why I have learned to place certain things, like betrayal and pain, on the other side of my wall. Charlie needed me today, and I him. He needed to see that I was okay, even if I am not. These emotions, those of love, joy, and even grief, these are important. They have to be experienced, with the right people, to stay alive. And alive I will be. For Charlie. For Grams. For me.

  9

  Gray

  “Get the hell up, Gray!” Leanne’s all too whiny voice is right beside me, loud and obtrusive in my ears. Ugh. What time is it and why won’t she go away? I go to move but find my arm trapped beneath a heavy pre-teen boy, curled tightly into a ball beside me. Charlie still sleeps, soundly, next to me, despite the annoying alarm clock going off, also known as my best friend. “We made plans, missy, so get your cute ass out of bed and let’s go. Today is our day!” She rips the duvet down, keeping Charlie mostly covered but exposing me to the light, cool air, and her deadly glare.

  “Fine, Le, Jesus! Let me at least have a moment to like pee and stuff. What time is it anyway?” I stretch my sore arms out, allowing my muscles to flex as I move. Today I feel so much better. Last night, when Charlie and I were juggling emotions, I had felt this interesting heat in different parts of my body, almost soothing in nature. Today, those areas are far less sore, strong even, in comparison. Well, okay then.

  “It is already after nine, lazy bones! You have twenty minutes to pee, shower, get dressed, and get downstairs. I have plans, princess!” Her final word stings me a bit before I push the thought away. She isn’t the guys. She isn’t in on this. Leanne couldn’t possibly know what I learned just yesterday about who I am. It was just a playful endearment she has used before. I push her out the door and hop in the shower. God, even though I took one yesterday, it feels so good to just let the hot water soothe away my aches, both real and metaphorical.

  After my shower I brush and blow dry my long dark brown hair, so similar to Charlie’s, and pull it up into a ponytail at the top of my head. It is still difficult to do, since my arms are sore and don’t want to reach up that high, but it is easier today than it was yesterday and that’s progress. By the time I join an impatient Leanne downstairs, I am dressed in black leggings, a loose dark slate tank with large armholes that show the deep purple bralet I managed to get on this morning. I look more like I am going for a run, something I long to be healthy enough to do again soon, but Leanne seems to accept my appearance for our girls day. She, on the other hand, looks fabulous, as always. Her bright fuschia highlights in her dark hair make her pixie cut stand out in all the right ways. She has at least 4 sets of earrings on, all different in design. Her makeup is flawless, the subtle shading of her dark eyeshadow bringing out the brightness in her color contacts, today’s choice being a royal purple. She is dressed to perfection in her cut-off shorts designed to help her short legs look miles longer than they are, and an adorable yellow sleeveless blouse, showing off her dark skin tone from countless days at the beach. My best friend is a knockout!

  “About time you arrived. I was about to come up and drag you from the shower if you didn’t hurry up. I am starving!” She grabs my hand, pulling me out to her car, parked beside the house in front of the garage. “First we breakfast, then we shop, and, of course, gossip!” She giggles at the last part, knowing there must be tons I have to tell her, before backing out of the driveway, whisking us off to the bay shopping complex just twenty minutes or so from her house. As we pull out of the neighborhood, I swear I see a very familiar red sedan, but then Le is flying down to hop on the highway and I lose whoever it might have been in the rearview mirror.

  We chat about a few things on the drive, to include summer school (ugh, that’s not something I want to deal with right now), Tanner’s living situation, and the tea about Aiden and his group. The three of them were sent off to juvie for the beating they gave Tan a few weeks ago. Aiden apparently has to spend time in the mental ward for some stuff first, according to Leanne. So many things have happened in the last few weeks, it’s hard to keep track of what day it is, much less all the details of the drama. When we park in the parking garage downtown, Leanne and I walk, hand in hand, down to Dizzy’s. It is our favorite little cafe with the best crepes. Literally, the sign on the door says “Best Crepes in the US!” We wave at Marty, our usual server, and take a seat in the back. Soon, Marty is bringing us our steaming cups of java, the smell of the perfectly mixed drinks is beyond intoxicating!

  “Marty, my man. Amazing as always,” Leanne says before, and I shit you not, pointing finger guns in his direction and, this is the worst part, firing them with a “Bang! Bang!” Marty just stares at her awkwardly, a slight blush tinging his pale cheeks, though not deep enough to cover his dark red freckles.

  The carbon copy of a Weasley boy, Marty has thick red hair, freckles, pale white skin despite living near a beach where it is warm year round, and light green eyes. He is tall, though not quite Finn’s height of over 6’. I have really only ever seen him here, at Dizzy’s, but I know he graduated a year or so ago and must have time for the gym because he isn’t puny by any means. Again, not as muscular as… as some other guys I know, but no skin and bones kid, either. Leanne has had the biggest crush on him since we started coming here two years ago but insists nothing will ever come of it because he is older than us. If only she knew the age difference between the guys and me. Shit, no. Lock it up, Gray. No thinking about the guys right now.

  Marty makes a nervous chuckling sound before clearing his throat. Leanne, bless her, is not even remotely aware of how incredibly awkward she is being, and chuckles back with him. She may look like one of those girls who is used to breaking hearts and taking names, but my bestie is the most uncomfortable flirt I have ever met. Hands down. It is my job to stop this train wreck before it gets out of hand.

  “Marty! Good to see you,” I smile up at him, hoping to draw his attention away from the weird as fuck face my girl is giving him right now. I swear she thinks she is winking at him but, lordy, that is far from the case. It’s like she just came down with Bell’s palsy or something. It’s actually quite terrifying to watch.

  “We will have our usual, triple berry crepes with two extra sides of bacon, extra crispy, please.” I place the menus, unopened, in his hand but the poor sucker is still looking at Le like she is a puzzle he is desperately trying to figure out. Good luck, dude.

  “Yeah,” Leanne says in response to my ord
er. “You know how we like it!” Again with the wink attempt, Le?! Oh for fucks sake. So much for stopping the wreck. I might have derailed it a bit but it’s still a disaster. Just walk away Marty. Go. Take the menus and walk back into the kitchen like a good server.

  “You bet I do, love.” He smiles a big goofy grin at her, then walks away. Hold up. What just happened? Did he flirt back with her? He never flirts back. He always smiles, passively, then walks away. Did the earth just shake? Are we post-apocalyptic now? I mean, that couldn’t have worked, right? She looked like she was stroking out and shot finger guns at him. What reality is this? I bring my hands up to my face in total confusion, placing my head in my palms and groaning a bit.

  “OMG! Gray, did you hear him? He flirted with me! Did you see that? Like, out of nowhere. I wasn’t even flirting today. I was just minding my own business and BAM!” She squeals, kicking her little legs under the table, loudly announcing to the entire cafe her excitement in continuous thumps. I want to question her but she is so happy right now, I can’t help but laugh. What do I know about flirting, really? I might have a boyfriend, but that is purely his doing in the whole flirting department. I have some sass, but I rarely remember to use it as it is.

  “Hell yeah I did. Oh snap, Le! Looks like your dreams of red-headed asian kids might actually come true!” We both giggle like school girls, only quieting down when Marty drops off our food, though the second he walks away, we are back at it. The rest of the meal is spent watching these two horrifically butcher the art of flirting. At one point, Leanne waves at Marty from across the room, super obvious. He goes to return the wave forgetting his hands are full of half-full coffee cups from bussing a nearby table and he dumps at least two different drinks on himself in the process. This only seems to make Leanne like him more, for whatever that is worth, and she snorts loudly at his predicament.