27. Fire Doesn’t Flinch
FIRE DOESN’T FLINCH
FAITH
A s soon as I hang up, I hear a sound.
I know something is wrong.
It’s not the plumbing that creaks tonight. It’s my past.
“Long time, little whore.” Jamie steps out of the bedroom.
He’s been here the whole time.
My heart is in my throat.
He looks taller somehow. Leaner. His eyes are the same cold ones that loved to map every bruise he left on me.
I don’t scream. I don’t cry. I step back, heart pounding in my throat, but my spine stays straight.
Cain’s apartment is an open floor plan. A huge space with the living, dining, and kitchen. Then, a hallway opens into two bedrooms.
“You know, I forgave you for running away, for stealing. But now cops are coming and talking to me. They’re asking all kinds of questions. Saying that, even if you don’t press charges, they have photos.” He comes closer.
I can barely breathe. Fear is loud. And it is blooming inside me.
“You telling stories to your new boyfriend about me?”
I keep backing up, my eyes scanning.
My phone that I just set on the side table at the entrance.
Random keys on the kitchen counter next to three envelopes. Bills.
Cast iron pan on the stove. Too far.
I still have my bag on my shoulder. I still have Cain’s keys in my hand.
“I should’ve finished what I started in Seattle.” He steps closer and closer.
His hand shoots out. I duck, but not fast enough. He grabs my wrist, twisting hard. Pain radiates through my arm, but I stay on my feet.
He swings. This time, I move. His fist grazes my shoulder. I jam the keys into his face and dig in.
He screams.
I got his eye. There’s blood everywhere.
“Bitch,” he howls and comes at me.
I slam my bag into him. There are two hardbacks in it. What do they say about the pen being mightier than the sword?
He stumbles, cursing, and grabs a lamp. He hurls it at me. I duck. Glass shatters behind me.
We’re in the kitchen now.
I grab the cast-iron pan.
When he lunges, I swing.
The sound is dull, sickening. Jamie groans, drops to his knees. I hit him again. And then once more.
He’s groaning, blood on his face, trying to get up from the floor.
I hit him again, not caring if he lives or dies.
I don’t care, I scream silently. I just want him to stop .
He collapses. He’s out. He isn’t moving.
Rage burns out of me.
I stand over him, panting, heart racing.
The room is silent.
With almost what feels like calm, I grab my phone that I set on the counter and call Cain.
“He found me,” I whisper. “Jamie. I...I stopped him.”
“I’m on my way,” he says. “In five. Kyle is?—”
The door bursts open, and Kyle comes in, weapon in hand. He looks down at Jamie and then at me.
“You okay?”
I nod.
Jamie groans then and tries to get up.
Kyle’s on him. A knee is on Jamie’s back as he cuffs him.
He comes up to me and takes the cast iron pan I still seem to be holding.
I’ve started shaking now.
“Faith?” I hear Cain yell.
Loud footsteps come racing up the stairs. He bursts through the door, sees the blood, the broken lamp, Jamie cuffed.
He comes to me and wraps me in his arms. I slump against him.
“You hurt?”
“No.”
But then he lifts my hand, and I cry out.
“Fuck, Faith, we need to get you to the hospital.”
“I’m not broken,” I whisper.
“No, baby, you’re not.”
Kyle chuckles. “Your girlfriend is a bad ass, Cain. I’d be careful to never piss her off.”
A laugh busts out of me, short, hysterical.
I hear sirens.
“They’re here,” Kyle announces. “I called it in right after I got your text message.”
“The EMTs are here, sweet thing.” He hugs me close. I soak up his warmth.
“I’m safe,” I murmur.
“Yes, Faith. You saved yourself. You always have.”