4. Chapter Four
One by one, I rip out the drawers from the dresser. They slam like anvils onto the peeling linoleum floor. Yanking items from each, I’m frantic as I stuff it all into my one duffel bag.
Boots pound down the hallway. I glance at my closed bedroom door, pulse roaring in my ears. My senses sharpen, beads of sweat pricking my forehead. The boots fade.
Lunging under my bed, I grab out my emergency stash of corals and some of Mom’s jewelry. It’s not much, and the pawnshops won’t offer a lot for stolen goods, but it’ll buy a few meals while I figure things out.
Panting, I look around the room for anything possibly missed.
The picture of Dad and the still-innocent version of me, age eight, sitting in front of the Morestia Mountains. Its glass mountains sparkled in the afternoon light, reflecting rainbows in the air. One of the last good memories with him before he died.
Snatching it off the nightstand, I place it on top of everything else.
The sound of boots reappears. It’s lazier. Alarming.
The jiggling doorknob. Dread scrapes my guts.
“Kyr, open up.”
A cold sweat breaks out at the sound of the voice that haunts my nights. With trembling hands, I zip up the bag. “Go away!”
Huracio chuckles darkly. “Now, little roach, why would I go and do that?”
Cringing at the nickname, I tuck my iridescent wings closer to my body. This is a cat-and-mouse game. I’m forever the mouse.
I desperately want to be the cat.
The door handle jiggles again, followed by a pounding. “Open up, Cockroach! Or I’ll make it worse!”
Standing, my knees made of jelly, I seize the duffle bag and rush to the window. Huracio slams a foot into the door. It splinters.
A sob breaks past my lips, hysteria prowling at the edge of my remaining calm. He kicks again, and the door groans.
The lock on my window is stuck; rusted shut. My sweaty fingers work at it, gritting back more sobs.
“Cockroaaach,” he sing-songs, sounding happier than is appropriate. The door shatters with one final kick. I whirl around, a ball of flame in my palm.
“Don’t do this, Huracio.” I hate that it sounds like I’m pleading. Just like she does. His bright green eyes find me. Then the duffle bag.
His eyebrows shoot up. “Going somewhere, Cockroach?”
A pathetic reference to my beautiful wings. Ever since my mother met him, he’d attached the nickname, saying it with glee.
I’m so tired of everything. Tired of a mother who ignores my cries for help. Who offers me on a mattress to keep her men happy. Huracio has made my life Hells, and I’m at my breaking point. I may be small, but I’m also flames incarnate. That makes me a Forest Sprite’s worst nightmare.
Why did it take me this long to understand?
Why did I let him do this for so long?
Now is not the time to entertain the shame. Standing to my full height, I lift my chin. My words sound stronger than I feel. “I’m leaving. You can’t stop me.”
Huracio’s bark talons twitch, the light glinting against their blackness. “Do you really want to fight me, little girl?”
“Let’s go, you Pegishit motherfucker,” I snarl.
My abuser smooths back his brown hair with a smirk. “This will be far too easy.”
Lifting a hand, vines shoot out from his palms. They wrap around my wrists like whips. My fire sputters out, overwhelmed by terror.
“This is going to be fun.” He chuckles. The vines thicken and wrap around my body. I scream as they press against my delicate wings. With lazy steps, Huracio approaches. The vines dig into my mouth, threatening to choke me. I bite down, but it does nothing.
When he’s a foot away, Huracio pauses, assessing the vicious determination in my expression. I snarl, gnawing on the vines with my fangs. He chuckles again, shaking his head. I’m bound and helpless when his hand comes to squeeze my breast. Disappointment flicks in his eyes.
“Pity. I was hoping to relax after work; didn’t expect to have to dole out consequences. I thought we were past this.”
This man has created a waking nightmare for too long. Tied me up to use me while my mother couldn’t care less. It’s made me feel small; like the cockroach he claims I am.
Stubborn rage feeds the fire coursing through my veins, reminding me of who I am. This has gone on for too long. So many nights, I’ve stared at the ceiling, thinking of all the ways to get my revenge.
It’s time to end this.
Resolve hardens inside me. Sparks ignite in my palms. Tiny infernos appear.
Huracio frowns. “Are you truly willing to burn this house down, Cockroach?”
Considering I can walk through the flames to safety … yes.
He must see the answer in my face because the vines loosen. It’s too late — I’m past the point of a truce.
The moment my hands can move on their own, I grip the vines, encouraging the flames lick up the leaves. Huracio screams, panicking. He severs his connection to the vines; they plop on the floor like discarded limbs. A shirt catches fire. This whole house will burn down within minutes if I let it.
Let it.
Huracio’s eyes go wide; he backs up slowly, hands splayed in false surrender. “Kyrielle, think about this.”
“Oh, I have,” I snarl, grabbing my duffle bag, following him to the door. “I’ve thought about it every single night.”
He turns to bolt; I hurl a fireball into the hallway wall. Huracio balks, skidding on his heels. Spinning, he gives me a plaintive look. “Kyrielle. You can’t do this.”
I cock my head, considering my options. My mother is at work. Huracio is the only one here. Nothing in this house is worth saving, especially him.
“Actually, I can.” Dipping my chin to give him a menacing grin, I whisper, “Run.”
When he bolts, I follow in Huracio’s steps. Fire eats the walls; the cheap materials are unable to withstand its power. My power.
Calmly walking out of the blazing house, I find Huracio on the lawn, staring at the flames exploding out of the windows. I come to stand next to him, admiring my handiwork.
He peers down at me, heaving for air. Where he’s covered in sweat, I’m cool as a cucumber, even as every instinct tells me to run from him.
But I’m done running.
“What have you done?” he rasps, then coughs.
“Tell my mother not to come looking for me,” I say quietly. “Or it’ll be her turn.”
“Her turn for what?” Huracio straightens, the fight out of his expression.
“This.”
Before he can grasp my intentions, I press a boiling hand against his cheek.
The flesh sizzles and crisps. Huracio’s scream is a sound I’ve never heard before, but I’ll be replaying in my mind for years to come.
In the darkest of nights, which are sure to arrive, this is the moment I’ll use for comfort.
Without a second glance, I walk away. Leaving my old life behind.