BRIMSTONE.

The Voice in the Flame

My date with Emberley went absolutely splendid. She had to work rather late, so we just opted to stay in and watch a movie and have some snacks. It was absolutely amazing. We watched her favorite movie, the second hunger games. I can't remember the title, but it was pretty good. I had only seen the first one, but I've read all the books. I really appreciated the film. But that's not the important part. The previous girls I've been with would never kiss me because of my scarring. Emberley did not hesitate. She kissed me. She lit a spark in me that no woman has ever before. For once, my fire was worth embracing. This fire. This love. The only time I have ever appreciated the fire. It hurt no one, just made me feel good...feel happy. I'm proud to say that it taught me to embrace myself and embrace my past. This is life now. I love her. I hope to be with her again soon.

The sirens. They ring in my ears. They keep me up at night. Help me, Lord. There has to be an escape. There has to be a way out of this burning home.

Emberley and I are now officially dating. It's very exciting. She makes me so happy. I've started to open up to her about my mental health problems. She doesn't seem to be freaked out (yet). I really thought I'd be over it by now, but according to the psychologist, this may just be something I have to deal with forever. I don't want to, but I really hope Emberley can adjust with me. Life is improving. Things are getting better. I am getting happier, but the memories won't fade. The facade of a solid version of myself seems to be enough to hang on. I've noticed myself becoming increasingly more comfortable with fire. I couldn't go near it for years, but now I've started to adjust. I see something in it. Not a memory of him, but himself as one. I see Grant in the flame. The heat feels just as warm as his hugs used to be. I see him there. And he sees me. Maybe that's why the flame has haunted me for so long. I don't think it's a source of pain anymore. I see it now as a source of hope. A memory. A picture. I hear his voice in the flame.

I really hope Em never reads this. God, she'll think I'm insane. She'll think I'm crazy. In a way, I am. But I don't want her to know that. I'm going to schedule another appointment with the psychologist and maybe a trauma counselor. I need help.