Blaze Davis is the girl in the shadows. The one no one notices but if given a chance, could light up your world with a personality as unique as the scars adorning her body like damaged armour. She has secrets no one knows and hidden beneath that mas...
"Firework exploded where they touched, wildfires searing through their fingertips"
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❃ B l a z e ❃
17 years of life on earth today, and I still didn't know how to butter bread smoothly.
My hands shook as I clenched the knife in my hands, the fleeting impulse to relapse scorching through my mind.
I shut it down as soon as it came, the knife clattering on the counter.
No surprises were waiting for me when I awoke, all because I had promptly shut down all of Travis' inconspicuous attempts at planning one. I meant it when I said I wasn't too happy about celebrating my birthday.
I brushed out my damp hair with my fingers, feeling satisfied at my mini self-care session which consisted of shampooing and shaving. Thoughts of Kiara and my parents were constantly running through my head, prompting my first breakdown of the day in the shower.
I clenched my fingers around the marble tabletop, taking a few deep breaths.
Memories of my previous birthday flickered in my vision, drawing blood from scabbed mental wounds.
Instead of coloured balloons and confetti, I'd had a rainbow painted across my skin- violets, yellows, reds all mixing to form a tragic masterpiece. Instead of wrapped presents, I'd received the metaphorical gift of hatred.
The back of my eyes burnt with tears and I exhaled sharply. I was over that now, things were better.
I let my hair fall down my back and smiled as the smell of blueberries wafted past my nostrils.
No, I totally didn't wash my hair with blueberry shampoo because Rafael liked blueberries. I did it for me. Blueberries were nice and healthy.
They were rich in antioxidants and vitamin C.
Shut up.
I groaned loudly. Grabbing the knife again, I began buttering a slice and shook some sprinkles on top. I hated to admit it, but Rafael was rubbing off on me, something which he would no doubt gloat about.
The sound of the backdoor opening alerted me and I froze.
It could be a serial killer. This seemed like Dennis Rader's M.O.
I knew I shouldn't have watched those true crime documentaries last night.
I waited for a minute and then another noise thumped, this time closer to my location.
Fuck, dying on my birthday wasn't ideal.
"Shit," I grabbed the butterknife and clenched it in my fist. It would have to do, I mean Rapunzel made use of a pan.
The sound of multiple footsteps echoed through the empty house, and I stilled once again. Holy fuck, how was I supposed to fend off more than one person?
