Fire on Fire

6. A liberating chant

"Where are you taking me?" Emma wondered, confused and mildly annoyed – she shouldn't have agreed when he'd offered to take her home.

"Just trust me." Alexander said, eyes on the road, only to then turn to her for a moment. He let out a short laugh. "Right," he said, eyes back to the street, "I forgot who was I talking to."

"It's not your place, is it?" She frowned.

"What if it was?" When he noticed her half upset, half disappointed look, he added: "It's not my place. I just have something to show you, that's all."

"Ok, but what?"

Alexander grinned. "Just ... trust me." When she rolled her eyes again, he went on: "I know, I know, trust is overrated ... but sometimes you just need to let someone help you."

Emma furrowed her eyebrows, befuddled. "What do you mean, help?"

"Hey, remember the last time we argued like this? What happened then?" He winked, well aware that the reminiscence of their first time together would silence her, at least for a few minutes. It was a dirty trick, he knew she would think back to it and reignite the sense of guilt she kept on feeling, but it was better than him caving and finally telling her where were they going. She would never accept.

Predictably, Emma went quiet, eyes on the road, but mind to 2 months before, that fatidic day that started it all, leading her on a morally ambiguous path she just didn't know how to get away from.

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2 months ago

With a sigh, once out of the restaurant, Emma put on her jacket. There went the umpteenth job. Maybe Nancy was right, she was too uptight, she needed to be a bit more compliant. If every waitress slapped a client when he randomly grabbed her ass, there would be no waitresses. Just go along with it, Nancy always told her, it might even benefit you. But she just couldn't.

Sometimes, Emma pondered as she started walking away from the restaurant, being like Nancy would make things a lot easier, but it was clear that her friend had never been in the middle of a storm, unable to go back or forward.

Hiding her face behind her jacket, hands in its pockets, Emma decided to take a walk, clear her head. It was a warmish Sunday, which was unusual for a February in New York, but at least that meant Spring was on the way.

Emma didn't feel like seeing or talking to anyone, so she ignored the texts from Nancy. Not that she had much of a social life: she never lasted long enough in a workplace to make friends and she always kept to herself. It was safe to say that the only people she knew in the city were Nancy and her boyfriend.

Ugh, she grimaced. Alexander. Suck a prick. She had no idea what Nancy found in him, he was so full of himself. And the side glances he sent her? As if he were disgusted by the sole sight of her. Who did he think he was?

Emma walked past a bookstore, then went back, stopping at the front window. When you barely make ends meet, even something as simple as a book can become a luxury, she reminded herself. She'd just lost her job, rent was due soon, not to mention bills. But maybe just one? It would be worth skipping dinner. Or maybe she could just bask in the sense of liberation that even only touching a book, skimming through the pages, gave her. Yes, she would do that.

There was nothing particularly interesting about this place, just one more standard chain bookstore, and the immediate warm air that hit her when she entered – a mix between the heating system and the crowd inside – was almost suffocating. However, the moment she laid eyes on her objects of desires, Emma breathed in deeply, as if to take in the scent of all the books in the room. She'd never had many chances at reading, but the little she could, she harped on it.