SHOUT

Burns of the Past

|Chapter 67|Mimsy|

I was walking to my next class when I heard someone crying.

Interesting, who's that?

I peaked around the corner and was surprised by who it was.

"So you did it huh? I told you to have your ice cream ready Mel," I sighed and sat down next to her.

She was still crying, not as hard as a second ago, but tears were still streaming down her face.

"You know why I told Joshie?" I spoke not really expecting an answer, "Because I thought by throwing him off you would have your happy ending and I'd have finally repaid you."

"What?" She sniffled looking at me in confusion.

"Ever since you pulled me out of the hell hole I had been stuck in for years, I've been wanting to do the same for you. I just want to repay you because I can't accept that you don't want anything in return," I admitted.

"Mimsy, that was years ago, I don't expect you to give me anything in return. No one deserves to go through what you went through and not have a helping hand," she wiped her tears away and gave me a serious look.

"Don't patronize me Mel, you know I don't like it," I quickly responded not skipping a beat.

"I'm not patronizing you, it's factual okay? I don't pity you, I don't look down on you, you're fucking inspirational. You don't do that to someone like you," she let out a small laugh.

I let out a laugh too.

How long has it been since then?

---

He used to light his cigarettes in front of me. I'd watch him turn the dial and see the bright flame dance on the tip of the lighter. It was so bright. He'd bring it close to his face just at the end of the cigarette and light it. Every time he did that I'd wish for the flame to be bigger, I'd wish for it to set him on fire. I'd wish he'd stop lighting his cigarettes, that he'd stop using my thighs as his ashtray.

A deadbeat drunkard druggie. That's what my dad was. He would put out his cigarettes on my skin whenever he was in his pathetic state and I'd start to cry. It took me years to learn not to cry. How could I not learn to stop? Every time I would let out a sound he'd slap me hard and tell me that he only did this because he loved me. But that's not love. How could you do that to someone you love?

This went on for years, so many years. Then one day, I read that if you leave the stove on for a few hours, then gas spreads through the air, and if you light a match or turn on a lighter, the chances of creating a bigger flame increase.

So I did just that. Mom was recovering from a recent injury that Dad had given her so she was in a wheelchair. That made it easier for me to drag her to safety while the house filled with gas. The night of the fire, she and I were outside watching the stars. Despite the fact that we'd been outside for hours she sat out in the backyard staring at the night sky lost in her own little world while the house burned down. I knew Dad would come home drunk that day and I knew that every time he did, he'd go into the kitchen grab a lighter, and light a cigarette. The stove had been on for a while, I even spilled a bit of gas fuel on the floor where I knew he'd drop the lighter from the surprise of the big flame.

The stars that night were beautiful and for the first time in a long time, Mom smiled and so did I.

When she finally snapped out of it and saw the fire her smile faded. The firefighters rushed to put it out and the neighborhood was horrified. They thought Mom and I managed to escape the fire before we burned along with the house, but that wasn't true. I had it all planned out and we were outside from the beginning.

Mom spent a couple of days in the hospital recovering from the shock after that while I stayed at a neighbors house.

Once it was all over, she went back to her usual self. Empty and dead inside. It was as if Dad never left to her. I, on the other hand, felt lighter. Like I could breathe again.

When we moved, I got to go to a new school and start over without having to worry so much about coming back home. Things were better than they used to be and it felt good, it felt like I did the right thing. At least until I realized that I lost something in that fire I'd never get back, until I realized how hollow I am myself. I tainted my own innocence, I was a murderer and I even had the audacity to attempt murder again in middle school. I was a freak who found comfort in fire just because fire saved me and my mother. I realized that I'd never be normal, that I'll never be able to change the past and even though it ate me up inside I knew if asked I would say I wouldn't change a thing.

Life quickly spiraled out of control once it all caught up to me. I had this weight on my shoulders. Then came Melissa.

She hated me. She hated my freedom. She was forced to get along with me and teach me to be just like her, a model student.

With every snarky remark she'd give me and every glare, I saw it. Envy. She thought my life was better than hers but she was wrong.

"Why are you like this? What was so bad that you decided you didn't care anymore? You're pathetic," Melissa's voice was like venom.

"Harvick, Harvick, Harvick, wouldn't you like to know. You don't have to help me you know? There is no obligation for you to stick around me, so why do you?" I smiled and she glared at me. "Let me tell you why you stick around. You're jealous of me. You think I'm so annoying. You hate me because you wish you were me."

"Oh fuck off as if I'd want to be a loser like you. While you mop floors I'll be drinking wine in my mansion with my feet propped up," she showed false confidence.

"Right, because you will be so content with your life. You will look back on these years and say 'I'm glad I had no fun' right?" I walked around her and she followed me with her eyes.

"At least I wouldn't be going home to burn my thighs every day," she snickered and my grin dropped.

"What?" I let out a forced laugh.

"You think I didn't notice? Maybe you have everyone else fooled, but I see right through you. Self-harming at this age, I wonder what happened," she had her arms crossed and I wanted to slap her know-it-all face.

"You—you don't know anything!" I felt myself lose the balance in this argument.

"Are you sure? It seems to me like I caught you," she shrugged.

My mind was racing with thoughts. The memories came flooding back to me. "No...no, no, no, no, NO!" I gripped my hair and fell into a panicked state.

Melissa dropped her confident attitude, "What's wrong?!"

"I didn't—it wasn't—he was hurting me I had to do it!" I was watching the fire burn all over again.

"Mimsy, what are you talking about? What is going on?!" She grabbed my arms and I looked into her eyes, fear present.

"I'm a murderer."