The Way You Burn by Christine Meade

Author:Christine Meade
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: She Writes Press
Published: 2020-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 25

I knew this girl who could control lightning.

“I can’t do this with the dog watching,” you said.

Vincent sat by the door to the porch, his eyes locked on mine. He wanted to go out. He had been in front of the door like there was something out there he had to get at. His ears perked up as he stared out the window in the direction of the water. He scratched at the floor with one paw, whining. He would have to wait.

“Just ignore him,” I said.

You put both your hands on my shoulders. “Seriously, David. This is creeping me out. He’s just watching us.”

“He’s not watching us. He’s a dog. He’s waiting to go outside.”

“Well, do you think you could put him outside?”

“Just let him wait.”

“I’m serious.” You tugged your dress back down over your waist. Your thighs were thin and hairless, like a girl’s. A bird protested loudly somewhere over the pond. I tugged up my pants. I left the buckle undone, but I knew my window had slammed shut. You often found some excuse for us to stop mid-romp, especially if we were in the cabin. I think there are ants crawling on me. Did you hear that? It sounded like someone laughing. Do you think there’s someone out there? Why is this creaking so much? Do you think the bed is going to break? We have to stop. I’m too hungry/cold/tired/fill-in-the-blank.

Did I disgust you in some way? Sometimes when I kissed you, my mouth full on your mouth, I could feel you pulling back, shrinking, ever so imperceptibly. Like you didn’t want to be doing this, but had to. Other times, you were entirely someone else. Like that time after I found those letters—it was like something untamable rose out of you. A lust inspired by those words of devotion you wished you felt for me. Or maybe you did feel that for me at some point. I’ll never know.

That night, the sky had taken on an eerie green. The trees bent back and forth under the weight of the wind. The rain pinned a deafening orchestra against the old roof. The lightning brightened the pond and flashed through parts of the forest in an unpredictable display.

You loved storms as much as I did. I can feel the electricity, you once told me, the littlest hairs on your arms rising, a flame burning down the center of you.

I had just run out to the truck to grab the bags of groceries we’d picked up. The paper bags melted in my dash through the rain. The screen door slammed shut behind me, and as I shook off my hood, I saw you on the porch. One graceful, pale leg draped over the edge of my blue recliner. Hair, down and wild, looking longer and a deeper shade of red than I ever remembered it being. You wore a tiny, lacy pair of black underwear and a matching bra. No scarf. It had been a long time since I’d seen you like this, so exposed.

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