Flames in the Dark

I don't know why I can't stand those people. I just can't.

Sitting there, with everyone in the circle staring at me, the silence gets awkward. I have to say something. But can I tell them the truth? I'm finally pulling in a breath to tell them when Chase speaks, low and with intensity I've never seen in him before.

"You're uncomfortable because Aiden has something you want it, and we want to keep him away," Chase mutters darkly, but loud enough for everyone to hear.

I want to put him in a headlock and poke out his eyes. "This isn't about Aiden. This is about your friends and you, the way you all look at me like I'm a bomb that might detonate!"

Chase blinks. "That's not how I look at you."

"Oh, please, I've watched you. With them you're all laughs and smiles. Then you see me and your face gets all serious and you start sounding like my father!" The last words got too loud, and too high-pitched. But no one's worried about it.

Trista examines us both, tapping her lip with a fingernail.

Chase's jaw twitches. "I get serious, because I see where you're going, and it isn't good."

"Explain what you mean, Chase. Why it isn't good," Trista coaches him. I roll my eyes again.

Chase clears his throat again and sits up. "Aiden's the danger . . . because he'll trick you into . . ." He shakes his head and speaks to his hands. "The Shades are dangerous. You get hooked up with them, you'll be in danger too."

Wait, this is about Shades? I'm practically folded in half over my knees, but I don't want to fidget and give him the satisfaction of knowing he's pushing my buttons.

Aiden has an edge. I know that. But that's part of why I want to be around him.

I find "dangerous" crazy-attractive. It's not healthy, but it's chemical. I can't control how my body—my brain—reacts to someone. Every time I'm alone, I think about Aiden, and my mind runs in circles, the shivers of fear chasing themselves down my spine always give way to awe. I can't think of him without remembering the incredible sensation of that power flowing into me. And he was right, it would have taken a long time for me to trust him enough to convince me to try the channeling—a thought which inevitably turns my head back to that empty room, Aiden holding my wrist, and the power flowing in my veins like white-hot joy.

If he hadn't pushed into my world, I might have missed out on it.

I press my lips together, refuse to apologize for wanting it—especially when it helps me stay sober.

But no one here needs to know that. "You and your friends have no right to judge me, or what I do, or who I do it with. So focus on yourselves for a change."

Chase pins me with a gaze so intense I feel it like a touch on my skin. "We'll never stop trying to stop people from getting tangled up with Aiden and . . . his friends. Never."

The hesitation makes me think he planned to say something else. But I don't know what it was, and I don't want to know. I huff and turn away. I have no response for that because I don't care what they think.

Trista makes noises about how good it is for us to have honest conversations—even when we can't resolve them immediately. I roll my eyes so hard I strain something.

Tuning out the rest of the meeting because I'm strangely vulnerable, I wait for the benediction at the end—which is trite and useless—then I'm free.

Ember steps up to me as I get out of my seat, but she's barely opened her mouth when I say, "I have an appointment. Gotta go. I'll talk to you next week, okay?"

She nods, but her face drops. I feel like a jerk, but I stride across the room, ignoring Chase stepping towards me.

I'm not shaking hands, answering questions, or taking moments alone with Trista. My skin is crawling, my cravings itch. I need something to distract me. And I know exactly what it will be.

No-one gets to tell me who I can be friends with.

No one.

I'm done with this.

*****

The turn signal on my car blinks as I take the final turn towards where I'm supposed to be headed. At least, according to my GPS. My hands are a little sweaty on the steering wheel.

By the time my GPS says the dock is approaching, I'm on a wide boulevard in a clearly industrial area. The buildings are taller and wider. Warehouses and transport stations, though there's no lights on now. Nothing's open. The tall buildings block the low light on the horizon and turn the deepening night around me to black.

There's no streetlights, no lighted buildings. No way to clearly see anything. How do I even know I have the right spot? Then I catch a warm glow rising behind a building a block ahead of me. It must be the bonfire—a big one if its light can be seen from here.

I sit in the silent car, trying to calm my racing heart.

Thanks to that awful meeting, I spent the last hour itching and tingling so hard it made me sweat. I need to find Aiden and ask him to make my cravings will go away. Because my body's doing its damnedest to justify getting high.

Aiden has answers, and can show me how to channel. Even in the grip of the craving, my heartrate skyrockets. That's not getting high. That's not frying my brain. That's something fun and exciting and . . . not drugs.

I lock up my car, shrugging to get rid of the pinch between my shoulders, then under the deepening dark of the huge buildings between me and the beach, I trot down the cracked and broken sidewalk to the smell of sea salt and reverb of pounding waves.

.

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