The question threw me. How had he known about her? " How..?" I sputtered, the words leaving me. " Sleeptalking." he said, searching my face for clues. I cleared my face, my heart racing beneath my ribs, and turned deliberately away from him. Silently, I picked myself up and walked out, clicking the door shut behind me. Once out, my legs threatened to give way. My head roared, and I walked away with small, stiff steps.
What the hell had I been thinking? He wasn't to be trusted; he was the most popular boy I knew of, and therefore, surrounded by a buzz of people, all the time. I cannot admit to what I feel, for fear of overwhelming me. If I give myself up to the emotion, what's left?
I rounded the corner to my house and stopped dead. The flames licked around the windowpanes, smoke pouring from every crevice. Compulsively, I bit at the loose skin on my lip, relishing the blood I tasted. The wind fanned the flames, and tugged my hair in front of my eyes, combining red hair with raw heat from the fire. My eyes burned, but I fixed my eyes on the house, lit in autumnal colour. My fingers once more crept up my sleeves, then up my ribs, feeling the bundle of scar tissue littering them both.
Now, who was I anymore? My entire identity it seemed, was lost in the flames. Let it burn, I thought, ferverently. Let me burn.