The Flames, Rising

~Liam~

I pushed my pen to my paper eagerly at first, thinking about what would be appropriate to write. But as I wrote it, I could feel myself starting to doubt it. What if everything went wrong?

I sighed, running my eyes over my reflection in my window. The sun was setting, casting a faint glow of gold and bronze across my desk as I tapped my pen to it. I hadn't even started. But cautiously, I began to press ink into the paper. Careful, you don't want to mess up.

I could still hear her voice in my head, even after all these years. Maybe, just maybe, she if she came back she could give me advice on how to do any of this. Communicate with others. Tell people things. Do what I pleased. But no.

I know what chains are when I see them. The things that drag people back, back to a place they utterly despise. They aren't free. They're trapped, and probably for a reason beyond their range of control. If they have any at all.

That's what I saw when I saw her for the first time. Someone trapped beyond their range of control, probably for a reason they don't really even understand. Her.

Ramona Syleman.

I let that voice in my head, the one I thought I would forget, guide me. I don't hear my own voice in my head, but hers. I let her guide me, take me directions. And her:

My sister, Kathryn. Maybe if we all wish for it, she'll come back.

She'll come back, and I won't need her to tell me how to live a basic life.

My fingers slip over the paper I don't realize I've written and folded. I slide it into the envelope without another word, sticking the stamp on the corner and feeling suddenly exhausted.

I want to help Ramona, perhaps. But only if she wants it.

~~~

I was deep in thought over ordering firewood for winter when I heard the doorbell ring. I was quite startled. I hadn't even been paying attention to anything but the stupid catalog. This house was so quiet that I could hear everything, but I couldn't even hear someone's footsteps outside?

I pushed my chair out onto the tiles of the kitchen, echoing a loud squeak throughout the first floor. I cringed at the sound, stumbling over to the door lazily. I suppose I was kind of loopy from staring at a piece of paper for a whopping hour.

I unlocked the door, peeking out only to see the mailman wandering off down the broken path again. I was impressed he'd even made it up here in the first place, because making it to my house was no easy feat. He was undoubtedly undergoing some form of heat stroke at this point.

Below me, I noticed something plain brown at my feet. A package, with a white thin letter on top. I sighed, disappointed. Ah, just something else for Markus. I lifted it off the floor with much ease (it was quite light) and kicked the door shut with a huff. Before, of course, I took a glance at the address label.

It read, in all caps, TO RAMONA SYLEMAN.

Well, I flung myself into the kitchen to find a knife, tearing it open with the first chance I got before realizing what the hell I was doing. I nearly dropped the knife on the floor with surprise. Why had I gotten so excited all of a sudden? But really, shouldn't I have been inclined to? I had gotten a package. Me. Not Markus, not Kendall, certainly not anyone else. It was for me.

Which led me to question who had sent this. Immediately my hands flew off the package. What if it was some random pervert? Or maybe Markus toying with me, which honestly I wouldn't be too surprised at--it sounded a lot like him. But those thoughts stopped abruptly when I saw who the real sender was:

The label read, "LIAM MILSKEN".

Well, that made me about three times more curious, and I flipped the package upside-down as soon as I got it open. The object inside fell to the ground with a light whoosh.

It was a piece of gray material, and once I touched I instantly loved it. It was so soft I thought that I might die. What was it made of, silk and spandex? I opened it up quickly, confirming what it was, and then immediately turning over to the letter.

Careful not to rip it, I opened it delicately and pulled out a slip of paper. Just one, with nothing else in the letter. 

The letter read exactly:

To Ramona Syleman,

I’m sorry I was not able to get to know you better when we first met the other day. I wanted to get acquainted with my surroundings and my neighbors, but was surprised to see that I only had one. It was unexpected.

In case you were wondering why I moved here (to this random place in the middle of nowhere, haha) I am an artist. Or rather, more like a creative person. I write, paint, and play piano. I also love astronomy and natural sciences. The city I was in before was very loud. Busy. Lots of traffic and people. But too much for me. So I looked for another home, elsewhere. 

I’ve never had a lot of people I would actually want to be around. But now that I’m here, I think that I want to do something new. Something unexpected. So I hope very much that we could be good friends.

Enclosed is something I think that you’ll like. Flip it over. Take a good look at it. I heard that you liked these (with all this heat I’m not sure why :3) so I made one as a gift for you. Did I mention I also do tailoring?

Stop on by if you ever need something. I hope that you will write back, as the road to your home is not very inviting. I think you know what I mean, hahaha.

Sincerely, Liam Milsken

I feel like I stared at the tiny writing for too long until my eyes fell to the floor. He'd actually written me a letter. Me. Not anyone else, but me. Not to mention he'd made me a sweatshirt. Made it.

I was nothing short of amazed. I hadn't had a letter since I moved in with Markus. I hadn't had an actual phone conversation since Markus handed me the landline instead of a cellphone. I hadn't had the liberty of writing letters because I had lost any people to write to. 

So yes, I was amazed. Why wouldn't I be? The knowledge that someone near me actually wanted to be close to me struck me as something incredible.

Still shocked from the whole thing, I turned back to the sweatshirt, setting the letter gently onto the counter. 

Why does he even care?

I heard it before I could stop it.

'I don't know', I answered. The voice didn't reply.

I sighed, my eyes drifting in a sort of haze to the shirt once more. Flipping it over, I read the words:

"THERE ARE 10 TYPES OF PEOPLE WHO UNDERSTAND BINARY: THOSE WHO DO AND THOSE WHO DON'T"

I kind of keeled over at that, letting a little smile illuminate my face. I closed my eyes slowly, letting a sigh escape my lips. I realized I felt kind of... refreshed. I don't know how to describe it exactly. I can only say it felt like something warm was washing over my entire body, making me shiver with something I couldn't identify.

Maybe it was happiness.

~~~

This time, I was the one pushing my pen to paper.

I stared out the window thoughtfully, seeing the forest almost shrouded in darkness. Markus was late yet again, it seemed. I sighed heavily, forcing myself to focus on the paper before me. My reply.

I had already finished, but I felt like I needed to say so much more. I almost felt guilty for being the one to write so little while Liam had practically written his biography. Mine read simply:

To Liam Milksen,

Thank you for you letter and package. It feels nice to be acknowledged. The sweatshirt is also very good, and it made me laugh a lot. Thank you very much.

I don’t know if I’ll have time to come down sometime. I’m very busy nowadays, but I will let you know. Thank you again, and I hope to see you around.

Sincerely, Ramona Syleman

I surveyed every word long and hard, as if it would somehow magically change if I stared deep enough. Guilt began to course through me for lying to him as well. I wasn't busy. At all. All I did nowadays was scrub things that were already clean and tire myself out more and more. Every day I could feel my soul getting more and more exhausted.

Sometime, someday--I wouldn't be able to handle this anymore. The faking emotions. The obeying. Having all my money being thrown away. After all, that was all Markus really even needed me for--money. My family was rich. I inherited some when Grandpa Taylor died.

And Markus felt the need to take it all away. Spend it on useless things, spend it on an enormous house that I couldn't leave.

Because after all, if I left, my parents would never talk to me again.

~~~

"God, Ramona, how did you even manage getting something like this?" My sister Lisa stared at Markus dreamily, as if she was daydreaming about being with him. I didn't know how to respond. How should someone, really?

I gave her a short laugh in the end. "Ah, I wouldn't know... but don't worry! You'll find someone sometime, Lisa. Just give it time."

Lisa gave me an apprehensive look before settling into a warm smile. "I suppose you're right, Mona. But still..." She started pouting at me, looking at Markus again.

I smiled at her, hopeful. I wanted to see her with someone too. Someone she loved, who loved her back. And I knew that someday that would happen. After all, she was Lisa. The prettiest girl I knew.

"Ramona! Come over here!" I turned my head slightly to the familiar sound of my mother calling to me. I gave a tiny smile to Lisa before she waved me off. I rushed over to my mother, who was standing next to Markus with a delighted face.

"I'm so glad that you two are together, dear." My mother's dark brown hair slipped past her ear, and her eyes crinkled with happiness. "It's even better that he's such a handsome young man, at that."

I felt relief flood through me. I thought for sure that she would be somewhat angry about something. That she would yell at me or scold me. But no, she didn't. In fact, she was the happiest I had ever seen her. Until...

Mom pulled me off to the side a couple of hours later, her eyes darkened with something that made me concerned. I don't know what it was to this day. Some things are not meant to be identified, I learned later.

In a hard, rough voice, she told me all that I needed to hear. "Listen here, and listen well." She sounded so... different from before. Like a totally changed person.

"Now that you've got one like this... I think that he'd be good for the company, don't you think?" My eyes widened with fear. I knew exactly what she meant, and I felt the apprehension starting to rise on the nape of my neck.

"I... I don't--" Mom cut me off abruptly. "Shh, dear. Listen. If you let this opportunity slide by..." Her eyes grew even darker, "I can be sure that that will be the last you ever hear of us."

Of course. I should've known it all along. I should never have thought that she actually cared. All she really cared about was the company and money. Mainly money. She just thought that Markus would be the perfect head of it once Dad passed away. That Markus would be the best person for the job.

It was probably just because of his looks, his stature in business. He was just an employee, not a leader. But no. None of that mattered.

All that mattered in this game was money. Not their own daughter.

That is when I began to despise the fool I was, the person that loved Markus before he turned into a monster.

~~~

The sticky envelope stuck to my fingers for a moment before I peeled it off, placing the stamp into the corner and paging through the address book. I needed to know where I should send this thing first.

I found it pretty quickly. 63 Pine Road, Denver, Colorado. It seemed like places all the way out in the middle of nowhere even had addresses. Huffing, I quickly wrote my address and name before pulling the envelope shut. 

And waltzing all the way back up our misshapen path to the mailbox to send it.

Markus hadn't come home yet, so I hurried up the path before he did. I scrambled over the gravel and roots in the path, which were blocking my way. The night air cooled the place significantly, but there were still mosquitoes and gnats swirling in the air. Not to mention that the place was entirely pitch-black except for the tiny flashlight I got from the kitchen. I could hardly see anything as I tripped over the road. I didn't know why I was in such a hurry for something so small. But adrenaline coursed through my veins as I approached the mailbox.

That's when I heard it. The rumble of an engine. Markus was back.

I pulled the mailbox open with such force it nearly fell off its pole, and I crammed the letter in there before I bolted back down the road, tripping several times as the car got louder and louder. But I was too late. I took too long getting up there in the first place. 

And now I was going to pay for it.

His car turned into the road I was standing on, the familiar sound of gravel crunching beneath it's tires. I froze up immediately, just like all the other times. I knew that he would have found me anyways. My eyes shut tightly as I stood still, waiting for his call to pull up beside me.

It didn't. It kept going right on through the broken path.

One by one, my muscles started to relax as I heard his car go all the way back to the cabin. It was quiet in the woods, and I could hear the car shutting off down there.

I only had one thing to do then, I supposed. Walk back.

My trudge back to the cabin reminded me slightly of reading about the Trail of Tears in elementary school. How the poor Indians were forced to walk across the states as their land was stolen. But I couldn't quite compare my walk to the cabin as treacherous as that. It was more like a simple walk of shame.

Yes, shame. I should have just waited. He had seen me on the path, and ignored me. I was going to get hit. And probably badly.

When I reached the house, I could already feel my eyes blurring with tears. I swiped them away in the darkness, and through the light from inside the house I could see Markus's silhouette in the foyer. He was waiting for me. So he had definitely seen me, but just chosen to drive on by. Which meant something I couldn't even begin to imagine.

I opened the door so slowly, so quietly. It gave the tiniest squeak as I entered. I kept my head down when I walked in, shutting the door behind me with a loud thud. My eyes betrayed me, though, and kept slipping back to Markus. I could only see his legs in my limited view.

"Ramona." I shuddered at the sound of his voice with horror. "What were you doing out there?"

My mouth opened too many times until I finally stuttered a response out. "I... was checking the mail."

I could practically hear his eyes narrow into a glare. "Really? At nighttime? Alone?"

I barely shook out a nod from all the trembling erupting from my body. I was essentially convulsing with pure dread and fear, my palms sweating. "Y-yes... I'm sorry if that upset you, dear."

I nearly gagged on the last word. 

"Then come with me, if you're actually sorry." He rushed forward suddenly and roughly gripped my hand, yanking me towards him so fast I nearly fell over. He started walking quickly and hot with anger, leading me to the kitchen and leaving me next to the fridge.

I was so startled by it all I barely moved a single muscle. I didn't even blink, I was so terrified at that point of just what he was going to do to me. The thought made my eyes betray me once more, filling up with tears. In the next room over, I heard him rummaging around in the toolbox, the clacking of metal filling my ears.

Oh, my God.

I blinked away the tears, my eyes simply filling up with more. I was not going to lose my dignity. I willed myself not to cry, my hands trembling with the weight of it all. The stress. The images of what he might do. 

But I wasn't going to lose my dignity. It was the last thing I had.

Before long, he came back into the room, still blazing with frustration and rage. He obviously thought I was trying to run. But I wasn't!  I want to protest. I want to scream. I want to just sit down and bawl. But, hah--why would any of those things even make a difference? Answer: they won't. He'll still do it all. He'll still hit me, assault me.

In his hands are the hot glue gun, his fingers touching it with a sort of admiration. I don't dare to look at his face. All I see is the gun. The gun. 

He unwraps it's cord, quickly shoving the plug into the wall with determination, turning it on to it's highest setting. His places it in his hands, feeling the warmth beginning to spread through to his fingertips. I think he enjoys it. 

I can't move anymore at this point. I'm paralyzed. I'm willing myself to move, forcing myself to--and nothing is happening. My eyes are dashing around the room, my lips frozen in a position to start speaking. But I know this is all futile. I'm so horrified that I can't even be bothered to keep moving.

As if my trembling was doing anyone any good anyways.

Markus raises it now, staring at my taut body with a malicious grin. I can't see it in how his eyes flare up with aggression, how his dimples start showing. He looks so delighted to be doing this that I feel myself being barely able to even think.

He steps toward me, blazing hot glue gun in air, and says, "This is your actual apology." before pressing it onto my left arm.

Author's Note

Ya'll.
I was playing with the fonts when I was doing the whole letter thing in this chapter. The letter as I wrote it was in a different font on my word doc so I copy and pasted it here. It made it into a different font and size as well. After a lot of tinkering I still couldn't get the normal text to the normal spot. Then I refreshed the page.

IT DELETED ALL MY WRITING PROGRESSSSSSSsSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

well ok i guess i deserve that
BUT WHAT DID I DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO????

ok so update:
it's been like five hours and now it's 3:37 and I just finished
OH MY GOD THINGS ARE GETTIN SPICY
or terrible
probably terrible