Page 8 of Burned By Fire
Ember’s usually a social butterfly. It doesn’t make sense for her to be here all alone. Surely nobody else lives in an office within the building.
“I don’t need to be away from everyone. I’m twenty-one now, and I thought it was time I moved out of my mom’s home. I didn’t want to pay a lot for the space.” She shuffles the box again. I’m guessing it’s heavy or she’s holding something back.
“Pass me that,” I say.
“I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
I pull the box from her hands and start to walk back in the direction I came from. “I’m capable of carrying a couple of books and a fire helmet,” I say, looking at the contents.
“I’m sorry.” She cringes.
“Why are you taking the stairs when the elevator would’ve been easier?”
“The elevator is old and slow. This way’s quicker. I’m visiting the local elementary school soon to give a talk, and I want the material so I’m well prepared. I’m sorry if talking about this makes you uncomfortable. I know how much you enjoyed that part of the job.”
“Don’t be silly. I know what you do for a living, and it’s good you’re putting the effort in.”
“Thanks. I want to wow the kids with my enthusiasm and equipment.”
I smile. She can be a complete dork at times. “I’m sure you’ll win them over.”
“Thanks. I wish you were coming,” though.” She pauses, her face twisting into a grimace. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“I wish I was too.”
I follow her into the apartment, which is modern and minimalistic. It still has the open office layout, but it isn’t so bad. The brick walls against the chrome background work well, although it’s missing a personal touch. I place the box on the counter, wondering why Ember hasn’t made it more homely. I look around for a few seconds until the silence is uncomfortable.
“Okay, I’ll see you later.” I start to leave, ready to crawl back into my hole.
“Wait. Why don’t you stay a while?” Her words come out like a plea.
I look her up and down, wondering if the invitation is just out of pity. We used to be close friends and sometimes spent the whole night engrossed in conversations while on shift.
“I don’t need your charity,” I say, shaking my head. She’s twenty-one and has lots of friends her own age. Why would she want to hang out with me?
“Stop wallowing and accept a cup of coffee. I miss you.” She puts her hand on her hip.
“You miss me?” I frown. I’m not sure why I said that out loud, but I need to hear her justify her statement.
“Of course I do. You’re my friend, my mentor, and my hero.”
“I wish you’d stop calling me a hero,” I grumble.
She moves closer to me, putting her hands on my arms. I try to flinch backward, but she holds on tight. Since the accident, I don’t like to be touched, even though I can’t feel anything through the scar tissue on my bad arm.
“I look up to you because you’re fearless. You moved away from your hometown as soon as you were old enough and went after your dreams. You’re not my hero because you’ve saved lives. You’re my hero because you inspire me to be better.”
I gaze deep into her pretty brown eyes. I want to be the person she thinks I am; I want to be brave and pull myself back together. Drawing in a deep breath, I say, “Tomorrow morning I’m going for a run in the park. Will you join me?”
“Yes.” We stare at each other for a few more seconds before she moves away to make the coffee.
I drink it down while making small talk. Once I’m finished, I make my excuses and leave. Today feels like the start of something new. I just hope this isn’t the first step forward followed by a few stumbles back.