Page 54 of Living with Fire
A big part of me wants to go after her, to make sure she doesn’t run out the front door and out of my life. I fear she thinks I’ve seen too much. She’s been opening up to me little by little over the last week, but there have been a few things tonight that she’s let me see, or hasn’t been able to hide, and I have this feeling she’s reached her limit with what she wants me to know.
I work quickly to get everything cleaned up, but Bryn and Martin are quicker. They come through the doors together, carrying everything for their cash out. I glance up as they come into the kitchen without Savanna, and an icy feeling of dread rushes through me.
“Where’s Savanna?”
“She was just coming out of the bathroom,” Bryn says, and I can see the question in her eyes. I doubt Savanna said anything when she went by, but Bryn is perceptive. “I left a glass of water on the bar for her.”
“Thanks.”
“You need anything else?” Martin asks casually, but his head turns a fraction towards the bar and I know he saw whatever Bryn did.
I shake my head. “Nah, you guys go ahead. I’ll finish up. Have a good night.”
I drop the contents of the dustpan in the garbage, give my hands a quick wash, then head back into the bar, worried I won’t find Savanna anywhere.
My fear is unjustified, however, because she’s sitting on a bar stool, the water glass between her hands, her head bowed. She looks just as small as she sounded a few minutes ago, making my insides churn.
I don’t go to her at first, even though that’s what my body and heart are telling me to do. The analytical side, the one trained to assess, calculate, and plan, needs a moment. And I wouldn’t doubt that Savanna needs one as well.
I head behind the bar to get a glass of water for myself, letting her feel my presence before I try to talk to her. Once I’ve got my water in hand, I come around the bar and slide the stool out beside her, remaining quiet as I settle in, facing the bar. Trying to convey that she’s the one in charge of how this conversation is going to go.
“The first time I dropped a glass,” she starts after a moment, her voice barely above a whisper, “he yelled at me. I told myself it wasn’t a big deal; he’d had a bad day, and sometimes after a bad day he’d get snappy with me over stupid stuff. We all get snappy at stupid stuff sometimes.”
Savanna pauses and lifts her glass to her lips, taking a small drink before setting it back on the counter. I slide my eyes to the side, letting them rest on her hands that are once again on the bar in front of her. They aren’t shaking as badly as they were, but there’s still a tremble in them. It’s not her hands that bother me as much anymore—not with the threat of cutting herself gone. It’s the way she caves in on herself, making herself small. As though somehow by balling herself up she can protect herself.
Protect the vital, most vulnerable parts of her.
I want to reach out and touch her, but I force myself to remain motionless. Already I can tell that I’m not going to like where this is going, but I need to do my best at remaining cool and collected so she can voice whatever she needs without my feelings interrupting her.
“The second time I broke something, it was a plate. Nothing special like his grandmother’s china or anything, but it still set him off. I was kneeling down to clean it up and I remember him grabbing me by the throat and hauling me up until I was on my tiptoes.” Savanna blows out a heavy breath as I take a slow, deep one into my lungs, resisting the urge to curl my fingers around my glass until it shatters.
If I ever meet this douchebag, he’s going to wish he’d never laid a hand on her.
“There were plenty of times in between where he’d yell. The bad days often outweighed the good ones. But I was young, and I thought I was in love.” She pauses, taking a moment to collect her thoughts, to think about the story she’s laying out for me.
My head turns faintly, just enough that I can do a sweep of her face. The same look from earlier is back. Eyes unfocused and droopy, mouth pulled downward, skin the color of ash. Haunted. The ghosts of the past resurfacing to plague her again.
“Pretty soon I didn’t have to break anything for him to lift me to my toes. And soon after that, lifting me to my tiptoes wasn’t enough for him. My reaction wasn’t enough. God, I’d gotten so used to it that when I didn’t react it made him angrier.” The entirety of her body releases a shudder as though it too is remembering what it was like. What the horror was like. “I didn’t always dent the drywall, but when I didn’t, his fist would.”
“He’d scream at me. I can still hear him, ‘What the fuck, Savanna? You’re so goddamn useless, you can’t do anything right! You know things cost money! Do you think I’m made of money? Do you think I had a good day?’ Do you think, do you think, do you think…” Her voice is louder, bitter, but her tone is lower, mimicking that of a man.
I clench my jaw, grinding my teeth back and forth. I knew I wasn’t going to like this, but this is…gut wrenching. My instinct to protect and help those around me has always been strong, but there’s a stirring in my chest where that instinct seems to bury deeper in a part of me that says I need to protect her at all cost.
Savanna laughs, the sound humorless. I hate it. I hate the sound of this laughter because it’s nothing like the one she usually gives me. The real one. I swear to myself in that moment that I will do everything I can to always hear that kind of laughter from her. Not this cold, dead sounding noise full of apathy and pain.
“I tried to be so careful. Not that it mattered; he always found something to berate me about. There was always another reason to throw me into a wall. But I learned to handle those things.” Another laugh sends a shiver slicing down my back at how flat and lifeless it sounds. “Wow. How pathetic you must think I am right now.”
“No,” I say sharply, my head whipping in her direction. I didn’t intend on saying a word until she was finished, but I couldn’t help myself. I need her to know that I don’t think she’s pathetic at all. “Nothing about you is pathetic, least of all this.”
Sucking in a breath, I let it out, pushing my water away from me. It feels dangerous to have it in my hands for a question I’m not sure I want answered. “Were there things you didn’t learn to handle?”
At my question, Savanna slowly turns to look at me for the first time. Fresh tears are brimming in eyes that are already red rimmed.
I’ve never known restraint before this moment. Every shift I have to practice restraint at the firehouse. The bar can be the same way. Dealing with panicked people in the worst moments of their lives. Corralling drunk people having the time of theirs.
But looking at this woman who has become a fixture in my life so quickly, all I want to do is wrap her in my arms and make everything bad that’s ever happened disappear forever. And when a tear falls, and she gives one small nod, I know I’d do anything in my power to take away the look of pain and fear from those beautiful gray eyes.
“What happened?” I ask, my voice as quiet as hers was when she first began to tell me her story.