Page 1 of Heavy

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Calista

Thisiswhatlosingeverything feels like—an odd, hollow pit right in the center of my chest, reminding me I’ve fucked up. And the worst part? I was fully aware of the action that set my whole house on fire.

The blaze tears through the wooden frame of my downtown Denver townhome. Once a bright, beautiful yellow, now scorched black with ash. A loud boom from inside doesn’t even make me flinch. It’s not that I’m too far gone to be scared, I just knew this was coming.

This is all that woman’s… no, all their faults. None of it is mine, yet I’m the one that loses everything.

How could actions from over a decade ago have turned my life upside down like this? Her carelessness caused a chain reaction, tipping the first domino and letting the rest fall in perfect sequence. A weight that triggered it all. A collapse that wasn’t even my burden to begin with.

I was only a child…

My neighbors are all outside, phones to their ears screaming at the police to hurry and save what they can.

“Calista! Oh my god!” I’d recognize my roommate and best friend’s voice anywhere.

Her heavy footsteps pound behind me, and when she collides into my back, my bare knees press deeper into the silty soil, now thickened to mud from the water draining off the firefighters’ hoses. They had arrived only moments before Genevieve.

Her arms wrap tightly around my neck as she presses the side of her face firmly against mine. “W-What happened?! Cal! Talk to me!”

I watched as the fire took hold, helpless, as my life turned to ash. This is all her fault. Once again, she’s stripped everything away from me and she doesn't even know it.

“Cal!” Genevieve screams in my ear, and I jerk my head up to meet her light brown eyes, brimming with tears that spill over her ebony cheeks.

I wish I could cry. Why can’t I cry?

All I feel is a pit in my stomach, slowly growing into a twisted, diseased tree that will consume me until I become the very thing I’ve feared.

“Gene… I’m so sorry.” I exhale and she glances back at everything we own turn to ash, before looking back at me. “I made sure Hunter got out, but he clawed me and ran.”

Honestly, fuck that cat—it’s always hated me for whatever reason. But I’m not a monster; I couldn’t just let it die. He ran for safety, wherever that is. I just hope the fire hasn’t spread to the neighbors' houses or to the backyard, which is probably as engulfed as the rest of our home.

She pulls me into a tight embrace, squeezing me like she’s more concerned about me than that damn cat. I breathe in the faint scent of her honey body wash, now mingled with the smell sweat and open air.

“How did this happen?” Her tone softens, turning empathetic and less abrasive. She’s slipping into her therapist voice, gently coaxing me out of the fright sheassumesI’m in.

I'm not in shock. I know exactly what happened, and someday I'll pay for my sins.

The fire crackles and pops in front of us while screams—commands laced with fear—echo all around. I just hope I didn’t inadvertently kill someone. I don’t think my conscience could bear that. The demons of my choices will haunt me enough; I can’t endure the weight of another’s death chasing me as well.

“I was just cooking…” I lean away from her and drop my gaze to the floor. “I guess the curtains… It was an accident…”

Liar.

Filthy fucking liar.

“Fuck…” she hisses before cupping my face and turning me to face her.

I don’t deserve this look of compassion and sympathy from her.

“You’re alright, though? You aren’t hurt?” Her concern for me fills me with a deep contempt. Not for her, but for myself.

“I’m fine, Gene.”

She brushes my tangled blonde strands from my face, tucking them behind my ear.

I take another deep, intoxicating breath. The acrid scent of smoke floods my nose, sharp and biting, mingling with the aroma of burning wood and insulation. It’s a heavy, suffocating haze that clings to my lungs. The trees that once embraced our home release a bitter, resinous smell as their bark chars. The scent of singed foliage adds an eerie sweetness to the stench of destruction I caused.