Page 84 of The Truths We Burn

Cold things bite into your skin, sting with their low temperatures, and leave you feeling empty.

But I’ve always liked that.

I like the way the cold keeps everything frozen, leaving it a permanent memory.

When I was young, I would wake up before everyone else. Right before the sun rose above the clouds, I’d tiptoe into Rosemary’s room, gently waking her up with a simple request:Let’s go outside and play in the snow.

Secretly, I would sit by my windows waiting desperately for that first snowflake to flutter down and melt into the ground and I could run out of my family home and tumble into the cold.The raw feeling on my cheeks as the wind snipped it, the ache in my fingers as the chill soaked through my gloves. It was something I looked forward to every single year, or maybe it was because of Rose.

She always made things like that better, turning little moments into big memories.

The snow doesn’t feel the same anymore.

I watch it pour from the sky onto my heated windshield and dissolve almost immediately. The glow of neon lights pierces through the white flakes pouring into my back window. In my rearview mirror, I can see Tilly’s in all its winter wonderland glory.

It’s February, and I guarantee they still have string lights up inside and Jingle Bells are still playing over the speakers. The owner believes Christmas runs from November first until customers start complaining about all the holly-jolly shit.

“Did you hear what I asked you, Pip?”

I nod, still staring at the diner in my mirror, feeling sick enough by being in the same car as this man. Looking at him might be the finger down my throat that triggers my gag reflex. The smell of his aftershave is sticking to my car; I’ll have to spend hours cleaning that out of here.

“Yes. I just didn’t feel the need to answer you. I told you already, I’ve only been here a month. I haven’t seen or heard anything. Not a fucking peep.”Like I would tell you if I did, you fucking idiot.

I want him to stop calling me Pip. I’d hated that fucking nickname the first time he’d ever spoken it out loud, disgustingly giving it to me because I was small. I hadn’t seen him since I was thirteen, and now I’ve seen him twice in less than two months.

“Are you lying to me? There hasn’t been anyone talking about seeing them around Greg West prior to his death? Or Chris Crawford, who is still missing? This is a very small, very tittle-tattle-filled town, Sage. I know, I grew up here too, and I just find it hard to believe—”

“There hasn’t been anything, Cain. I’m not going to continue repeating myself. Either believe me or don’t. It doesn’t matter to me,” I interrupt, needing this conversation to be over.

He’d texted me asking to meet here to check-in on my progress, and like I’d just told him, there hasn’t been any.

After Silas sent me away like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs and Rook basically told me to go fuck myself, I hadn’t got any further.

I wonder if his friends noticed how hostile he was with me. How harsh his words had been, like they were rooted into something deeper. It was the first flash of emotion he’d shown me since I’d been back. Those eyes burned and crackled. I’d awakened whatever feelings he had left for me, even if they were bad.

It felt just like the striking of a match. A small flame, but better than nothing.

I hate myself for clinging to his resentment. It makes me feel weak and pathetic, but I can’t deny it—not to myself anyway—that I would take his anger and his hatred over nothing at all. Because even that, just that, means I exist inside of him, even if it is just a little bit.

After that night, there hadn’t been another opportunity to talk to any of them, not really.

Silas is always with one of the boys, and I know the other three aren’t going to give me the time of day. Which also means being close with Lyra and Briar is pointless.

But I haven’t stopped that relationship.

I’d started to enjoy their company. Even if Lyra is a little…odd. Lyra has a collection of insects, from butterflies to beetles. They are pinned inside glass cases that she displays on the wall, or inside clear domes on her shelves. There are pictures of grasshoppers and Praying Mantis scattered across desks. It’s her hobby, and I respect it. But I won’t lie, they kinda freak me out. However, I also have a better view of people after being inside that ward. Everyone has something that helps with coping with the damage they’ve been dealt.

Plus, I like that she’s weird. She embraces how different she is. They both do, and sometimes I can’t help but be jealous. When they sit and talk about the things they like, what they want in life, always turning to ask me the same questions, and I just sit there with empty thoughts.

What do I like? What do I want? Do I even remember what it feels like to enjoy things? To be passionate?

“I’ll accept that answer this time, Sage. But next time, you better have something for me, you hear me? You are not in control here. I am.”

I can feel him move, sensing when his hand approaches the side of my face. His fingers reach for a loose strand of my hair.“I hated to see you cut your hair. It was always so pretty when it was long.”

I jerk away from him. “Get the fuck out of my car before I kill you.” I still refuse to look over. “And stop calling me Pip or I’m going to rip your nuts off.”

He laughs cruelly. “You’re a gentle flower, Sage. A porcelain doll. You are all bark and no bite. You wouldn’t be able to hurt a fly, no matter what you say.”