Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
And waiting.
And waiting.
But he never comes. The door doesn’t open, and slowly I accept that it won’t.
My heart is heavy, but my feet still have wings. If the depression I experienced in California was a weighted blanket I could never crawl from under, in contrast this feels like I’ve swallowed helium and keep rising, unable to find anything solid beneath my feet. My heart is racing, the pulse at my neck and wrists like mallets beating the head of a drum. The blood in my veins is spiked with accelerant. I can’t slow down. My steps, at first dogged, dragging, quicken until I’m running. The heels hinder me, so I kick them off, heedless of how the rough cobblestones along the arboretum’s path tear at the soles of my feet. The halter at my neck loosens as I pick up speed and it falls to my waist.
The cool night air feels good on my naked breasts. I’m so damn hot. I run faster, willing the wind to cool me, but perspiration dots my forehead and rivulets of sweat run down my naked spine.
“So hot,” I mumble, fiddling with the zipper of my dress, not stopping, but stumbling as I kick out of it. I leave it in the grass and regain my footing, racing past the darkened cafeteria and the desolate student center. The glow of a faint light from the fine arts building brings me to a halt. I stand at the steps, panting, back bowed, hands on my knees, and wearing only my thong. I suddenly know how to cool the sweltering heat of my body, the lava scalding my brain.
If I put out the fire, I’ll stop burning.
It makes such perfect sense, I can’t believe I didn’t understand before.
That was why I’ve been drawn to this sculpture over and over and over. It’s the source, the heart of my heat. If I can’t extinguish that flame, I’ll combust. I find a rock in the grass and trip up the steps. Unhesitatingly, I hit the glass door with the rock until it shatters. Thrusting my arm through the jagged glass, I reach in and turn the knob. Glass scrapes along the skin of my forearm, leaving thin trails of blood behind, but I barely feel it. I’m so close nothing could stop me now.
Ignoring the red flashing light in the ceiling and the squawk of the alarm, I run into the exhibit hall. A strip of LED lights strung overhead illuminate the copper piece, igniting its flame. I press my palms to the protective glass encasing the prized art. It cools my palms, and I instantly know this is right. This is the only way to smother the flame burning under my skin, seething in my belly, and roaring in my chest. I pound on the panes, but they’re too thick. They don’t budge. Desperate, I scan the sparse exhibit hall for anything I can use to crack the glass. A small marble bust sits on a display table a few feet away. I grab it and throw it with all my strength.
The case shatters, and the glass splinters into a million shards on the floor. Sobbing in relief, I move close. It doesn’t matter that I’m stepping on glass with my bare feet. I can’t feel anything but the heat. The overwhelming heat that licks from my toes all the way to the top of my head. I’m so hot my eyes must be bleeding flames and my hair is on fire.
“Freeze!”
The shout briefly draws my attention away from Flame. Two campus police officers stand at the door, guns drawn. I’m unfazed and take another step across the sea of glass to reach the sculpture.
“Ma’am,” one of the officers says. “On your knees, hands behind your head.”
I stare, not into his eyes, but down the barrel of his gun.
“I have to do this,” I whisper. My fingers tremble and my feet burn everywhere the glass penetrates my soft flesh.
One of them surges forward and tackles me to the ground.
“No!” I shout, and squirm, my eyes fixed on Flame. “Put it out! Put it out!”
He grabs a handful of my hair to keep me still. I scream, wrestling against his hold.
One of them laughs. “We got us a wild one.”
I loosen my arm and thrust my elbow into his eye. He drops me and growls, “She’s crazy.”
He wrenches my arms behind my back, pressing my naked chest into the cold marble floor. I’m on my stomach and his knee is in my back and the cuffs are on my wrists and I’m still burning up. My thoughts spin, a murky centrifuge. And my brain is a frothy, rabid beast. I bite the hand that restrains me.
“Stupid bitch!” the officer says, shaking his hand. “You’re spending the night behind bars for that.”