A Fire That Burns

Amelia’s POV

I’d tried to steer clear of them today. After last night, I’d swore I needed space to stamp out the feelings scratching at me from within the depths of my belly, begging to rise to the surface.

But there they were.

It wasn’t my mother’s soft giggling from the laundry room that stilled me — it was the sound of Collins’ voice, slow and teasing. “Becca,” he chuckled, “this won’t get folded if you keep on like this.”

“Oh, carry on, please,” my mother purred. “You’ll fold them later. I need you now.”

Her voice irritated me and I should have already been gone. I should have ran upstairs, locked the door, or walked out. But my feet took me closer, pale and mute on the cold tile, and I looked through the gap of the door.

There they were.

My mother braced herself against the washer, which shook with little spasms as she held the counter for support and Collins loomed over her, his broad shoulders blocking out everything. His lips captured hers in a kiss—raw, ravenous, anything but tender. His hand caught in her hair, hers traced up his back. She whimpered, the sound echoing through the air.

I couldn’t breathe. Collins had his other hand on her thigh, pulling it around his waist, their chests flush together. My mother’s head fell back when his lips followed along her neck, her gasps changing to throaty pleas.

I should’ve left.

I just couldn’t look away.

Fists clenching, nails digging into my palms keeping me grounded and unmoving. I had a bad taste in my mouth, and my chest felt constricted and my breath short. Jealousy. Why was it her? Why not me?

I was a glutton for punishment but didn’t move an inch, his hands on her hips, touching her waist, those familiar fingers all over her, his lips consuming her mouth with a starved fervor that had my pulse racing. My skin warmed, my thighs clenching in some betrayed state. I hated my body’s response. I hated her.

No—I hated myself.

Then Collins’ head shifted. His dark eyes were molten with mine.

The suddenness sucked away my breath. He didn’t move for a second, his expression difficult to read, his lips still brushing my mother’s. His eyes turned hot, and I shivered, a sick thrill racing through me. I should not have been there, watching.

But he didn’t look away.

Embarrassment scorched my face, mixed with something I couldn’t identify. My lips parted, and I exhaled in a shivery breath as I looked into his eyes. Anger? Surprise? Or… something else?

The silence widened, his hand lingering on her waist. She didn’t care, caught up in him.

I had to escape.

I forced my eyes off, and ran upstairs, panting and strangling with emotion.

The next morning, I was welcomed with the smell of coffee and bacon as I went down the stairs. I was afraid to face them, but I couldn’t avoid them forever.

In the kitchen, they waited.

My mother sitting on a stool, her hair and makeup impeccably done, giggling as she handed Collins a plate. He was resting next to her, relaxed yet forceful with slightly ruffled hair.

I swallowed, and my nails bit into my palms. They were perfect together, too synchronized, and it made me ill.

“Morning, baby!” my mother said, glancing over her shoulder.

“Morning,” I muttered, forcing a small smile.

Collins turned to look at me, his eyes sharp and probing, but his face remained inscrutable. I turned my head, picked up a mug and poured coffee.

“Here, sweetie,” my mother said, pushing a plate of eggs and toast toward him, leaning over, smiling. “You’ll need energy today.”

“Thank you,” Collins said, his voice buoyant but far away.

“You’re going to the hospital, aren’t you?” she asked softly. “Big day?”

Collins nodded, skewering a strip of bacon. “Complicated surgery. In and out all day.”

My hand hovered over the jar of sugar. A surgeon. That was why he was so confident, why he was so collected in the face of pressure. But not why he was here. Beautiful but a little too brash, my mother didn’t seem a fit for someone like him. It was an eye-throbbing thought, but I brushed it away and swirled my coffee.

Then my phone rang, breaking the spell. They both turned. I fumbled it out of my pocket, my heart beating strangely at that name: Joel.

Memories came rushing back — him laughing over lunch, stolen glances in the library, the lingering scent of his cologne. My middle school crush.

I hesitated, then answered. “Hello?”

“Amelia! Wow, it’s been a long time,” Joel’s warm voice said.

I smiled despite myself. “Joel? Yeah, it has. How are you?”

There was a change in the climate of the room. The low tones of my mother’s whisperings to Collins ceased and she looked at me heavily. It was Collins’ stare that terrified me, though.

I turned to look down and gasped. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but piercing—not angry, but fierce.

“Amelia?” Joel’s voice pulled me back.

“Sorry! Uh, yeah, I’ll be there,” I replied hastily, feeling I had missed some of his message.

“Great! See you next week.”

The call was over and I sat back in my chair, flushed with excitement.

“Who was that, baby?” my mother said, her voice saccharine.

“Nobody,” I said flatly.

“Your boyfriend?” she teased, with just the right amount of happiness behind it.

I straightened up in my seat, and looked over at Collins. Then his eyes had turned harder, colder, as though they were set.

“That's none of your business," I snapped, standing up. My chair scratched the floor as I swiveled to leave, heart racing.

Halfway down, I heard my mother mutter.“Disrespectful.”