Page 9 of Living with Fire

Putting the cup down, I sink my feet deeper, leaning back until my hands are propping me up by pressing into the sand. If I could talk to Maddie right now, she would tell me everything was going to be okay, just like she did before I left Denver.

She was the only one that knew I was leaving. The only person that knew some of the abuse I was suffering at the hands of my ex. The last time I talked to her, I hadn’t made it to Santa Rosé yet, but she knew I was headed west, and my final destination would be along the coast. It was all I was willing to tell her, though her instructions were to tell everyone I went east. The less anyone back home knew, the safer I felt they would be.

The safer I felt I would be.

But every single day it kills me a little more inside not to hear my dad’s voice. Not to hear my brothers bickering over who gets the last chicken breast at family dinner. It hurts so damn much not to be part of their laughter around the table. I wonder if they still laugh, even though I’m not there. I wonder if Maddie joins them like she used to when I was home.

The ache in my chest deepens as a lone tear slides down my cheek. Until yesterday, things had been going smoothly, and I was clinging to the faith that this city was right for me. I got a job right away, though I question Preston’s motives for hiring me now, and I even lucked out and found an apartment pretty quickly. Mind you, it’s a bit run down, but the neighborhood seemed okay, and it’s within walking distance to the beach, which was the biggest draw.

Now I’m questioning whether coming out here was the wrong decision. I could have told one or both of my brothers, but I always felt they’d murder Vincent if they knew what he had done to me. I could have gone to the cops, but unless Vincent stayed behind bars, I had no doubt he would come after me for turning him in. He never would have let me out from under his thumb.

Running seemed like the only option, but now I’m wondering if I should pack my stuff and head home. My stomach churns at the thought, while a full body shudder shakes me from head to toe.

That would be a no from the body.

The ache in my heart says screw what my body thinks. With no job it won’t be long before I can’t keep a roof over my head, and going home to my family would dull the hurt.

Vincent’s face pops into my mind, and I already know if I were to go back, he would make me pay. While my heart may miss home enough to go back, I know, logically, it isn’t in the cards.

Which means one thing. I need to find a new job, and I need to do it quickly. I have a small amount saved, but not a lot. Trying to furnish my apartment as well as build up savings means I haven’t grown the safety net as big as I’d like. I’m kicking myself for that now, but it was also important to have some comfort at home, especially given all the free time I spend there.

Sitting forward, I push my feet through the sand, watching it fall around my legs as my feet pop up from beneath the small granules.

God, I love it here. I’ve sat on this mesmerizing beach for countless hours since I moved here, watching the tides roll in and out, listening to the surf. From watching kids take their first steps into the water, to paddleboarders, windsurfers, and kayakers, the entertainment the beach provides for free has kept me captivated from the start. I dream of learning some of the things I’ve seen when I’ve got the extra cash.

There’s no way I could leave all this behind. Even though I miss home, and as much as I want to turn tail and run away from the situation I’ve found myself in, I’ve fallen in love with Santa Rosé. My time here hasn’t come to an end.

Picking up my coffee, I nod to myself, decision made. Tomorrow I’ll find a new job. Today? Today I nurse this hangover, and maybe do the other thing that brings me calm and solace—cleaning.

CHAPTER 5

SAVANNA

Dropping a bag of trash at my feet, I survey my apartment. It’s cleaner today than it was the day I moved in, though that isn’t totally surprising. The apartment itself was worse than the rundown building, but at the time it was what I could afford. It just needed a little TLC.

I spent every spare moment making it a home, scrubbing it from top to bottom. I even got permission to paint, turning the place into my own little oasis, and as I look around, there’s a calmness and serenity that washes over me.

When I got to Santa Rosé, I didn’t have anything but the clothes in my suitcase, yet I’ve managed to make my space comfortable, and my own. There’s a white reading chair I love to spend my evenings in, a brown couch I can sink into after a long day, and a window nook that houses a myriad of plants to bring life and color inside.

After all my unnecessary cleaning, I’ve got a small trash bag ready to take out before I hit the shower and sit down to relax with a good book for the rest of the night. It sounds like a little slice of heaven before the job search begins tomorrow, and I’ve been looking forward to it since I started cleaning earlier.

Slipping on a pair of flip-flops, I grab the trash and open the door to step into the hall. Sniffing the air, my nose wrinkles. Someone burned their dinner somewhere because it smells, and not in the mouthwatering delicious kind of way.

Hustling to escape the stench, I head to the garbage room to toss my bag in the chute, annoyed when I get there and find the doorstop across the room.

My landlord explained when I moved in that the door was faulty, and if the door closed on me, I’d be stuck until someone let me out. Unfortunately, in the six months I’ve lived here, he still hasn’t been by to fix it, despite my reminders to him. This isn’t the first time I’ve found the wedge across the room, which I don’t understand since everyone on this floor knows the deal.

Maybe I should just leave the bag inside the door and say screw the chute.

“You aren’t that person, Sav,” I tell myself.

Setting the garbage bag against the door, I eye it, ensuring it doesn’t move for at least a minute before gathering the courage to dart across the room for the little safety device. I’m halfway back to standing when a scrape causes me to look up, my eyes widening as I see the door slowly start to slide closed.

“No, no, no,” I yell, lunging towards the door.

In my haste, I manage to get tangled in my flip-flops, and stumble. Reaching out to break my fall, I catch the door, but the momentum of my body crashes into it, and with a sickening thud, it slams shut, ensuring that I’m stuck in this god forsaken room that reeks like trash.

“No!” I shout, banging my hand against it. “Shit!”

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