Page 109 of Inflame

“In this moment, right now, what do you need, Claire?”

I think about the question for a few seconds before answering honestly. “I need to hit something. I have all of this anger pent up inside me, ready to inflame. This whole Ethan situation has me about to burst from the anxiety of it all.”

Nic nods and pulls me out the main entrance. “Come.”

“What are you doing?”

“Giving you what you need.”

31

NIC

“Where are we?” Claire asks, looking up at me.

“You’ll know soon enough.”

She is so freaking cute in her sparkling red dress and matching heels. Ethan is a fucking idiot to ruin whatever chance he had with her. I’m enjoying keeping her in suspense as we walk the two blocks to the destination I had in mind.

A couple of weeks ago this venue opened in a gutted-out first floor of one of the office buildings. I didn’t understand the purpose of such a place until Claire looked up at me with her sad eyes, and in that moment I would have given her anything she had asked for just to remove her tears.

If Claire knew the effect she has on me, she could ruin me forever.

When she sees the neon sign above the entrance, she is bouncing on her feet over the anticipation. I grab the door for her and allow her to walk in first. The warehouse style room is lit with neon lights. Sections are set up with breakables to look like rooms in a house. There’s the TV room, the bedroom, the kitchen, and the bathroom.

I pay the entrance fee, and the teenage worker hands us the handle for a wagon filled with a hammer, a baseball bat, and a metal rod.

“Sign this waiver,” he slurs his words. “That way if you hurt yourself, you can’t sue. You have forty-five minutes to smash anything you see with a pink X marking across the front. Please do not pick up broken glass. Last week some idiot came in here and needed a couple dozen stitches. Real bloodbath.”

“Got it,” I respond, glancing over at Claire to make sure she didn’t pass out or anything.

She takes the handle of the wagon and examines the tools of mass destruction. “So, I get to go around and—”

“Hit shit,” I finish with a smirk. “Just like you requested, right?”

“In the literal sense, yes.”

“Well, then go do the damn thing,” I persuade. “Show me what you got.”

I step back and watch as she pulls the wagon toward the TV room where there are vases, lamps, picture frames, and a huge, outdated television set up on the stand. Everything is marked with a pink X and is considered fair game. Claire picks up the baseball bat first and takes a swing at the lamps. The sound of glass breaking echoes through the room.

“This is better than retail therapy,” she mutters, then smashes the vases and frames. She saves the television for last and the shattering sound resonates in my ears.

I look at her with admiration. She is so strong, both physically and emotionally. “Feel a little bit better?”

She gives me the biggest smile. “Yeah, actually.”

I follow her around and watch as she breaks items in each room. She has the most fun in the kitchen. She switches over to the metal rod and goes to work at destroying everything that she can. I grab the hammer and break through a series of glasses and coffee mugs, taking my own anger out on innocent inanimate objects.

Sweat beads on Claire’s forehead, and I wipe a little off with my thumbs. I can see her pulse beating in her neck as she calms down. Her hair is damp and her entire body is glowing with the warmth from the workout.

I guide her to the exit and we step out into the cool night air. The city is alive with a few pedestrians, some street musicians, and the sound of cars passing. It is cloudy out and it looks like it could rain at any—

“Ahh,” Claire yells, ducking her head as the sky opens up.

I tug her arm and run with her toward my parked car that is a block away. We are just a few yards away when she stops suddenly. Her arm slips from mine, as water beats down on our bodies. Then she does the unexpected. She dances.

Twirling and spinning, with her arms raised to the sky.

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