Page 32 of Pyre

The door to her room clicked shut behind her, the sound startling in the quiet. She stood, frozen, a step inside, her breath caught in her throat. Nothing. No thoughts, no movement—just an overwhelming sense of dread that anchored her to the spot.

Her fingers twitched, a familiar hunger clawing its way up from the pit of her stomach. Her limbs moved on autopilot, reaching for her travel bag.

The wooden box she pulled out was worn and familiar, the edges smoothed from years of use. Inside was her escape—a pipe and a small bundle of opium mixed with marijuana. A thermophile’s perfect high.

The first inhale was like slipping into water, a warm numbness spreading through her veins. She exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl lazily in the air before dissolving.

She floated. Her body lay nestled in the hotel bed, the sheets crisp and cold against her skin, but she was somewhere above it all. The ceiling blurred as she stared up at it, her mind drifting, untethered.

The comforter shifted beside her, a slow, rhythmic rise and fall. For a moment, it was alive.

A soft smile touched her lips as she turned her head, her body slow to respond. “Andy,” she slurred, barely audible even in the stillness of the room.

Her hand trembled as it reached across the bed, her fingers brushing against the lump in the blankets. It flattened beneath her palm.

Reality hit her like a punch to the gut.

“Fuck.” Her voice cracked, the word barely escaping her lips. She recoiled, curling into herself, her body folding inwards as if she could make herself disappear.

She lay there, eyes open, unmoving, as the minutes passed. The drugs dulled everything but didn’t stop the ache in her chest. Time crawled, the sun creeping up over the horizon, its light casting long shadows across the room. The high faded. Gerald’s screams echoed through the room. She reached for the box once more.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE SUN BEAMEDdirectly in her eyes, but did not light her room—a punishment from a higher being. Ruby groaned, cursed her mother for never enrolling her in Sunday school, and pulled the covers over her head.

“Morning sunshine.” Someone chirped above her. “Or should I say good afternoon? Good evening? What’s the most appropriate greeting for someone who was high until six p.m?”

Groaning louder, more guttural, Ruby threw away her blankets and blinked straight into a flashlight camera. Kavya grinned down at her, long black hair brushing against Ruby’s cheeks, a giant tote bag slung over her shoulder.

“Why are you here?” If Ruby didn’t sit up, maybe she’d leave. She grabbed for the covers but Kavya tugged them to her feet.

“Because apparently, no one ever enrolled you in the DARE program at school.” Kavya left her side, strode across the room and opened the blinds. The sun had started to set, casting the room in oranges and throwing shadows from the furniture onto the walls. “How’s your head?”

“I don’t get headaches.” She did get nausea, and the bile threatening to make its way up her throat was sure to be unpleasant. “But I do feel like a bidet full blast shot up my asshole and through my stomach.”

“That is the most disgusting way I’ve ever heard someone describe a hangover. Why a bidet?”

Ruby shrugged. “You ever used one?”

“No?”

“They look uncomfortable.”

“I agree.” Kavya cocked her hip. “You’re a weird person, you know that?”

Ruby slunk back into her sheets. “Not a person, but an understandable mistake.”

“It smells like a college dorm in here.” Kavya’s nose wrinkled. “Weed, sweat, and sadness. All you’re missing is the stale pizza.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“You didn’t go to college?”

The bowl of fruit on her coffee table smelled of rot. Ruby had asked the hotel staff to stop refiling it during their twice weekly cleaning, citing an orange allergy. They instead filled it with bananas and apples that decayed time after time. It mocked her. She sighed and rolled onto her side, the foam mattress shifting beneath her weight.

“Nope. Got married at nineteen. Didn’t have much time for anything else after.”

“Why?”

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