Page 83 of Bound By Fury

I sigh. “I don’t try to understand the minds of white people.”

This at least earns a reluctant chuckle from them.

“Listen,” I say. “I’m tired…”

And I am. I’m so tired.

“Yeah.” Sam starts to back away. “You sure you’re fine?”

I nod, turning the key to my room in the lock.

“Okay…” Sam and Daisy retreat down the hall.

A few steps later, Daisy looks over her shoulder, her brows still pinched.

I give her a tight smile.

Inside my room I pace until my pinky toes have blisters from the shag rug I brought from home.

When I sleep, I dream of flames turning my flesh to ash.

TWENTY-EIGHT

MY DAYS AND NIGHTS ARE consumed with dread. Not even the sound and feel of crunchy leaves and the smell of hot chai can drag me out of my funk. My voice grows hollower by the day. It matches how I feel inside. Each morning the cardinals wait for me on the fountain. Shadows trail me. The whispers have only grown more ominous. More malevolent.

Run. Run. Run, they say. They’re after you.

Panic taints everything I do. It cuts through me with the sting of a sharp edge.

On the phone with my mom I force happiness into my tone as I blabber about school and classes and the video I made for Creative Media Club. But afterward I’m a husk.

I’m a husk as I trample through the woods on the south side of campus, and as each snapping twig sends my heart straight into my throat. I agreed to meet Daisy and Sam for the homecoming afterparty, but I’m running late.

Tonight I’m supposed to smile and laugh and pretend that my entire world hasn’t been completely upended. I’m supposed to look my friends in their eyes and not think about everything that separates us. Tonight I’m supposed to be normal.

The homecoming afterparty at Hanging Rock sits at the base of a wide path that opens like the maw of an eldritch beast. Beyond, the clearing is filled with students. The air is tinged with sweat and beer, the vibrating bass floating through the thinning trees.

Relax, Cancer. Seek adventure, embrace your courageous spirit. Your instincts are leading you toward new discoveries, but you can’t forget to care for yourself. If anything gets in your way, it’ll be your own overthinking. Center yourself and find balance, or risk falling victim to self-limitation.

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Maybe the stupid app is right, and if I don’t let myself have fun for once, I’ll burn out before I get a chance to learn the truth about everything.

“These parties are nothing but trouble,” someone mumbles from the shaded wood. I jump, my power coming easier each day, its burn a growing comfort. It’s the one thing that anchors me. Reminds me that I’m real.

Malachi leans a shoulder against the bark of a towering oak, branches half shed. He lifts a red plastic cup to his lips as he stares at me through the smoke-filled dark. His eyes shine like they’re just on the verge of glowing, already waxy from whatever he’s drinking.

I remember the first time either of us tasted alcohol, huddled together in the greenhouse on the Fourth of July, plastic dollar-store light-up flutes shining in multicolor against the night.

We’d laughed and laughed beneath the crackling boom of fireworks bursting above the mountain, the warmth of cheap stolen champagne spreading inside our chests.

Now Malachi rolls his back against the tree as I pass without saying a word. Falls into step beside me as I enter the crowd.

“Hey,” I finally say, my fingers grazing his elbow. Maybe I feel emboldened by the party, the flashing lights, the blazing bonfire, but for one night, this one night, I don’t want to think about endless summers and witches and magic and boys with searching eyes and lying lips. I want to let it all go. I want to be free from the prison of my own mind. “Great game tonight. Congrats.”

He stops walking and eyes me suspiciously. “Thanks?” he mutters quietly. Confused.

I give him a tight smile and jog off toward the electric-blue hair bobbing near a rusty folding table, two kegs flanking either side.