Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 102136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Flame exhaled softly, and then slowly opened his eyes. I stilled, waiting for the fog to clear in his mind and for him to see me. His black gaze roved around the room, adjusting to the dim light… then they fixed on me. I felt as though my heart stilled in anticipation. Flame’s gaze bore into mine. I did not know what it meant. I did not know if it was in relief or panic about who was before him.
I studied him so closely that, unexpectedly, I saw tears begin to build in his eyes. Heavy teardrops filled his beautifully dark eyes, then spilled over and tracked down his cheeks. Flame did not move. His face did not so much as twitch. His head did not rise from the pillow. Flame stayed exactly as he had been in sleep, except for the torrent of tears now racing down his pale face. Then—
“Maddie…” His deep voice was raw. It rasped as he whispered my name, as if I was the answer to his prayers.
“Flame,” I whispered back, my eyes blurring with hot tears of relief.
Flame knew me. He knew my name. My husband, the reason that I breathed, knew me. Within the fog and the darkness that had dragged him down… he recognized me. Flame had found me.
The sheets beneath Flame were damp with his fallen tears. I inched closer, just a fraction. Just enough so that I could feel the warmth of his skin, smell the scent that was uniquely him. I did not dare speak. I desperately needed Flame to come to me. However, I did not want him to feel pressured. I did not want to confuse him.
His tears were relentless. As silent minutes rolled by, the relief I had so fleetingly treasured turned into foreboding. My stomach sank farther and farther into a swirl of panic. Flame’s expression was blank. He did not make any attempt to move. I listened to his rough breathing. For a moment, I worried something was physically wrong with him. I was seconds from leaving the bed to call Rider, when Flame whispered, “I can’t do it anymore…”
Those words and their broken tone of delivery hurt me more than any physical weapon could do. I gasped quietly at the depth of defeat in his voice, a voice that normally sounded like a symphony to my ears. I had missed not hearing my husband’s voice, often praying I would hear it once again. But I had not prayed for these words. I had not prayed for the sadness laced in each softly spoken broken syllable.
“Flame,” I hushed out, and then edged closer. His eyes followed me, pleading for relief, pleading for the pain behind his eyes to cease… for good.
“I’m tired,” he said. I knew he was. I also knew he was not referring to a lack of sleep. “I… I’m tired, Maddie. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t breathe anymore. I can’t keep feeling the flames anymore…”
I did not want him to see me break. I knew I should have been strong, but it was impossible. My face crumpled, my heart caved, and I felt my protective walls begin to crumble—one by one, bricks tumbled to the ground. I could do nothing to stop them. Seeing Flame so disheartened, so defeated, was the very worst thing I had experienced in life. I thought back to Brother Moses. To all the times he hurt me, raped me, abused me, beat me, starved me—the list went on… yet this, seeing the person I loved most so broken, so devoid of hope, made the horrors of my past seem easy. Hearing Flame tell me in so few words that he no longer wanted to be here in this life, no longer wanted to fight his very own unyielding internal war, was my very, very worst nightmare made real.
Not knowing how it would be received, I reached out my hand and softly wrapped my fingers around his. When Flame made no move to brush my hand away or to tell me he would hurt me simply by his touch, and how he was no good for me, I felt a part of me die too. Flame had always fought to keep me safe from his perceived flames and dangerous touch. Yet here he lay, his swollen and wet gaze locking on to our hands, making no sound or move to break free.
I pulled myself close until I was merely an inch from his face. He kept his eyes on our hands. I gently squeezed. I needed him to know I was here for him. Through my panic, I struggled with what to say. I did not know how to make him believe that he harbored no flames in his blood. That he was not devil-tainted. That snakes bit him because that was what snakes did. They were not agents of the devil seeking out the damned. Flame had spent a lifetime fixated on the lies his father had cemented in his fragile mind.