Page 8 of Heavensent & Hellbent

My jaw tightened. I often had to hold myself back from saying what I really felt, but I was still so spent from the jet lag that I felt the words on the edge of my tongue.Stop trying to control me.They were desperate to come out. I had to press my lips together, breathe more steadily, do the techniques I had learned in order to deal with my father and his dramatics.

“Okay,” I finally forced out.

The fight dulled from his eyes, shoulders slackening. “You need to look after Ehsan for the rest of the day. I’ve got to go out for a bit.”

That’s why he’s annoyed.

“Where are you going?”

“The shipping depot. I was on hold for hours. I need to speak to an actual human being.” He walked past me and straight for the door. “Don’t go wandering again. I’ll bring some dinner on my way back.”

The door slammed shut. And with that, he was gone, not both-ering to ask me how my walk was, or what happened during it.

Taking another deep breath, I went into the kitchen. As I poured myself a glass of water, Ehsan bounded into the kitchen. “Where did you go?”

I gave him a despairing look. “Not you, too.”

“Dad went ape,” he said, wide-eyed, like he found this fact exciting, scandalous even. For a nine-year-old, he loved drama. It was lucky he was born into an Iranian family.

“I bet.”

“Do you want to watchGuardians of the Galaxyon Disney Plus? Penny gave us her log-in details.”

“Of course she did,” I said. “In an hour? I want to get a shower and sort some things out.”

Ehsan looked like he wanted to push it, but I normally said no to watching anything Marvel related so this in and of itself was a win for him. “I’ll get the TV set up!” he said.

Once in my bedroom, I placed my new plant on the windowsill—it was a start to my own little indoor garden. The place looked better with it, but I couldn’t wait for our shipment to arrive to make this space more me. Waiting for me were all my posters, including concert prints of Lorde and CharliXCX, and my sacred collection of Sonny Angel figures.

Giving in to my tiredness, I crumbled onto my bed. I was exhausted. I mean, I was frequently exhausted, that wasn’t new, but my usual tiredness combined with jet lag meant my body physically ached. My eyelids heavy. It was pleasantly warm in my room, the perfect temperature for a nap. I thought I could close my eyes, for just a second, but that was foolish. What happened next was my own fault for being so careless.

Hissssssss.

The snakes were in my ears, sharp, rattling my nerves. I tightened my eyes shut. I didn’t want to see them. Keeping my eyes closed only staved them off for so long, though, until I was dragged back to a place I knew well. Back into the depths of the flames.

I could never get used to the feeling of the heat engulfingme. The clenching in my gut, knowing I would die, strapped to the stake with no way out. My screams dull in my ears, throat raw. I had no reason to preserve my voice, because soon it would be gone anyway. And I needed them to hear me, so my calls, my yells, would stay in the onlookers’ ears long after I had passed.

I turned to my left and saw the boy again. His eyes were pained, downcast, jaw strong, tight.

“I’m sorry,” he shouted, somehow audible over the roaring flames.

The words were like a balm for the terror. While I was in my body, it was also like I was watching a film unfold, my actions not my own.

My face was wet.

This boy was undoubtedly the one from the diner. He had the same nose, crooked and charming, his cheekbones sharp, with rose-colored lips that complemented the dark depths of his eyes.

“I’ll always love you,” he called, gazing into my eyes, into my soul. “In life, death, and beyond.”

And I felt it. His love rising within me, warming me, rushing through my body. This feeling overtook the fire that flickered, the smoke that stole my breath. His love. His light. The power of both.

4

Cleo was behind the cash register, sorting through a stack of boxes, while a cluster of customers were scattered around the bookstore. It took her a moment to notice me, and when she did, her concentrated face softened in relief. She blew air out of her mouth.

“Roxana! Thank God. A shipment of books came in this morning, just in time for the weekend, and Elijah was meant to be working today—but called in sick—so I’ve been working the floor on my own.” Her cheeks were pink. “I haven’t eaten breakfast yet, and I’m starving.”

“Hello to you, too,” I said. “I’m here to help. What do you need me to do?”