Page 13 of Heimlock

Huracio’s eyes go wide; he backs up slowly, hands splayed in false surrender. “Kyrielle, think about this.”

“Oh, I have,” I snarl, grabbing my duffle bag, following him to the door. “I’ve thought about it every single night.”

He turns to bolt; I hurl a fireball into the hallway wall. Huracio balks, skidding on his heels. Spinning, he gives me a plaintive look. “Kyrielle. You can’t do this.”

I cock my head, considering my options. My mother is at work. Huracio is the only one here. Nothing in this house is worth saving, especially him.

“Actually, I can.” Dipping my chin to give him a menacing grin, I whisper, “Run.”

When he bolts, I follow in Huracio’s steps. Fire eats the walls; the cheap materials are unable to withstand its power. My power.

Calmly walking out of the blazing house, I find Huracio on the lawn, staring at the flames exploding out of the windows. I come to stand next to him, admiring my handiwork.

He peers down at me, heaving for air. Where he’s covered in sweat, I’m cool as a cucumber, even as every instinct tells me to run from him.

But I’m done running.

“What have you done?” he rasps, then coughs.

“Tell my mother not to come looking for me,” I say quietly. “Or it’ll be her turn.”

“Her turn for what?” Huracio straightens, the fight out of his expression.

“This.”

Before he can grasp my intentions, I press a boiling hand against his cheek. The flesh sizzles and crisps. Huracio’s scream is a sound I’ve never heard before, but I’ll be replaying in my mind for years to come. In the darkest of nights, which are sure to arrive, this is the moment I’ll use for comfort.

Without a second glance, I walk away. Leaving my old life behind.

5

Present Day

My fists pound into the punching bag with enough force to shatter a skull.

I know this for a fact, thanks to Coach allowing me to try one day. It was a complex moment, realizing that I’m capable of terrible things, but also understanding the weight of responsibility of this power underneath these calloused knuckles. The constant choice between kindness and destruction.

A choice I make every single day.

Sweat flies into my eye, stinging. Lungs heaving, I allow myself to disassociate into the exertion. It’s been almost two weeks since Kyrielle left me standing in the living room, feeling like a piece of rotted hydra dung.

I was needlessly cruel; she simply came over to help. It was a betrayal of my perception of self and how I treat people in general, but especially women. I could blame my father, but he didn’t make those words come out of my mouth.

No, that was all me. Every ugly inch.

I sent an apology text, but it went ignored. Last week, she was here in the gym. The second she spotted me, a door swung shut in her hurried escape. Who can blame her? Certainly not me.

“What’d it do?” Coach Richor’s grating voice hovers over my shoulder.

It takes a moment for me to catch my breath before I can speak. “What?”

“The punching bag. You’re pounding it like it fucked your sister.”

I cast him an irritated look. “That’s inappropriate.”

“Take a break.”

He’s probably right, but my frustration is hitting its peak. My self-flagellation isn’t over yet. I doubt it’ll ever be. “I’m fine. Just working things out.”