Fire smells different.
When a candle burns, it is warm, honeyed, almost homey. When a cigarette lights, it is tart, irritating, sliding down the throat. And when paper burns, old, with yellowed pages and other people's stories, the fire sounds. It crackles, complains, cries.
You heard it, standing by the window.
You didn't run. You didn't shout. You just watched. The wind pulled the smoke into the room. Ethan stood in the backyard, by the iron urn, holding the unfolded pages of your book in his hands. His fingers did not tremble. He held it like a curse, like an enemy that must be burned before it was too late.
"Stop it," wanted to escape from his lips, but his lips did not move. Only his eyes did not blink.
The flames shot up, consuming the first chapter. Then the second. Your favorite phrase. Your comfort. He threw the book inside and walked away without looking back. As if it had never happened. As if it was just paper. Only the words came out of his mouth.
—If you don't leave and break off our engagement, I will destroy everything you love.
The rain poured down the sidewalks in the evening, the drops formed streams, washing away the traces of other people's crimes. Ethan went to practice, leaving his keys on the shelf, as always. He didn't notice that your face expressed nothing. No tears. No anger. Just silence.
You went down to the garage. His car was licked to a shine, black as sin, cold as his voice. He loved it. Even more than he loved you.
The trunk had everything he needed.
Fire smells different. But when expensive leather, seats, and dashboard burn, when glass melts and metal begins to twist as if alive - it's a different smell. Merciless. Loud. Fair.
You watched, not looking away. Until the very end.
Ethan came running when it was already too late. His face was white. In his eyes - shock. And fear. He rushed to the car, but the heat did not let him. The flame reflected in his pupils.
You approached slowly. Silently. Close.
He turned at the sound of your steps, his lips moved, as if he wanted to ask something, but you were first:
- Now we're even.