Short Story

She sat at the base of the sink, her eyes trained on the mirrored closet doors in front of her. She met her own gaze and held it. The room around her was trashed, littered with papers and feathers and pillows, broken glass and cracked pictures and mirrors. There was an odd silence around the room; it was the kind of sound that that came after major destruction. It masked even her deep breathing.

The girl tore her gaze from the mirror to study the damage she had done. It was chaos, everywhere. She didn’t know where to go from here. The girl wasn’t even sure if she could function. Fights are a vacuum for passion and emotion, leaving the aftermath empty and desolate. But the longer she sat there, face to face with herself in the tail end of disaster, the more regret settled into her empty stomach. It wasn’t the regret left by their usual spats, but a deep, black monster that moved through her blood like acid.

In the background she became aware of a high-pitched ringing. It repeated itself, demanding her attention. “You’ve reached Cecily Cunningham and Samson Andrade, we’re not in right now, so please leave a message after the beep. BEEEEEP. Hahahaha, SAMSON!” “Cecily, pick up. Come on babe, you can’t hide out there forever, you know I’ll come in after you. Look just ca-” the message from Cecily’s sister cut out as she ripped the cord from the phone, tossing it across the room. The brunette lifted herself to her feet, looking around the room slowly. As she crossed into the living room, her eyes landed on a black heap in the middle of the floor. Cecily picked it up and brushed it off. Her fingers traced the seams of the fabric, and then the lettering across the front. ‘Burn Me Down’. She slipped on the sweatshirt and breathed in the memories and sweet smell of Axe body spray. It made her shiver straight down to her bones.

Cecily was making a sandwich when it started. “I need to tell you something I should have told you a long time ago.” She looked up, smiling at him. Samson stood in the doorway of the living room, looking at her carefully. He held something in his hands that he twisted, over and over.

“Want a sandwich? I got some ham from the deli.”

“No, Cecily. Will you just sit down for a second?” Cecily frowned, putting down the knife and crossing her arms.

“I’m fine standing. What’s going on?”

“I’d really rather you sit – ”

“Sam, stop it you’re scaring me.” He ran a hand through his dirty blonde hair and sat down at the island. It was then that she saw what he was holding in his hand – a kid’s Red Sox sweatshirt. “Who’s sweatshirt is that, Sam?” Cecily asked in a low voice.

“His name is Devlin. He’s ten years old…he lives in Cambridge with my ex girlfriend Darcy. I was seventeen and a senior in high school. She was the older and more experienced woman. I was foolish. We both were.” She started at him, but his eyes never left the countertop.

“What are you talking about?”

“I have a son, Cecily. A son.” She laughed, but when he didn’t laugh with her it died off. She felt her breath catch in her throat and gripped the side of the counter for support.

“A son? You…you can’t have a son..”

“I have a son, Ces.” Samson’s tone was harsh and she ground her teeth together, her eyes drifting to him again.

“What do you mean you have a son, Samson. You can’t have a son, I would have known. We’ve been together for four years. You don’t have a son, Samson, you can’t!”

“Cecily, would you listen to yourself! Listen to what I’m saying to you! I have a son. He’s ten years old. He lives in Cambridge.”

“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME BEFORE! How could you keep this from me, Samson. For five years, I’ve known you FIVE YEARS!” Cecily screamed at him, stepping away from the counter.

“I was scared, Ces, I was scared! I didn’t want to lose you!” he stood, screaming back at her.

“That is bullshit, Samson, and you know it! How could you do this to me!”

“Oh yes, Cecily, because at the time I was thinking of you. NOT EVERYTHING IS ABOUT YOU! DO YOU REALIZE THAT?!” she whipped around to glare at him, dropping the porcelain plate in her hand, allowing it to drop to the floor and shatter. As she opened her mouth to respond, a familiar ringing echoed from his pocket and he pulled out a beaten up flip phone. “Andrade. Yeah. Yeah I’ll be outside in two.” He shut the phone and disappeared from the room, coming back a moment later with his uniform. “Forest fire at the base of the Berkshires. We’ll talk about this when I get back.”

“Get back? You think you’re coming back?” Cecily spat, glaring at him through thick tears. “Don’t bother. I’ll leave you a suitcase outside the door.” The only response she got was the sound of the door closing behind him.

They didn’t fight very often but when they did, the fights were always disastrous. This one had been worse than all the rest. Cecily collected the evidence in the form of the broken plate in her hand, opening the garbage. A broken plate was nothing now.

Cecily was used to his bizarre hours. She could stand the phone calls at all hours of the day and night, and could usually even handle the waiting. But forest fires were different. It meant even longer hours, and extra danger. In the first half hour Cecily’s anger had fueled her packing. His suits, t-shirts, jeans, toothbrush, all of it in a suitcase and a duffel bag outside the door. Then it was that picture, those sets of sheets, and more. It took her four hours to get rid of everything in the apartment that was his. Cecily had just picked up the last thing, his ‘Burn Me Down’ sweatshirt, when the phone rang. “I’m sorry Cecily,” the Sergeant said over the phone. “He went missing some time in the second hour. We have a search party out for him, but after another hour or so we’ll have to turn in. The fire’s spread and we can’t spare too many extra men.” The shock was like ice down the back of her shirt. She started to shake violently, her teeth chattering and hands trembling. Slipping on the sweatshirt, Cecily tried to warm the innate cold that had settled in her body. But what she really needed was Samson and his arms around her.

As the tears came, she started to rip at her pillow, and soon Cecily was throwing everything she could get her hands on. All she could hear was her last words.

And now she was left to clean up the mess.

Cecily bit back her tears as she headed to the hall closet for the vacuum. Such a mess. Everything was such a mess and it was all her fault. If only she had just kept her mouth shut and temper in check. If only she hadn’t freaked out, he’d still be here. The thought made tears burn her eyes again, but she was out of tears. Instead Cecily dragged the vacuum to the other side of the room, and was plugging it in when she heard it. The knock was soft at first, but then a bit harder. Cecily pulled the sweatshirt tighter around her and crossed the room slowly. She couldn’t handle the idea that it would be the Sergeant with Samson’s things. Once she had cleaned the apartment, Cecily would put his things back, and make as if he had never left. The child’s Red Sox’s sweatshirt sat on the counter and she grabbed it as she approached the door. Oh god, would she have to tell his kid?

Cecily swung open the door and followed the line of the boots, up the black pants with brightly colored stripes, to the matching jacket and finally met his blue eyes with hers.

“Cecily, I’m sorry.”