TW: This story contains themes of sexual assault and self-harm.
Lucy had always been fascinated by fire. The light, the heat, the ash, and even the smell of burning always brought an unexplainable feeling of joy to her. So, it was no surprise that when it was her time to go, she would go out in flames.
Lucy looked up at the bane of her existence. To some, it was lovely and quaint rustic cabin, a perfect place to spend summer evenings and winter nights with family and friends. There was a small garden in front, full of chrysanthemum flowers that opened to a large yard, spreading out a few hundred yards until reaching a line of evergreen trees. Even Lucy had to admit it looked quite cozy, but she knew what occurred within the walls, what horrors stained the wood of the innocent-looking cabin.
Lucy slowly climbed up the porch steps and set down the two gas cans she brought, giving her aching arms a break from the weight. The hike up to the cabin was exhausting, borderline painful. Two miles up a rocky trail while carrying ten gallons of liquid was extremely difficult, but Lucy’s anger fired her up, keeping her moving forward, not slowing her pace or stopping to rest despite her body’s protests. It was only now, looking up at the place full of tragedy, that her resolve finally cracked, because despite all that went on, this place wasn’t just full of sorrow. Lucy had some good memories from this cabin, like pretending she was a witch as she ran through the woods spells casting spells, or playing board games with her parents on raining days, or listening to her mother sing her favorite blues song on the porch swing. If Lucy followed through with this decision, there would be no turning back. The bridges she was about to burn would be permanent. There would be no hope of mending the relationship with her parents. Being arrested was also a possibility, though she figured a slim one. Embarrassment of their daughter’s actions would drive Lucy’s parents to cover this up. Afterall, their spotless reputation was more important than seeking legal action against their pyromaniac daughter. There was also her therapist to think about, though. She liked her therapist. She was a nice middle-aged woman who believed Lucy when no one else had. When Lucy left the psych ward that morning, the woman made her promise not to do anything rash and Lucy considered torching your family’s cabin as definitely something rash. Lucy hated to disappoint the one person who had been supportive of her, but this had to be done. Because for every good memory Lucy had of this cabin, there were twice as many bad ones.
The fact that Lucy was even here at all and not with her family helped strengthen her resolve. You would think her parents would want to spend time with their daughter after not seeing her for a month, but they picked Lucy up from the hospital and dropped her off at the house as if she were nothing more than a package that needed to be delivered. Apparently, a luncheon with friends was more important than making sure your daughter was happy and safe. Lucy wasn’t complaining though. It spared her the effort of having to sneak out of the house.
After finally working up the courage to continue, Lucy held her breath as she unlocked and opened the cabin door. Her eyes glanced around at the unchanged living room. The same worn leather couches sat facing the fireplace on the right, while the kitchen and dining room spread out on the left. A bookshelf leaned against the far wall, with the hallway leading to the rest of the cabin next to it. Dust covered most of the furniture and floor, its lack of use evident. It was unnerving to stand in the familiar doorway. Everything in the cabin seemed to be the same. It was Lucy that was the unfamiliar one.
Through the scent of dust, Lucy caught a usual whiff of eucalyptus as she made her way inside. A bitter smiled spread across her face. It was ironic eucalyptus is still her favorite smell. It was if the cabin was fighting back, trying to get Lucy to back down by reminding her that she was still shaped by this place, that it was still a part of her. She ignored that thought and walked slowly through the living room with her can of gas, ignoring the dust flying up in her wake. The hallway was dark as Lucy made her way down, stopping in front of the smallest room in the back corner of the cabin. She blankly stared at the closed door, blocking the inside from sight, but not from her memory.
Lucy was only seven the day it happened. She was out in the woods behind the cabin making potions with mud, leaves, and flower petals she pulled from her mother’s garden. Her recollection of that day was spotty at best. Her therapist said it was an aftereffect of the trauma, but she membered the mud pies vividly because that was the reason she had to take a bath before dinner. A family friend was staying in the cabin with Lucy and her parents that weekend. He was a co-worker at her father’s company and Lucy didn’t know him that well, so it was awkward at first. But then he gave her candy. Sugar was the best way to any kid’s heart, and he knew that. He showed her magic tricks, and told her jokes, and played pretend with her, slowing easing away the awkwardness and making Lucy comfortable. He knew exactly what to do to gain a kid’s trust.
So, when her parents needed to run to the store, Lucy had no objections to being left alone with the man. She was playing in the bath, washing away the filth from her potions. Her mom was sitting in the bathroom with her, listening as Lucy’s dad rushed them. He didn’t like driving in the dark, especially on all the winding roads. Lucy wasn’t ready to get out of the bath, and she was happy when the man offered to keep an eye on Lucy so her parents could get a head start. He told them he was practiced in caring for little girls. They accepted and left. They trusted him. Lucy trusted him. She wasn’t frightened by the way his eyes raked over her adolescent body. She trusted him. She wasn’t uncomfortable with the hands that wrapped a towel around her. She trusted him. She wasn’t scared by the sound of the lock clicking on the bedroom door. She trusted him. She wasn’t even scared when he took off his belt and unbuttoned his pants. Lucy thought he was going to take a bath too. She trusted him.
She was wrong.
Lucy doesn’t remember the act itself, only the confusion and the sobbing. She remembers hazily waking up in her bed, the sun lower in the sky. Her pillow still damp from her hair, or maybe it was from her tears. Her mom broke the fog in her mind when she came in let Lucy know dinner was ready. She wasn’t hungry. In fact, Lucy didn’t eat the rest of their stay. Her parents weren’t too concerned. They figured Lucy wasn’t feeling well. She didn’t leave her room to play or to read or to do anything that a normal seven-year-old would want to do. She laid in bed, trying to understand something far outside of a child’s comprehension. Her parents didn’t ask, and Lucy didn’t tell.
Lucy struggled to pull her mind away from the old memory. It sometimes felt so recent, like she was still a little girl struggling to understand why, why, why. Her lungs felt tight in her chest. Her head pounded in rhythm with her heart, going faster and faster the longer she stood frozen before the door in front of her. Lucy kept tensing, fighting against herself, until there was finally a snap. Her body jumped in action, grabbing the gas can and dumping the fuel in a frenzy-like state. She poured it on the dark green carpet, the old toys and blankets in the closet, the wooden dresser that still held crayon drawings and pictures of a smiling Lucy. The bed was last, and Lucy had to stop herself from pouring over half the can just on that mattress. It wasn’t the same one that Lucy lost her childhood in, but it was close enough. The tightening in her chest got more intense as she made a trail of gasoline out of the room and into the hallway. It felt like something was growing in her lungs, some sort of sick flower blooming from her pain. Lucy ignored the tightness and focused on not getting sucked into another flashback as she made her way to spare room across from hers, but Lucy was unsuccessful as she caught sight of the many burn littering the carpet.
Lucy was thirteen and her heart was broken. Her friends, or who she thought were her friends, had talked about her behind her back, not realizing, or maybe not caring that she could hear their whispers.
Loser. Ugly. Rich snob. Attention whore. Liar.
The last two were the most painful, because it was only last week that Lucy finally opened up about the man and what he did to her. They told her they believed her. They told her they were sorry. She cried and held tight to them, finally free from the weight of that secret burden. Only now she realized they didn’t hug her back.
Photographs of Lucy and her supposed friends sat in front of her, next to a box of matches. She was burning them one by one. Her parents were away yet again. They didn’t ask why her two best friends decided not to come along on this trip. There was glass of water next to Lucy as well. She wasn’t good at burning things just yet, and the fear of starting a fire was prominent, but that fear wouldn’t last long. She would soon become an expert in burning. It was the first picture that made her discover the addiction. Lucy let the flames dance along her fingers a just little too long. The burn on her skin was painful, but there was a relief in that sensation as well. It was like a physical manifestation of her emotional hurt, and the red flesh was a way for Lucy to show the world how much suffering was trapped inside her. And so she kept burning herself, and she continued for years, even when the world paid no mind the burns and scars.
Tears formed in Lucy’s eyes, clouding her vision the floor, where the burns mirror the ones on her body. She could almost see that younger Lucy sitting in the corner, learning to mar her own skin for the very first time. She wanted to call out to her past self, beg the girl not to light that match. But changing the past is impossible, so Lucy picked up the gas can so she could destroy the past instead. She had one more match to light after all.
Soaking the rest of the cabin was easy. Lucy thought she would feel something as she dumped gasoline over her parent’s bedroom and belongings, but there was only a numbness slowly filling her mind. Lucy was too exhausted from the hike and from her memories, so she let the numbness overtake her as she soaked the rest of the cabin. She made a small trail out the front door with what little liquid she had left in the can. She was ten feet from the edge of the porch when the gasoline was finally gone, and Lucy dropped the empty container on the dewy grass. Darkness had spread through the woods as dusk approached, painting the sky red. The trees rustled in the distance, whispering as Lucy pulled out a match box from her jeans.
There was a picture of a phoenix on the box with a little phrase written underneath. “Set your life ablaze,” she read aloud, a humorless smile growing on her face. The woods echoed the words back to her, and Lucy embraced them. She would set her life ablaze. She would burn her life, using all the fire she kept imprisoned inside herself. The fire eating at her would all be spent on this cabin. No more bottling it up. No more burning her skin. No more attempts at taking her own life. There would be no more after this last blaze. She would burn her life to ash.
Lucy didn’t know what her life would be without the flames, but she was ready to find out. The beat-up car she just bought off the lot was waiting for her with a full tank of gas, ready to take her anywhere on the map on her front seat. She had two suitcases in the backseat full of clothes and a wad of cash large enough to cover her expenses. The only thing left to do for Lucy to start her new life was to burn away her old one.
Lucy lit a match with practiced ease, watching the beautiful flame dance along the slim wood, appreciating the fire, her fire, for the last time. When her fingers felt the barest hint of that familiar heat, Lucy dropped the match onto the puddle at her feet, and watched as an inferno erupted before her. The cabin that stood as a monument to her suffering was finally burning, going up in smoke along with Lucy’s memories. She slowly turned from the blaze behind her, no longer enraptured by the thing that once ruled her life. There was a new flame alight in Lucy, a fiery determination emerging from the ashes and burning much brighter than the flames behind her.