Young Writers Society

The day Luis walked out of their lives, they set the curtains on fire.

It was strangely soothing, therapeutic almost, for them to watch deep orange flames lick over deep red velvet until their final memory of Luis was nothing but piles of ash.

“That’s that,” Christian laughed dryly, though it wasn’t at all funny.

“That’s that,” Quinn echoed.

Olive hand clutched in a porcelain one, dark eyes staring at the same smoking pile as the ice blue eyes of their companion. The person it was all caused by still walking down the street, pretending not to smell the scent of burned fabric wafting from the house he had just left, pretending not to know what was burning, pretending not to care. Luis Hale was a peculiar sort of perfection, and without him, Christian feared that the delicate balance between himself and Quinn would be upset. Christian wished that Luis had never left at all. I wish. I wish. I wish.

Peculiar and perfect for the same reasons, a master of loopholes and words that weren’t lies but weren’t truths. Christian wondered if the words that started the whole thing were also nothing but one of Luis’ funny little half-truths, his way of twisting things in his sweet manner was uncanny. Luis was sure now that he was far enough away so even if the two he betrayed would look out the freshly uncovered windows, they would not see him start to run in an attempt to leave his guilt behind, and perhaps they wouldn’t hear the quiet sobs that refused to be pushed back down his throat. It was for them, not for me, he tried to think, but however easy it was to fool others into believing him, he never could fool himself.

Neither Quinn nor Christian had moved since they watched the curtains flame, until Quinn could not bear to look at the wisps of smoke still rising, and turned abruptly, breaking her hold with Christian and very nearly hitting him in the face with pale hair. Her acquaintance followed her soon after, casting one longing look at the moonlight flooding through the windows for the first time in forever before settling at the small oak table, one of five pieces of furniture in the house. Neither of them spoke for an excruciatingly long time.

Luis was letting the teardrops fall freely by that point, his feet practically flying over cracked pavement as he sprinted further and further from his life. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Quinn was never the first to speak, and today was no different, so Christian spoke for her. “Why?” It was all that they wanted to know, and neither of them knew it.

Her head was in her hands, but she raised it to speak. “I can only wonder.” Quinn felt guilty, though she shouldn’t. She wanted to know but she could never understand Luis and his strange reasons. It was part of the reason she befriended him in the first place, because of his unreadability, a nice change for her whose skills lay in deciphering every little indication of somebody’s thoughts. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.

Still their old friend ran, his ears tuned to nothing but the sound of his own solitary heartbeat, eyes to nothing but the street stretching on in front of him, lungs to nothing but even inhales and exhales, mind to nothing but indifference. The tears had stopped.

Christian’s breathing wasn’t as even as his traitor’s, despite his uncaring mask, he was shaken to his core. He and Quinn never suspected their leader to turn and exit the house like he did. Could he trust anyone’s motives after the deep wound of deception Luis slashed across both of their minds? Luis was still running, and Quinn and Christian were silent again.

When the silence grew louder than any spoken word could be, when he was sure he was far from civilization, Luis screamed. He screamed until his face was red and his throat was raw. He screamed so that it stretched his vocal cords. He screamed until he couldn’t scream anymore, until only breathing hurt his rough throat. He was crying again, but he didn’t care enough to wipe the tears away. 

The next time he tried to scream, no sound came out of his weakened lungs.

An awfully long ways away, the final shred of Luis’ scream whispered into the house where Quinn and Christian sat, which caused the girl’s nostrils to flare and the boy’s jaw to tighten. “He deserves the weight of guilt,” Christian snapped, keeping his mask on, though Luis’ scream made his heart hurt, made memories of a kind face and a smooth, dark hand pulling him from his darkest times appear in his head. It took all she had for Quinn to nod, her lower lip wavering slightly.

Luis kept trying to scream.

His former allies never suspected the trio would disband, after all, it was a flawless team. An expert of twisting the truth, a person adept at guessing what people are thinking, and a skilled combatant, different yet the same, working together first through convenience, and later through companionship. They fought and tricked side by side, with Luis at the helm. For sure they were the top of the employer’s charts, uncovering plenty of potentially damaging secrets from opponents of the employer. To Christian’s eternal torment, there weren’t many charges into battle, but he found plenty of ways to help his clever teammates. But Luis was the true glue of the team, the one that held them all together.

And now the glue has faded away. So what is there to hold the perfect team together?

Luis had made sure to remove everything that could possibly be traced back to him, to make the exit easier for his comrades, or so he thought. He had been formulating his plan to leave for months, slowly removing himself from photos, removing his possessions, deflecting any questions if his friends noticed the bags he tried to sneak out. It took a long time before he had rid the house of himself. He wanted to leave in the midst of the night, but of course Christian, stumbling home with his designated driver Quinn saw him with his final bag.

Everything should’ve been easy until the morning, but of course Luis was found out. It was mostly shocked silence from both of the two, and a tortured whisper from Luis, a simple sorry, before he started off down the block. The complete breakdown ensued, which ended with the only thing left of Luis in the house, the damned curtains. His friends had fought against the wine red velvet, but Luis’ heart was set on it. It ended up being their staple, a thing to grin over every time they walked into the living room, a sign and a symbol of Luis.

For Quinn and Christian they were a heartache. And since he hadn’t left anything else for them to burn, they burned the curtains.

Luis wished he could burn something. He was surrounded by flammable trees and brush, but it’d be a suicide attempt. And possibly a murder attempt with the way wildfires spread. So no. Burning was out of the question. Apparently screaming and sobs were out of the question too, his vocal cords were stretched and raw from his little tantrum. Tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes, his guilt and anger weighing on him still. Unable to make a sound, he punched the nearest tree, not caring about the wrath of pain snaking through his knuckles. Again he threw punches at the rough bark, gritting his teeth, straining against the agony tightening in his hand. The forest was eerily silent, save for the thud of bleeding fists hitting wood and the ragged breaths of a broken boy. Once again, Luis collapsed into a heap on the ground, feeling overwhelming disgust at what he did to himself. I hate this. I hate this. I hate this.

His friends sat at the table in depressive quiet, same as they were minutes ago, unaware of their betrayer’s shivering form lying crumpled on the forest floor, warm, red liquid trickling into the creases of weary fingers from the cracked skin covering knuckles that were surely broken.

Christian threaded his fingers through dark shaggy hair, sighing. Quinn groaned. “We can’t just sit here like puddles of melted goo now that Luis backed out on us,” she said firmly.

“You may be correct,” Christian said, “ I just can’t see what there is for us to do anymore. Our employer’s rules clearly state that he only accepts trios.”

Quinn’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “I think…”

“You can’t mean…” Christian swallowed hard. “A new partner?”

“Is there another option?”

Deep in the woods, Luis peeled himself off the ground, blinking blearily through the pain he could suddenly feel, like a molten hot branding rod striking his hands repeatedly. He steadied his trembling legs, breathed in carefully and slowly, attempting to collect his crazed self. “Okay,” he whispered. “Okay.” He took one shaky step. “Okay,” he hissed. His calves tensed, but held, knees staying decidedly unbuckled. When he whispered reassurances to himself again, something in the woods growled in response.

He cursed, wrenching his exhausted legs back up to speed from whatever creature was hidden in the shadows. A burning fueled his lungs as his limbs fought against the tightness in his tired muscles, leaping over broken trees and hurtling through spiny bushes, wincing at the scratches but knowing that whatever was behind him would do more harm. Much like the way he sprinted away from his friends, Luis kept running even as his oxygen dwindled with each gasping breath.

Somewhere along the way, his pursuer gave up, and it was a good thing it did, the instant heavy steps and wolf-y growls were out of earshot, he leaned his back against a tree, rough bark digging into his shoulder blades. Mouth wrinkling, he assessed his scratched up arms, the soft green cloth of his shirt ripped by the thorns he ran through. Lightly running his fingers over some of the shallow scrapes, he twitched a bit, they stung but he’d survive. 

It was the blackest part of the night, and all three of them were exhausted, but none could sleep. Luis laid on a mossy bed as blood slowly dried in streaks on his skin, Quinn and Christian were both wrapped in blankets on the couch, neither speaking, both pretending to sleep as not to worry the other.

All were thinking of one another, and all lay restless with wide eyes staring at deep sky or white ceiling until the Sun began to lazily swim into the sky, painting the clouds with brushstrokes of pink, peach, and pastel yellow.