Obscura Burning by Suzanne van Rooyen Page A

rubbing her chin.
    “You’ve been through a lot, Kyle. It’s only normal that you’d be having dark thoughts, that you’d be feeling a whole array of emotion. It’s important to know it’s not your fault.”
    “That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”
    “You don’t believe them?”
    “They weren’t there. They don’t know.” I cough, the taste of metal on the back of my tongue, and tears pricking my eyes.
    “Don’t know what?”
    “That I think I might’ve started the fire.”
    “You’re not sure?”
    “Not yet.”
    She nods in silence. I’m not surprised. Not a lot someone can say to an admission like that.
    “Can I at least give you ride over to the clinic, get you checked out?” Amy asks, getting up.
    I accept her outstretched hand, wincing as she hauls me to my feet.
    Thankfully, my mom’s not working at the clinic, else she’d have been fussing around me wanting to know all the details. Nondisplaced rib fractures, so nothing serious despite the agony. They dope me up and give me a box of pain meds to take away, telling me to breathe as deeply as I can as often as possible. The other injuries are just scrapes and bruises that’ll heal on their own given time.
    When they ask what happened, I don’t get into details beyond falling out of a tree. From their raised eyebrows and muttering, I know they don’t buy it. The joy of living in a small town; they all know my dad drinks.
    “You’re eighteen now,” one of the nurses says, a friend of my mom’s with warm brown eyes and a Mexican accent. “You can press assault charges.”
    Even pressing charges against Benny wouldn’t do me any good. My word against theirs with no impartial witnesses. Getting the cops involved will likely just get me knifed next time. Easier to pretend it never happened. All I have to do is stay asleep in this reality to live in the other one.
    Amy drops me off at home, telling me I can come by the center any time. She even gives me her cell phone number before departing with a wave and a smile.
    “What the hell happened to you?” Dad asks. He’s sipping coffee at the kitchen table, a pack of aspirin beside his cup. There’s a new book of matches on the table from the Throbbing Strawberry.
    “Jerksoutside Black Paw,” I say. Dad nods and looks relieved. His gaze meets mine briefly.
    “Hope the other guy looks worse.”
    “There were four of them. Not exactly fair, but they’ll be hurting.”
    Dad smiles. “That’s my boy.” He fiddles with the matches. “You been screwing some tourist at this motel?”
    “Hell, no.” By the look on my dad’s face, it might’ve been better to say yes. Only I’ve never been out to the motel before.
    “I’m guessing those aren’t yours, then?” I ask.
    “Damn straight they aren’t.” He slurps his coffee and grimaces before popping another aspirin. I leave him hungover in the kitchen, contemplating the mystery of the matchbook, and escape to my bedroom.
    I force myself to take a deep breath. It hurts, but not nearly as much as before. Retrieving the book and pens from under my bed, I fill in a few more boxes, connecting them with colored lines. For the first time, I wonder if dying in one reality would let me live permanently in the other.
    No messages from Danny. He’s still pissed then. I try calling, but he doesn’t answer. I give up after four tries.
    This reality sucks. Danny hates me, Shira’s dead, my dad’s a violent drunk, Mya’s a bitch… But in another two months I’ll be out of here. Rice, Texas—my whole life ahead of me. If the world doesn’t end.
    The other reality isn’t exactly wonderful either. I’m scarred and without a high school diploma, but at least I have Shira and Mya.
    I flip through the half-drawn comics, adding a few details here and there, but my heart’s not in it, and I shove the book back under my bed.
    Sometimes I wish I had a beagle and not bugs. I scoop Shatterstar out of the terrarium and let him scuttle across the