Claire's POV
Two months before the fire.
When Alexis knocked on my window that night, I knew something was wrong.
He always texted first. Always.
I threw the covers off and slid the window open. The wind hit me like a warning.
"Alexis?" I whispered.
His face was pale, eyes wide, breath fogging the glass.
"Can I stay for a while?" he asked. "Just until morning."
I didn't ask questions. I never did when it came to him.
"Climb in."
He curled up at the edge of my bed like a wounded cat. His hoodie was torn at the shoulder, and there was a red mark across his cheek. I stared at it for too long.
"Was it your dad again?" I finally asked.
He didn't answer. But he didn't need to.
"Alexis…"
"Don't," he whispered. "Don't look at me like that. Like I'm fragile."
I bit my tongue. But my hands were shaking, and I didn't know how to hide them.
This wasn't the first time.
But it was getting worse.
I could tell by the way he flinched at sudden noises and how he always wore long sleeves—even when it was hot.
"Your mom," I said. "Is she okay?"
"She says she fell. Again."
He laughed bitterly. "She's a terrible liar."
I leaned back, heart pounding. "You have to tell someone. This can't keep going on. Someone needs to know. A teacher. The police. Someone."
"No."
"Why not?"
"If I do, he'll go to jail."
"Good!" I snapped. "He should go to jail."
"He's my dad, Claire."
I stared at him. "So what? He gets to hurt you just because he's your father?"
Alexis was quiet for a long time. Then, in a voice barely audible: "I'm scared."
That broke me.
I moved closer, wrapping my arms around him. He was trembling.
"You don't have to be scared," I whispered. "You have me."
That wasn't the first night he stayed over without permission.
And it wouldn't be the last.
We were just fourteen, caught between childhood and the edge of something darker.
I tried everything—convincing him to talk to the school counselor, writing a report myself. But Alexis begged me not to send it in.
"If you do, I'll never forgive you," he said one day. "You don't know what he's capable of."
And part of me believed him.
But another part of me—an angry, desperate part—was tired of watching the people I love get hurt in silence.
So I started a journal. I wrote down everything.
Dates. Bruises. Things I saw. Things he told me. Names. Times.
Because if Alexis wouldn't tell the truth, I would find a way to do it for him.
Then came the fire.
The night that shattered everything.
I remember the smell of smoke in the air, thick and bitter. The sky was orange, not from the setting sun—but from the flames.
I ran down the street barefoot, panic slicing through my lungs.
Alexis's house was glowing like an open wound. Fire engines screamed in the distance. Neighbors crowded the sidewalk.
And then I saw him.
Standing across the street. Staring.
Frozen.
"Alexis!" I screamed, grabbing his arm. "Where's your mom?!"
He didn't answer.
"She's still inside?"
His lips trembled. "She told me to run."
I turned toward the flames. "We have to get her out!"
He pulled me back. "Claire—no. It's too late."
"No, it's not! She's your mom! We can't just stand here!"
He didn't move.
He just watched the flames.
That moment changed everything.
The fire was ruled accidental.
Some said it was faulty wiring. Others whispered about a cigarette left burning.
But no one knew the full truth.
Only Alexis did.
And he never spoke a word.
After the funeral, I stopped speaking to him.
He came to my door every day for a week.
I didn't answer.
Because I couldn't look at him without hearing the fire crackle. Without seeing the way he just stood there while the only good parent he had was trapped inside.
Was he scared?
Yes.
But fear shouldn't keep you from saving someone you love.
So I locked my door. Burned my journal. And shut the past away.
Then Rose got involved.
She was my cousin but we were never close.
She had a way of twisting people's stories to get what she wanted. She liked to stir the pot just to watch it boil.
When she found out about Alexis, she took everything too far.
"He let her die," she told people. "He just stood there."
And when I asked her to stop, she smiled and said, "He deserves it."
I didn't agree.
But I didn't stop her either.
I let the silence stretch.
Because deep down, I didn't know what was worse—
That Alexis had frozen that night…
Or that part of me had too.
If you asked me now, I couldn't tell you what I'd do differently.
Maybe I'd push harder.
Maybe I'd send that report.
Maybe I'd forgive him.
But the truth is…
I miss my best friend.
Even if part of me still hates him for what happened.