Kiersten's Arc

Chapter 1 of 33

Kiersten stood on the cracked porch of the house she used to share with Eduardo, one hand pressed to the tattoo above her heart. The ink had gone hot again. It did that whenever the spirit tried to speak through her auburn eyes, and it did that whenever Eduardo pulled on the old thread between them. Tonight both were happening at once. She had come to cut the thread. She could not become what the spirit wanted while another hand still held part of her. The door opened before she knocked. Eduardo filled the frame in his blue shirt and cap, jaw tight, boots scuffed from the road. His auburn eyes searched her face for the softness he expected to find there. "You came back," he said. "I knew you would." "I came to talk," Kiersten said. "Not to stay." He stepped aside anyway. Inside, the walls sagged. A window was boarded. The house had been falling apart for a long time, and she had spent years trying not to notice. "You've been taking from me," she said. "Money. Time. The quiet parts of me. I need it to stop." His face changed. "You're going to stand in my house and say that? After everything I've carried for you?" "I'm not fighting about who carried what." "So now I'm the problem." He laughed once, sharp. "You always do this. You get an idea in your head and you make me the villain." The tattoo above her heart burned. She felt the ending before he could dress it up again. She let the clean pain of it hold her steady. "You need help, Eduardo. Real help. Not from me." His shoulders dropped. His voice softened the way it always did when the sharp approach failed. "Baby. Come sit down. It's just me. You know it's just me." He reached for her hand. "We can figure it out like we used to." A year ago that voice would have moved her three steps inside. Tonight she watched it land and slide off. "I don't need to figure it out with you," she said. "I need consistency. You won't give me that unless something forces you to." "I don't need help," he snapped. The softness was already gone. "I need you to stop making me small." Kiersten stepped back onto the porch. The thread between them pulled hard, and she felt the seal on her skin answer it, tightening like a fist. "Then choose," she said. "Get help, or don't call me again. Both doors can't stay open." She pulled the front door closed between them. The latch caught. On her chest, the burning eased by a single degree. Not gone. Loosened. Behind her eyes, the spirit stirred, closer now, waiting for the rest of the thread to fray.