The hole where my mother should be.

It’s bigger than usual tonight. I feel it spreading like water poured on a tile floor. It bleeds out into my whole body until I’m made of so much nothing.

And that’s when the cold sets in. Like always.

I dig around in my bag until I find Lex’s little purple lighter. The one he left on the front steps of the cabin our first night here. Because I know what I need. I flick it with my thumb, and it springs to life. I like the heat of its tiny flame. The brightness of its small light.

It doesn’t feel like enough, but that’s okay. Because I know an old trick.

I reach over and rip a handful of pages from my notebook. I crumple them up and arrange them in a little pile on the concrete at my feet.

I touch them with the lighter, and the glow from the flames is immediate. Brighter. Warmer. And I’m grateful. But it’s only a few seconds before the tiny fire eats through the paper and starts to die. So I rip another page from my notebook and add it to the pile. The flames devour it with a silent hunger, and something deep down inside me feels hungry, too.

I hold my hands low over the fire until I feel the burn. I don’t let myself pull away. Even when it starts to hurt. Because at least I know I’m alive.

Real.

Not a fucking ghost.

“Hey.”

I whirl around to look over my shoulder, and Cole Culver is standing right there. I’m panicking and I start to step on the little inferno I’ve created.

“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t put it out.” And he comes to sit beside me.

I feel trapped. Naked and exposed. I have to fight the urge to run.

“It’ll die in a minute anyway,” I tell him. “It’s just a little one.”

I see him glance toward my open notebook. He picks it up and rips out a page, then crumples it up and adds it to the fire. But it’s too late. The flames are already fading, so the paper doesn’t catch.

I pull the lighter from my pocket and hand it to Cole. When he takes it, his fingers linger on mine longer than they should. I shiver, and Cole studies me for a second, then takes the lighter and flicks it without a word. I’m hardly breathing as the flame kisses the little pile of paper and it comes roaring back to life.

He leans down low and holds his hands just above the fire. I wait for him to pull away from the burn, but he doesn’t.

“Be careful,” I warn him, and when he turns those gray eyes on me, I feel myself get twisted inside out.

“Careful really isn’t my thing.”

Another piece of crumpled paper.

Another flick of the lighter.

Snick. Sizzle. Whoosh.