We were tired and emotionally drained, but we were home. In fact, we arrived home in good time, Flame pushing us hard to get here as soon as possible.
Asher had made the journey without complaint. And, in the little time I had to speak to him, I had come to discover that he was a sweet young boy. Na?ve, sheltered, but bright. AK and Viking had taken him under their collective wing. Asher had swapped riding on the back of their bikes, and he slept beside them when we camped at night. Flame’s two best friends talked to him non-stop. Viking explained their alternative life and what Asher’s future could become.
Asher listened intently, saying little in return. He was painfully quiet, but I immediately liked him. And my heart cried for him. When I looked at Asher, I could not help but see a young Flame in his eyes. They were so much alike in looks. It was a startling likeness. But the best part of all, Asher had the promise of a young life. Where for Flame it had been already ruined. And Asher did not have the same disposition as Flame. Asher could read people just fine. He could express emotion, and he could understand subtle cues and actions. He did not share the same condition as his paternal brother.
Which led me to Flame.
For the entire journey Flame had spoken little. He rode. He ate. And he made our bed away from Viking, AK and his brother. Far away, shutting them out completely. Each night, each time we went to sleep, he pulled me down to lie beside him, clutching me so very tightly in his arms. Like he was afraid to let me go. But he did not speak. He did not speak of what he had done to his father. Of what he had done at his old church. He had shut down completely.
And worst of all, he said nothing to Asher.
Not one word.
He barely even glanced his way.
Asher watched him, when Flame was not looking. He watched him so closely, and it broke my heart into pieces. Because I could see Asher’s desperation so clearly in his timid expression. I could see the want in his eyes, for his big brother to acknowledge him, or to even look his way.
But Flame did not. He sat, sharpening his blades, head cast down.
Silent.
When we arrived home, when we arrived at the three cabins, AK took one look at Flame’s empty face and asked, “How 'bout Little Ash stays with me? I got a spare room. He’ll be good with me.”
Flame had nodded his head once, and AK had taken Asher to his cabin. I watched them the entire way, completely lost at what to do. Just as they were about to enter the door, Asher glanced back to Flame. But Flame was staring straight forward, shoulders tense. Asher went into the cabin, defeated; AK firmly closed the door behind them.
Flame had been that way ever since. Quiet, unable to bear letting me out of his sight, shutting himself away from the world.
Feeling the water had cooled, I pulled the plug out of the tub, and sat in the draining water, trying to search my mind for what could be done. Because that was Flame. He did not express what troubled him. He kept it deep inside, with no indication about how to help him.
For days I had searched my mind for anything to help him address his inner pain; then, just as I felt I was at a complete loss, unable to give any help, an idea struck me. A realization so stark that I was convinced it had to help, even if only a little.
Because there was one haunting memory that Flame had yet to overcome. One barrier that he had yet to confront. Taking a deep breath, I prayed that it worked. Because if it did not, I was unsure if Flame would ever be freed from the cage in his mind.