Page 2 of Hotter than Wildfire

Something bad was coming. It was in the air. The dank, cold basement stank of the brewing violence about to be unleashed.

Harry did the only possible thing he could do, the same thing he did with the feral dogs. He couldn’t fight a pack of dogs and he couldn’t fight Fuckhead while he was high, particularly with Crissy to look after.

So he stared at the ground in submission, and kept quiet. The one thing Fuckhead hated was what he called a ‘mouthy’ kid.

Crissy was utterly silent. Usually, you couldn’t shut her up, but in her short life, she’d learned who was dangerous. She always took her cue from Harry. When Harry was quiet, so was she. In her five years on earth, she’d seen a lot of really nasty shit from this Fuckhead, the Fuckhead before him and the Fuckhead before that.

Harry’s hand covered Crissy’s back. Though she was silent, turning her head into his shoulder for comfort, he could feel her little heart racing, fluttering with panic. She was terrified.

She was only five years old and she was fucking terrified.

Still staring at the ground, quietly picking up the bags, Harry backed away slowly, again exactly as if he were facing a pack of wild dogs. It worked. He quietly stepped into their room and closed the door.

He waited, listening.

Quiet, on the other side.

Crissy’s head was buried in his shoulder. “Hawwy?” she whispered. “OK now?”

“It’s okay, sweetie.” Harry pasted a smile on his face and patted his little sister’s shoulder, wishing for the billionth time that Crissy had been born into another family. A family that would love her for the sweet kid she was instead of having to grow up in this shithole, where only Harry stood between her and being beaten to death.

Or worse.

He listened for a long time, but his mom and Fuckhead were quiet. For the moment. Mostly they were either fighting or fucking, sometimes both at once.

He had a stash of plastic plates and plastic forks he’d retrieved from a dumpster that he kept hidden in the closet. He brought them out and put them on the bed. Crissy watched him, wide-eyed, thumb in mouth.

Harry had once tried to break her of the habit, but it finally dawned on him that Crissy needed to suck her thumb for comfort. God knows there wasn’t much of that in her life. He tried to shield her as much as possible, but he couldn’t stop it all.

Well, even he and Crissy deserved something that would pass for Christmas.

He cut up pieces of turkey breast on her plate, spooned some mashed potatoes and slid it over to her. She was hungry, he knew she was hungry, because no one would have thought to feed her all day, but she waited until his own plate was full and he had a fork in his hand.

“Eat, Crissy,” he said and she did. But only after he started eating.

It was funny. His mom had ignored Crissy all her life. She’d have aborted Crissy except she found out way too late that she was knocked up, and no doctor would perform the abortion.

It had fallen to Harry to bring Crissy up though he knew fuckall about bringing up a little girl and he was half wild himself. So though he’d done his damndest to keep her fed and warm and at least moderately clean, he sure hadn’t done anything to drill manners in her.

And yet it was as if Crissy had been born in some fucking palace in some far-off kingdom. No one had ever taught her how to eat. She’d picked it up herself, watching Harry. But where Harry ate like a wolf, she ate daintily, never making a mess.

She was a little princess stuck among the trolls.

She put her fork down neatly and smiled at him.

Harry reached out an arm and rummaged around in the bag, pulling out the box. Of course it wasn’t gift wrapped but Crissy sure wouldn’t mind.

“Here, squirt,” he said, holding it out to her. “Merry Christmas.”

Crissy’s face lit up. Her only other doll was some raggedy thing that was missing an arm, but she loved it and fussed over that doll for hours.

A brand-new Barbie—Crissy was in doll heaven.

“Oh Hawwy! A Bawbie!” she squealed. He tried to shush her, but it was too late.

The door to their room slammed open, bouncing off the wall and Fuckhead stood there, head almost touching the top of the door frame.

He swayed, shot out a hand to steady himself. His head wobbled as he tried to focus and Harry thought Oh man, this is going to be bad. This is going to be real bad.