Before he even opened his eyes, Milos grabbed his phone off the nightstand. Surely she must have text him back in the night.
Nothing. No missed calls, no answered texts.
“Come on, Ramsey.” he grumbled into the sunlit room.
Milos: “I really just want to know you’re okay...hope to see you at work tomorrow.”
He should just go to her place, he thought. That way he would at least be able to see with his own two eyes that she was alive and safe. What if her garbage ex was in town and they’d holed up for the weekend? What if she was purposefully avoiding him?
Milos hopped out of bed, throwing on yesterday’s jeans and shirt, preparing to leave. He stopped himself as he grabbed his keys.
He couldn’t just show up unannounced (though, he’d be announced if she’d just answer her damn phone). They had been down this road before and Ramsey was so pissed last time he barged in on her. He didn’t want to have that fight again, as much as it physically pained him to leave her alone.
Sighing, he sat at his dining table, staring down at his lifeless phone.
He decided that if she didn’t show at work tomorrow, he’d go over there on his lunch break. At that point, surely she’d understand he needed to check in on her. That was his plan. Just give it till tomorrow.
--
Sunday morning and came and went, and by mid-afternoon Milos was out of ideas to keep himself busy. Ramsey consumed his thoughts, and his rage was building with every text that went unanswered. How could she do this to him? He deserved to know she was okay. And yet, he still didn’t let himself go to her apartment. Being ignored was one thing, but flat out rejection wasn’t something he could handle.
Sitting on his couch, Milos put his head in his hands, trying to calm his breathing and failing miserably. Though not unusual when his temper flared, Milos was aware his body was getting hotter by the second. In fact, it was almost a burning sensation, just on the cusp of actually hurting.
“Why does she DO THIS?!” Milos bellowed to his empty living room, slamming his fist into the glass coffee table in front of him. Immediately, he sobered. Not because of the jagged cuts in his hand now bleeding onto the carpet, but because he could have sworn that, just for a second, his fist had been red. Almost like a sunburn. And his whole body was still incredibly hot. He could feel the sweat soaking his clothes, like he was running a dangerous fever.
However, besides the blood, his hand looked normal again, so Milos shook off his momentary insanity and stood to get a broom.
--
Across from the pile of what used to be his coffee table in the corner of the living room, Milos sat and stared at his bandaged hand. He was certain it had glowed. It sounded insane, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Though he had always been quick to anger and could definitely hold his own in a fight, he had never felt so powerful. And he hardly felt his hand go through the glass. There was no pain, even now. It didn’t make any sense, but Milos was absolutely certain something weird was going on.
He flexed his arm, wondering if he could make the glow happen again, when he felt an uncomfortable sensation on his bicep. Twisting to see if he had cut himself cleaning up, Milos noticed he had been hurt, but not by glass. There was a quarter-sized burn just under his bicep, and it was already blistering.
He was even more confused now.
Standing in front of his mirror and going over his body in detail, Milos found no other signs of injury beyond his hand and mysterious burn. Maybe it was a type of rug burn from the fabric of his couch? Maybe he had done it earlier in the day, and just noticed it? Surely there was an explanation.
But, he also remembered the intense heat he had felt earlier, the burning sensation that seemed to come from him, rather than happen to him.
Had he burned himself?
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