A week since she was driving down the highway, and she had to escape her car because it caught on fire and blew up.
A week since she had to run from the flames of the car so fast, and almost didn't make it out of the blast radius.
A week since she was interviewed by police and fire marshals about what happened, and she was shaking as she explained she didn't know what happened. The car must have malfunctioned, or something.
A week since she lied to the authorities, knowing exactly what happened. Knowing that green flame came out of her hands and engulfed the car, and yet she wasn't burned. She wasn't harmed. She ran from the car out of fear, and it exploded behind her, throwing her to the side of the highway road. She was lucky others didn't get hurt. She was lucky that she didn't get hurt.
But returning home that night on May 25th was the worst. She kept looking over her hands, looking for burn marks, expecting third degree burns. She didn't expect her hands to be in perfect condition. But they were. There was no evidence that everything was wrong. There was no evidence that something had happened.
And so it went like that for a week. Desperately telling herself that she would be okay, but still she'd find little fires being set off at night. A small fire in her bed sheets that she quickly put out, with a green color to the flame, and once again she was fine. The fires were small, contained, but she feared them getting larger. What would happen if she got even more emotionally unstable? What if she accidentally blew up something else? Another car? A house? Hurt someone she cared about?
No amount of telling her that it was going to be okay was working, and Eva was hiding herself in her apartment, all while pretending things were fine. She acted like her happy, bubbly self, when inside she was angry, and scared. Why was everyone else treating this like it was nothing? Why was everyone so fucking calm about this?
Because they weren't the ones able to apparently set fire to everything just by thinking about it. Because they weren't the ones waking up with their arm covered in green fire. Because they weren't the ones getting messed with mentally.
Slowly, she started to realize other parts of her body could turn to flame, and a green flame covered the body parts she thought of. Deciding to test a theory, she stepped into the shower, closed the glass door, and turned on the shower.
With a deep breath, she closed her eyes, and she imagined her whole body covered in flame.
When she opened her eyes, she was fully engulfed in it, the flames fitting her form like tight clothing, accenting her every curve. Even her hair was dancing flames, darker than the rest of her, but it didn't burn to touch. In fact, her body didn't feel any warmer than it already was.
So she did the only logical thing to do.
She screamed in terror, horrified, backing into the water to set the flames off, but they weren't going away. She was covered in flames and it wasn't going away, even as the shower rained down on her.
Eva sunk to the floor of her shower, thankful for the concrete and glass, and cried, closed her eyes and hugged her legs close to her. It wasn't until she opened her eyes again to see that the flames were completely gone, the shower was still on, and once again she was fine and unharmed.
It had been a week since everything started, and now she had to get herself together, finish packing, and head out on vacation with her friends on Saturday.
And hope and pray that while she was on the plane, nothing bad would happen that would cause an outburst of flames. Or while she was on vacation, that she didn't hurt anyone accidentally.
She finished her shower, got out, dried off, and dressed. Tried to make herself feel a little better as she started to pack. She'd have to put on a happy face and pretend that everything was fine.
She could do that.
Right?