Rebecca
“Fire!” I shriek, my voice cracking. “Help! Fire in the kitchen!”
Heavy footsteps pound down the hallway. Igor appears in the doorway, his massive frame silhouetted against the smoke. His face contorts from annoyance to alarm in the space of a heartbeat.
“f*****g hell!” he barks, rushing into the kitchen. His eyes take in the scene—the burning cabinets, the oil fire still raging on the stove, me pressed against the far wall looking terrified. “What did you do?”
“I—I don’t know what happened,” I stammer, playing the role of the panicked housewife. “It just—the oil caught fire, I tried to stop it—”
Igor curses again, flicking the gas off using the switch at the wall. He shoves past me, his shoulder knocking me back a step. The contact is rough, dismissive. He’s forgotten about m
