Part I: The present.
Her face pressed hard against the warm window of the pizza place as the flow of saliva flooded her mouth with a gush. Sal glanced around, sure everyone passing could see the river of drool as it swept past her glands. A gloved hand quickly wiped the imagined overflow from her chin, but as she glanced down to the pristine white there was no trace of moisture. Not a drop nor a mark.
Pizza was her weakness, the one food she classed as pure comfort. Sal felt it linked back to her Grandpa Sol and their favourite story, Gio's Pizza. It was tradition in the Jones household to read it every night the grandchildren came to stay. As one of fourteen, and the only one of the grandchildren to live with Grandpa Sol and Grandma Jo, it meant Sal heard the story at least twice a week for many of her formative years. Grandpa Sol even looked like Gio Fabrizza.
One of the many, hers was merely a face in the crowd of children of their children. But whilst the story was shared amongst the fourteen of them, the recipe at the back and the special nights cooking pizza in the old timber-burning oven were her's and Sol's alone. A treat only they shared, a special bond. Private. Those were the nights Grandma Jo was at her prayer meeting, and if she ever wondered about the lingering odour of oregano, cheese and garlic it was never mentioned. Not once in the eight years Sal lived in their home.
Pizza remained her solace today but her widening waistline and shrinking wallet meant it was a rare indulgence. Something to be enjoyed only on the scarce special occasion when a celebration was warranted. Sal hadn't had pizza in over a year.
She allowed herself one last lingering look before turning away, forcing the urges back, dampening the craving down. Fighting her need. She walked away, a solitary, slouched figure lost in memories.
Part II: The past.
She crammed the last glorious piece of pizza into her already overfilled mouth. The smell saturated her senses, the taste provoked orgasms of pleasure all through her body, but all the while the protesting crackle of flames reminded her she needed to leave before it was too late. She slowly licked the grease from her fingers.
Sal allowed herself one last lingering glance around what was her home. The place she had visited as a child with her mother, the house she was welcomed into after her mother's suicide, the rooms that had witnessed the pizza nights, her special nights with Grandpa Sol.
"His pizzas are fantastic
There's none that can compare
If you have the luck to try one
You'll never want to share!"
Sal was sick of sharing. So tired of the others crowding her, coming and going as they pleased, only staying for a little, enough to disrupt her life, then heading on back to their mothers and fathers and nice, cosy, safe lives.
Her special nights with Sol had lost their lustre. Appeal had shrunk as she hit her teenage years and puberty beckoned. Needs changed.
Sal wiped her greasy fingers on Grandma Jo's apron before picking up her backpack. It was sad to think all her worldly goods fitted snugly into the one bag, fourteen years of life crammed into the canvas covers.
The flames began to crackle louder as if protesting her departure, alone in their complaint. Not another sound nor argument heard.
The roar of the fire prompted her to say her farewells. "Night Grandpa Sol, night Grandma Jo."
No more special pizza nights with Grandpa Sol, this was the last.
Sal stepped over the bloody bodies of her grandparents, glancing down at Grandpa Sol's favourite pizza knife still embedded in his back. No more was she his special girl, no more would he lovingly caress her as he had whilst they waited for the pizza to cook. Never again would he murmer she was his sexy little secret girl. She hadn't heard those words for a while now.
She had sensed Grandpa Sol's revulsion when he looked at her naked, her budding breasts, her developing curves. He was going to leave her even though he had promised not to. He had promised many things over the years, none he had delivered.
As she pulled the door shut the sounds of burning quietened. Sal walked away without a backward glance, not even as the house erupted in flaming splendour.