I screamed and pleaded, but he walked into the flames.
I jerked awake violently, sweat pouring from my skin, gasping for air, and I rolled off the bed, hitting the floor with a dull thud that sent sharp pain through my knees and hands. My heart thundered as panic gripped me as I crawled toward the bathroom, my breathing shallow and ragged as the room spun around me, and I barely made it in time. I collapsed onto my knees beside the toilet, gripping the cold porcelain, and acid burned my throat. I retched until there was nothing left, leaving me sobbing helplessly, tears streaming down my face, mixing with the bitter taste of bile and sweat dripping onto my shaking hands.
“Marcus,” I sobbed, panic gripping me.I can’t breathe.With trembling hands, I crawled to the phone beside my bed, fumbling to press “0” for the office. Someone picked up immediately, but it wasn’t Marcus’s familiar voice; it was Carl, the accounts guy.
“Everything okay, Tyler?” Carl asked, concern evident in his tone.
“I—I need Marcus,” I stammered, my voice shaky and uncertain. “Can you call him? Can you tell him… I need Marcus, please…”
“I’ve messaged him,” Carl reassured me. Therewas a brief pause, and his voice lowered. “Is this a medical emergency?”
A wave of shame surged through me, burning hotter than the fire in my dream. “No, it’s not… I’m just… I need to see Marcus.”
“Tyler? You’re okay,” Carl said, his tone calming. “Marcus is on his way. Just stay put and listen for his knock, okay? You’re not alone. Stay on the line, okay?”
It could have been a minute or ten—time stretched into an endless blur. Carl’s steady voice filled the silence, weaving a sweet story about kittens. Something about Jazz rescuing them, Alex helping at the shelter, and tiny creatures curled in blankets—none of it made sense or mattered. His words flowed around me like gentle waves, becoming white noise, a comforting distraction from the chaos in my mind.
Just as I started to lose myself in the soothing drone, a firm knock on the door jolted me into action. My heart surged in relief. “He’s here,” I whispered hoarse and exhausted, ending the call fast and scrambling to my feet. I rushed to the door, fingers fumbling as I yanked it open.
Marcus stood on the threshold, wearing rumpled sweatpants and a faded T-shirt covered incheerful rainbows. His hair was mussed, sticking out in all directions as if he’d dragged his fingers through it on the way over. His eyes were wide and bright, their usual warmth replaced with concern, his gaze darting over me, searching for signs of injury or distress. A pillow crease lingered down one cheek, evidence he’d rushed straight here from sleep, driven by the urgency of the call at the ass end of the morning. His stance was tense yet ready; the medical bag clutched in his hands; his entire body radiating readiness to help, act, and protect.
“Tyler? Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
I stared at him, unable to speak. Tears streamed unchecked down my face, but seeing him there, solid and real, eased my fear.
Marcus is alive.
He isn’t burned.
“You’re okay,” I managed to choke out.
“Tyler? Tyler!” Marcus called, snapping me from the nightmare. His voice was urgent but steady. “Can I come in?”
“Please.” I stepped back and tripped, stumbling over the heap of clothes I’d abandoned earlier in my exhaustion. Marcus moved fast, catching my arm. Without letting go, he shut the door behind him.
This wasn’t the smiling Marcus who had playfully asked me out on a date. This Marcus was serious, his expression focused. He guided me gently, but firmly, to the chair by my desk, turning it toward me, making it easier for me to sit as my legs shook uncontrollably.
“I just need to check you over, okay?” Marcus murmured. He pulled out his stethoscope and pressed it against my chest. Then, he touched my wrist, his fingertips cool on my overheated skin. He listened, his eyes narrowed in concentration, before placing a small device on my finger, which pinched.
Marcus’s expression was solemn as he assessed the readings. He reached for his phone, maintaining a steadying hand on my shoulder. “I need to call this in, okay?”
I nodded. Everything was disconnected. I heard Marcus talking to Carl, his voice low and efficient. He relayed my condition, giving details in a calm tone. Terms floated past my awareness:“tachycardia,”“elevated heart rate,”and“hyperventilation.”His tone was precise and measured. “I’ll monitor.”
Marcus returned his full attention to me, adjusting the pulse oximeter and rechecking the readings, murmuring to himself.
“Tyler, you’re having a panic attack,” heexplained, keeping his voice steady and comforting. “You’re safe now. I’m right here with you. We’ll sit together until this passes, okay?”
I stared ahead, his words registering slowly. “Okay.”
This was reality. I was back here in this room, and it was real. Marcus was right here beside me, and he wasn’t burned or harmed—he was safe, alive, and holding my hand in his own.
His voice was firm, grounding me. “Tyler, focus with me. Can you tell me five things you see?”
I blinked, struggling at first to gather my thoughts. “I—I see the desk. The lamp.” My gaze flickered around the room. My breathing was still ragged but calming as I named familiar things: “My shoes on the floor, the blue drapes… and you.”
Marcus nodded encouragingly, squeezing my hand gently. “Good. Now, four things you can feel.”
I took a deep breath. “The chair, my sweatpants, the pinch on my finger.” My voice trembled as I continued, “Your hand.” I laced my fingers through his, gripping hard. I knew what came next. “I can smell—” I wrinkled my nose, embarrassed, my face heating with shame. “I’m sorry, I was sick.”
