I spin, heart nearly pounding out of my chest, and I stagger toward the door. The concrete is cold on my feet as I cough and sway toward it, blindly searching the space in front of me with both hands.
I’m dizzy, I?—
I fall, tripping over … oh, gosh, a body. On my hands and knees, I squint, taking in Juliette’s body crumpled on the floor beside me. Her eyes are closed, chest still moving, and loudly I scream at her. “Juliette! Wake up!”
Pressure builds behind my eyes as I fight the tears from both the smoke and the knife-like pain clawing at my lungs. I glance back toward the line of beds and at the girls scattered along the floor or draped across the mattresses. Disoriented, I grope for Juliette’s limp limbs. I eye the door. I can’t leave her here. She’s deadweight, but I grab both her hands and pull her arms overhead. Inch by inch, I work toward the door. I slip, stumbling back on the cold tile, but quickly stand and press on.
More gas seeps in through the vents in the ceiling, milky and unfurling over the edges of the room. Panting, I listen as the screams become fewer, and only the sound of my own sobs and ragged wet breath keeps me company.
When I reach the door, I let go of Juliette, her body slapping to the floor, and I slam my fist against it. “Help!” I cry. “Please!” Once. Twice. Over and over, I rap on the door, pounding, screaming, and slowly drowning in a cloud of smoke. “Help us! Let us out!”
Can they hear me? Am I saying it out loud, or is my mouth moving and nothing is coming out? The more I try to speak, the more numb my mouth feels.Help! Please! Get us out of here!
My arms follow. Numb.
Please … Slade?
My body sways, and I fall into the steel door. It doesn’t budge as I sink to the ground, reaching out one last time to shake Juliette.
Everything slows.
I no longer hear my voice, the screams, or the repetitive robotic voice. I blink once.Stay open, I plead with my eyes, but my head lolls against the door instead. With one last fight, my body goes numb, and I crumble to the floor.
My mother died in a car accident. It was the end of July, my junior year of high school, and the weather was warm, perfect even. I was working down the street at a run-down snow cone shack plopped in a blanket of gravel like an afterthought. Grimy green coated the aqua siding, but inside, everything gleamed, and the neighborhood kids flocked to the sticky treats like magnets.
I was collapsing the rainbow-striped umbrellas over the well-worn tables when a police cruiser pulled up. We didn’t get much notice from law enforcement, and they avoided our neighborhood, so their presence was curious, but I smiled.
I’ve heard stories of people “knowing” something was wrong. That they were suddenly overcome with a feeling of dread, or a pit formed in their stomachs, but I was oblivious to the news they were about to deliver. Instead, I raised my hand and told them we’d be open for another five minutes.
They told me she had been pronounced dead at the scene of the accident while I flipped the sign from OPEN to CLOSED. They’d tried to notify Phil but couldn’t get ahold of him. I guess he wasn’t at his usual bar. While I blame Phil for many things, her accident wasn’t one of them.
I wish there were someonetoblame. A drunk driver. Brake failure. Road conditions. Anything to point at and say, “This is what took her from me.” But there wasn’t. It was just a turn too sharp, a guardrail too close, and a crumpled car. They referred to it as tragic but clean. No one’s fault. And I hate that.
I hate how easy it was. How it just … happened. There’s no justice to chase, no retribution to fuel me, and no guilt to mask the grief. I’m left empty, wanting my mom.
I roll over. Today is the anniversary of her death, or it should be. I’ve lost track of time, and I don’t want to get up. I reach for the covers, but?—
Hard, slick flooring squeaks as I shift, my thigh dragging across the shiny wood.
Wood. Not mattress.
What? Wait—there was smoke, and … I can breathe. I gulp in a lungful of air and bolt up, my body moving sluggishly, but moving. I’m moving.
“Ugh. I’ve been waiting for you to get up. You must’ve gotten knocked out after me.”
I blink, registering Juliette’s voice from across the room. She rests with her back pressed against a red velvet-covered wall, her knees pulled into her chest with an annoyed expression etched onto her face by her perfectly waxed brows.
“Wh-what’s going on? Where is everyone?”
She rolls her eyes and shrugs her shoulders, snarled hair bunching on top of them.
I scan the room. It reminds me of the one where they kept me before Slade came for me. This time, Juliette waits with me, and she’s … dressed?
I glance down and shudder, as if my body is now catching up to the fact that I’m nearly naked. Red silk underwear clings where it shouldn’t, and a sheer bralette offers little coverage from the chilled air. Smacking my arms around my chest, I hug myself.
“Please. Not like I haven’t seen you before.” Juliette snorts.
“I-I don’t understand.”
