“Look, I don’t want to be a pain, but I’ve been in enough hospitals. I’ve lived in one for months. I’m not going back unless I’m bleeding out or flatlining. And since I’m neither, you can treat me here.”
There’s a tense silence until he relents with a slow nod, muttering something under his breath as he adjusts the oxygen line and the saline drip. I sag back against the stretcher, phone still clutched in one hand, heart beginning to settle. I suppose it’s time to put Thiago out of his misery.
Meg:Stop panicking, I’m fine.
Thi:I located you twenty minutes ago. There’s a camera on the block across the street from your ambulance.
My eyes drift upwards. If there is a camera, I can’t see it from my angle, but a bitter laugh escapes me anyway.
Meg:Good to know I risked my life retrieving my phone for nothing.
Thi:What were you thinking putting yourself in danger like that?
Meg:I wasn’t thinking. I just acted. I didn’t want you to think I was ignoring you.
Yes, typing it out now seems like the dumbest thing in the world, but I wasn’t in the right frame of mind for logical thinking. I was in pain, emotionally scarred by the asshole who stole my life from me and clinging onto my last thread of comfort. Licking my cracked lips, I pull the blanket tighter around me as Thiago types out his reply.
Thi:In what world did you think I wouldn’t find you?
I swallow, and it hurts. A twinge of heat touches my cheeks and it has nothing to do with my recent encounter with the fire that can still be felt in the air.
Meg:Yeah, well, the idea of jumping around in front of the CCTV in hopes that you’d notice didn’t seem appealing to me.
Thi:Trust me, I’d notice. There’s nowhere you can go that I won’t look.
Meg:When you say it like that, sounds kinda creepy.
Thi:Haven’t you heard? Stalking is the new chivalry.
I snort a laugh to myself, letting the humor drown out the tremors of pain I can’t quite shake.
Thi:And you love it.
I put my phone down before this boy causes me to have an aneurysm and the medic has a real reason to cart me off to the hospital. The silence that follows buzzes in my ears, louder than the distant sirens still wailing across campus. I let my head drop back against the thin stretcher cushion and exhale through parted lips, trying to unclench my jaw. The oxygen stings my lungs, but it helps.
“Okay, your vitals are good,” the medic announces. “As long as you’re sure there isn’t a tight pain in your chest or any lingering migraines I should know about?” I shake my head, and the lingering migraine I’m concealing punishes me for it. He nods and removes my cannula, giving me strict instructions to not be alone or to fall asleep within the next few hours. I accept his advice and the offered prescription slip for some hardcore painkillers, and exit the ambulance.
I feel both the medic’s and Thiago’s intent stares watching over me as I force one foot in front of the other. The ambulance doors slam closed just as another question comes to mind. I turn around too quickly and stumble sideways in time to watch the vehicle veer off down the road.
Did the medic say who pulled me out of the building?
The sky is beginning to haze into a washed-out amber, the sun caught behind clouds of smoke that still trail from the wreckage it’s caused. People are gathered in clusters behindcaution tape, their voices little more than murmurs. Some are filming. Some are crying, whilst others are pretending they weren’t cheering when I lost to Everest an hour or so ago.
I close my eyes, for a second. My phone vibrates again in my hand, but I don't lift it yet. I concentrate on moving forward, ignoring the stares and working my way back towards my room. Of all of the ways I thought today would turn out, this wasn’t one of them. The scent of smoke reeks from my jersey, the silver blanket rustles every time I move and the feeling of oxygen in my chest doesn’t quite belong to me. It’s as if I’ve borrowed air and time from a world that’s been trying to erase me piece by piece.
The walk back is torturous, only the thought of a shower helping to power me onward. The fire must be under control, as fire engines begin to leave and people start to disperse. The show is over, but the question remains. How did it even start?
Through pure stubbornness, I make it back to the apartment block, steal a pastry that was left on the counter in the kitchen and enter the communal bathroom. The sight in the mirror would be enough to scare a school of young children. There are black smears on my face, my hair is sticking out in all directions, the sweat on my skin has molted as it’s dried and my eyes are so dark, they look bruised. I quickly turn away, strip and step into the most blissful shower I’ve ever had.
I stand under the spray for as long as my legs will hold me, willing the water to wash away everything that is wrong with me. If only I could get a grip on myself, I might be able to bring back the girl who used to move through life without effort. I always had a smile and a sarcastic comment at the ready. My skin was so thick, nothing fazed me. Now, everything feels so much more overwhelming. Every thought is louder and my self-esteem is being dragged through the dirt. None of which will be fixed by draining all of the hot water from the tank.
After scrubbing my skin until it’s pink and shampooing my hair multiple times with someone else’s products, I don a stranger’s towel for the walk to my room down the hall. It’s quiet, thankfully, as I pad on bare feet, my ruined sportswear and phone bundled under my arm. Just as I pass my neighboring apartment, noting how the rock music is leaking through the walls, the door swings open and I freeze. Not because I’m naked and dripping wet, but because I’m probably hallucinating.
A man stands there, around a foot taller than me, lean and faintly muscled. Paint stains his baggy sleeveless t-shirt, chains hang from his flared jeans. Tattoos coat his skin, knuckles to biceps, and there’s a silver ring circling the side of his bottom lip. Gray, stormy eyes stare out from beneath a flare of stark-white hair, trapped beneath the confines of a beanie hat.
“You!” I shriek. He doesn’t react, except for a slight hitch of his brow. “You were at the rehab facility with me. You were in my therapy sessions. Are you…are you following me?” This earns an eye roll, and his Adam’s apple bobs before he speaks.
“Do you always think the world revolves around you?”
