Page 18 of Life Or Death

JESS

One.

Two.

Three.

The numbers drift through the fog, but I don’t know why I’m counting. There’s nothing to count. No creaking headboard, no theatrical moans, no men paying my father for a turn with my mother. Just darkness and the slow, mechanical rhythm of something beeping far away.

Something heavy sits on my chest, pinning me to whatever it is I’m lying on. I want to push it off me, but I can’t move. It’s like my body belongs to someone else and it won’t respond to any command I give it.

So I continue to count, and that’s when I know something is terribly wrong.

Four.

Five.

Six.

I stopped counting like this when I left home—when I didn’t have to hide in closets anymore or worry if the men my mother was pleasuring would look for me to blow them next.

Suddenly the beeping noise grows louder, and I’m engulfed by heat. It intensifies, and I feel it licking at my legs, crawling up my skin. The mechanical bull crashes down, and I can’t move as the fire races toward me.

It’s a nightmare I’m desperate to escape, yet I can’t, and I become fully aware of why I’m counting.

Seven.

Eight.

The flames are on me now, melting my skin. I scream, or at least I think I do, but the sound gets swallowed by the roar of the fire and the shattering of glass. The pain is everywhere. It’s in my legs, my chest, my lungs. Smoke fills my throat, thick, black, and suffocating. I can’t breathe.

Nine.

My eyes jolt open, and I’m greeted by a blur of bright lights that temporarily blind me. I try to gasp, but there is something lodged in my throat, choking me. My body bucks on instinct as I claw at the air, my fingers finding nothing to grip.

Fear floods every cell in my body. I can’t breathe. I can’t scream. It feels like I’m drowning and the more I struggle, the more the thing in my throat seems to fight back.

“Mrs. Holland! Mrs. Holland, you need to calm down.”

Mrs. Holland?

I don’t know who Mrs. Holland is, but I really wish they’d stop calling out for her and concentrate on me.

Help me. Please.

Someone.

Anyone.

Ten.

Eleven.

Twelve.

Help me!

Pain continues to radiate from my legs. It crawls viciously up through my hips and settles deep in my bones. My skin feels like it’s being peeled back and salted, every nerve protesting in unison. It’s so intense that my vision blurs for a second, and when it comes back, there are faces hovering above me. Strangers in blue scrubs and white coats, their mouths move, but their voices are muffled.