Chapter Six
There’s a distant beeping somewhere. It lures me toward consciousness like a slow pull through water.
From beneath an oxygen mask, my tongue is thick, stuck to the roof of my mouth, and my throat burns.
I shift slightly to feel the tug of something at the crook of my arm.
I blink against the fluorescent lights overhead, too bright and too sterile, squinting until my eyes adjust to the dull blur of the inside of an ambulance. Panic stabs me square in the chest.
I sit up too fast, and my stomach lurches. Breath clouds the mask, sawing with each inhale and exhale. A sharp sting cuts through the side of my head like someone’s driving a needle straight into my temple. An EMT immediately puts a hand on my shoulder.
“Easy, you’re okay,” he says, but his voice is just another throb against my skull.
“You’re dehydrated, with smoke inhalation and a mild concussion.
You were lucky someone pulled you out in time.
” I shake his hand off, frowning at the cannula pushed into my arm. The tubing is hooked up to an IV bag.
Beyond the open ambulance doors, fire engines are attending to the fire in the stadium.
I’m too far away to see the flames being targeted by streams of water from hoses, but the smoke is brutal.
Heavy plumes are rising into the sky and polluting the clouds.
Only an idiot would willingly run into it, and I’m that idiot.
“Where is my phone?” I shift the mask aside to rasp, ignoring my shiver from beneath the silver blanket wrapped around my shoulders. The medic frowns, glancing behind him.
“We took it from you in case it got damaged. I’ll get it, but—”
“I need it,” I wheeze, reaching a hand out expectantly and then remember myself. “Please, I just need to let someone know I’m okay.”
He must sense my desperation, because he doesn’t argue.
I didn’t even have to tell him I nearly died to retrieve that phone.
He moves to the bench beside the stretcher, rummaging through a small plastic bag until he pulls it out and hands it over.
I snatch it whilst he realigns the oxygen mask with my nose and mouth, and clutch it like my next breath depends on the screen lighting up.
I could sob at the sight of the wallpaper, a motivational quote that Thiago sent over and I put it there as a reminder.
‘I’m with you every step of the way.’
I snort every time I see it, because it’s true.
He’s usually stalking me every step of the way.
Steadying my hand, I pull open the message app.
My chest feels too tight, like it might split open with the pressure building behind my ribs.
The notifications are piling up. Seven missed calls, four texts and a thinly veiled threat.
Thi: Hey Megs, how did try-outs go? I have a gif ready for either scenario.
Thi: Meg, I’ve seen reports of a fire. Where are you?
Thi: You’d better answer me or I swear to god, I’ll be on the next bus.
Thi: Megan O’Connor. We’re about to have a serious problem here. Call me.
As I’m glancing over the words, another message comes through, this one from an unknown number.
Anon: Next time you feel like a suicide mission, leave me out of it.
A delirious laugh slips out of me. There’s only one person that could be, and I can’t tell if he’s serious or just trying to goad me. I didn’t ask Everest to follow me into the flames. In fact, I bluntly told him to leave. Speaking of which, I lift the oxygen mask from my face again.
“Excuse me,” I ask the paramedic who’s checking my vitals. “Where’s the guy I was passed out next to?” I know I shouldn’t care, but if he’s texting me, and if he’s lucid enough to be angry, then he obviously doesn’t feel like he’s been run over with a truck as I do.
The medic blinks a few times. “Oh, he was pulled out just before you. No serious injuries. Campus insisted he be transferred to a private clinic uptown. One of the trustees called it in.”
Of course they did. The son of their biggest investor was injured on site. The academy is probably already discussing how they will sweep this under the rug and keep Everest’s parents pacified.
I stare at the ceiling, the lights blurring again. My body is wrecked. My throat feels like ash. But I’m alive enough to push back against the lap belt that the medic tries to strap over my middle. He chews on his inner cheek, seeming bored of my attitude.
“We’re taking you to Hollowbrook General. They’ll want to run some tests—”
“No.” I twist to face him, voice stronger now. “I’m not going to another hospital.” He purses his lips and we enter into a stalemate worthy of champions. I start debating whether the guy even has eyelids when he sighs.
“You inhaled a lot of smoke. You need proper oxygenation and it’s protocol that we take you for some observations.” He raises a dark brow beneath the peppered hair fanning his forehead. I match his stare with one just as hard, despite being the one on the stretcher.
“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 behind caution 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.