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I grab a blanket from the only chair that isn’t on fire yet, and like I saw in a movie once, I cross to where she is.
“You’re crazy, Zoe! Go away! We’ll both die! Save yourself!”
“Not without you.”
I feel the heat of the fire on my legs but force myself to keep going until her hand takes mine.
We are both crying.
“You are crazy, Zoe! Why are you doing this?”
“I would never leave you.”
We start to make our way to the exit, and even though I am dizzy, in pain, and out of breath, I can already see people outside and firemen coming in. But then, like in a nightmare, a heavy beam falls in front of us, and everything turns red. The world is a fireball.
Screams, crying, and sirens confirm I’m still alive. My eyelids flutter as I try to open my eyes, but it’s like they’re glued together. My legs burn.
Voices come and go. Somehow, I know I’m outside.
I never liked open spaces. It’s not agoraphobia, but I prefer places where I feel protected.
They’re moving me, and there’s an oxygen mask over my face.
I try to recall what happened, but it’s all very confusing.
“She’s responding!” a voice announces next to me.
“Great! She’s too pretty to die young.”
“You’re kidding, right? Pretty? The woman is beautiful! This is Zoe Turner, the top model!”
I feel a hand on my face, pushing back my hair.
“Jesus, it’s really her! I didn’t recognize her because of the smoke. She is very lucky that her face wasn’t damaged. It would have been a crime if she hadn’t managed to escape.”
At the mention of the wordfire, my memory starts to come back.
The fire, my parents. Bia telling me that Mike did it.
Where is my family? Nurse Ann? My friend?
I remember going into the house to try to save her and the beam falling down in front of us. Then, before my vision turned black, the terrified look on the face of the woman who has become one of my cornerstones.
If everyone leaves me, it will be my fault. And as punishment, I will be alone forever.
Christos
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
BOSTON
I grewup listening to my mom say that phone calls in the middle of the night are never good news.
This concept of night, for me, is relative. I’ve always slept just enough. I need only a few hours of sleep to feel energized, so it’s not a problem when the phone rings at almost one o’clock in the morning but rather who is calling.
Beau.
When he calls, no matter the time, he always brings with him an ominous vibe that something bad is about to happen. He is a man of few words and never engages in social interactions without a purpose. This is especially true because we spoke twice today, which is a record for both of us.
