Page 62 of January Bell

Zan runs slightly hotter, has been this whole time, but now? Now he’s like an inferno.

“Stop,” I say. “You don’t have to do whatever this is⁠—”

Ignoring me, he takes a deep breath, fire licking across his tongue, across his mouth, the smell of burning flesh singeing my nostrils.

I still know fuck all about the draegon alien race, but it doesn’t take a genius to see that this dude is about to breathe fire.

I mean, there have been draegons in human media for as long as I can remember. Not that I’m a historian, but looking at his body and what’s already happening, I can guarantee that he’s not built for whatever magical shit draegons actually do when they breathe fire.

Not to mention that he also is doing the whole self-sacrifice thing to a tee, and it is absolutely enraging me.

If I could breathe fire right now, I would.

I step in front of him, waving my arms and making sure that he sees me.

“Do not do what I think you’re about to do.”

“Step aside,” he says, smoke curling from his mouth, his throat glowing a bright purple-red.

That should be impossible.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says.

“You dying will hurt me!” I scream at him.

A zombie shambles close, and I punch it in the face, my hand smacking against rotting flesh as it falls back to the ground.

I turn my attention back to Zan.

He starts to hook his arm around my shoulder to push me out of the way, a desperate glow in his eyes that matches the fire now searing through his chest and arms.

“I love you,” I tell him. “I love you, you absolute fucking asshole. I swear to God, if you incinerate yourself right now to save me, I will figure out a way to bring you back to life⁠—”

I tackle him.

The time for words is over; I throw myself on top of his body just as he inhales.

My skin bubbles, pain unlike anything I’ve ever felt rocketing through me, overloading my brain.

And then it’s blessedly cool.

I look around from where I feel like I’m adhered to his chest.

It’s as if time stands still, and I wonder if this is what it’s like to die.

But the pain hasn’t stopped.

Shouldn’t the pain be gone if I’m dead?

How am I able to look around?

The weird corpses seem to be dissolving before my eyes, the IKEA labyrinth itself slowly disappearing.

Then it feels like a hook grabs me under my lungs, into my diaphragm, around my spine, pulling me forward.

I tighten my grasp on Zan’s body, because wherever it is that I’m going right now, I don’t want to go there without him.

And you better believe I’m going to tear him a new one for sacrificing himself to save me in this stupid-ass reality TV show we signed up for when I was drunk.

Nobody gets to sacrifice themselves for me, especially not when I love them.