Page 50 of The Death of Kisses

“Charlie,” her eyes snapped open wide, a sputter of a cough escaped her lips. My heart clenched in my chest as I sighed sharply, pulling her upright with a gentle but firm grip.

“Come on, we have to get out of here,” I whispered urgently, reckless with adrenaline. Without hesitation, I swept her into my arms, cradling her legs around my waist as I propelled us through the inferno that was the burning warehouse. My feet seemed to dance with the flames, burning yet unyielding, but I didn’t care. Nothing mattered more than surviving this chaos, this nightmare.

Ahead, the flashing lights beckoned like a distant salvation, and I summoned every ounce of strength I had, moving toward them as if my very breath depended on it—because it did. The piercing cold of the air hit my face like a balm of relief, cutting through the smoke and heat, a fleeting taste of hope. Firemen’s shouts rang out around us, chaotic and loud, as they moved to surround us. I clutch onto Anna’s hand with everything I have, fighting against the confusion and the pain, refusing to let go.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. We’re going to take care of you both,” a voice warm and compassionate, like a beacon of hope amid the darkness. A gentle smile from a kind woman tried to soothe the storm inside me, but my breath hitched—my chest too tight, my heart pounding—struggling just to breathe.

Suddenly, a mask was pressed over my face, cool and soothing, and my body surrendered as I was gently lowered into someone’s arms. My eyelids fluttered involuntarily, fighting to keep consciousness in this suffocating moment of uncertainty and fear.

I frantically scanned the chaos, desperate to find Anna, my heart pounding with every frantic beat. Suddenly, my eyes caught Lee—powerful and fierce—rushing forward, his hair plastered to his temples as if he'd driven through a storm. Breathless, trembling with fear and fury, he charged ahead, unwavering.

“Charlie!” he shouted with a protective rage, punching a firefighter who dared to block his way, as if he was willing to fight the world to reach me. Tears blurred my vision, and I sobbed uncontrollably, feeling the warm strength of my big brother’s arms wrapping around me, pulling me into a haven that only he could provide, my tears soaking into his chest like a storm breaking inside me.

“If you weren’t already dying, I swear I’d end you myself,” he joked, his voice thick with anguish, gently soothing my damp hair against his chest. I pressed into him, crying like I had a thousand times before, my little solace in the havoc, as they finally wheeled me away into the waiting ambulance—my heart shards aching, longing for comfort, fighting to hold onto hope.

38

LIES

Present day - November 8th - Town of PineRidge - Population 5024 - 18 yr old

The moment my eyes fluttered open, I was immediately captured by Charlie’s blazing, vibrant stare—full of something untamed. A crooked, lopsided smile curved across her face as she stood in the doorway, like she was trying to anchor herself, to hold on. The sound returned next—a slow, steady beeping of the heart monitor that, in its rhythm, echoed the pounding in my chest. I turned my head and saw Dad sitting nearby, slumped in a chair, deep in sleep—yet his hand was clutching mine so tightly, as if he’d never let go.

In that instant, I instinctively pulled my hand away, and almost immediately, Dad jolted awake, his eyes wide with dread.

“What happened?” I rasped as if I’d been screaming into an endless void, no relief in sight.

Charlie’s voice was slow, calm, almost too steady. “There was a fire. I pulled you out of the flames, but we couldn’t save Jake.” Her words cut through me, each syllable heavy with pain, as tears blurred my vision, and my mind flashed back to that terrible night—the orange glow, the sinister, sickening laugh echoing in the darkness.

I remembered Charlie, the game, the hunt… but yet, my mind faltered on the obstacle I never saw coming. Jake. The name burned fiercely in my mind, a silent, unspoken ache.

It all felt impossible—like the ground beneath me had cracked open. “It’s okay, Annabelle,” Dad’s therapy voice floated soothingly through the chaos, gentle yet distant, trying to still the storm within me. “You don’t have to try and remember everything right now.” But tears kept falling, unstoppable.

“Anna,” Charlie snapped, her voice firm, pulling my gaze to her for a moment. For the first time, I looked at her—really saw her. Her hands wrapped in bandages, her arms bruised and scratched, her beautiful midnight hair, which seemed to go on forever—now cut short to chin-length, making her seem years older, more fragile. Her face, marked with healing bruises, leaned heavily on a crutch as she stood before me.

“I’m so sorry, so, so sorry,” I whimpered, my words tumbling over each other in a blur of pain. I was a mess, tears streaming down my face, reaching out blindly as she slowly hobbled toward me.

Her arms wrapped around my shoulders in a gentle, comforting hug. “Shh. It’s okay,” she murmured, her voice wavering but her hold steady. “It was my fault for smoking there. We didn’t know.”

Through shaky, tear-streaked eyes, I looked at her—aching with truth I couldn’t voice. I knew deep down, that wasn’t entirely true. She had taken the blame for something I had caused, and that weight pressed down on my chest with unbearable force.

Charlie and I spent another relentless week in that sterile, cold hospital room, each day stretching endlessly into the next. Her feet healed faster than anyone had dared hope, yet beneath her triumphant smile, I knew the truth—she would carry the weight of peripheral neuropathy forever, a silent reminder of our ordeal. The doctors looked at her with a strange mix of relief and wonder, telling her she was fortunate to keep her feet after everything, but I saw the flicker of numbness in her eyes, like she was already processing a heavy loss she couldn’t quite understand. She nodded, seemingly detached, like someone hearing the words but unable to truly grasp what they meant.

When they moved her closer to me, I felt a bittersweet comfort—her presence so near yet filled with a quiet ache of what was lost. Every day, she would sit by my side for hours—her voice gentle, her words tumbling about everything and nothing, as if whispering me back to life. They say Charlie saved my life that day—snatching me from death’s grip with CPR, saving me from the cold floor of that warehouse. But beneath that gratitude, I hid a darker truth—a secret I was too fragile to share, something wrong inside me that I hadn’t yet mustered the courage to confess.

The doctor’s figure appeared in the doorway, his face etched with seriousness, a heavy silence hanging in the air. “Your CT results are back,” he announced. Charlie moved to leave, instinctively reaching to comfort me, but I caught her hand, anchoring her still. His voice then cut through the quiet, gravely and unyielding. “It showed enlarged lymph nodes.”

The room fell silent, Dad frowned.

Charlie looked at me with confusion morphing on her face, “Anna?”

Those words didn’t shock me, they made the lie simply impossible to keep.

“I already knew,” I uttered.

Dad turned slowly toward me, his face shadowed with worry.

Charlie froze, her eyes searching mine. “What do you mean?” she whispered, trembling with uncertainty.