Page 1 of Burning Obsession

Prologue

Iwake to a shrill, relentlessly repetitive beeping that cuts through my sleep like a knife. For one blissfully stupid moment, I think it’s my phone alarm, so I reach my hand out toward the nightstand to turn it off.

I fumble around for my phone, my eyes closed, the effects of sleep still lingering as I tap the screen from muscle memory.

I nuzzle my face deeper into my pillow, my body not yet ready to get up and start the day.

Five more minutes…

That's all I need, just a few more minutes of extra sleep. I’ve got a busy day today, and I need to be fully alert.

Then another blaring alarm sounds.

What the fuck!? Why am I still so tired? I just hit the snooze button. At least that’s what it feels like.

My eyes slowly open, and there’s nothing but darkness. No warm sunlight shining through the window to brighten my way.

Did I set my alarm for the wrong time? Am I going insane?

But the blaring keeps going. There’s no stopping it no matter what I do. And for a minute I know I must be going crazy, because it’s not my phone.

What the hell is going on?

I throw the comforter off of me and swing my legs over the side of the bed as I sit up. The sudden movement makes my head spin, and I have to sit there for a moment to soothe the dizziness.

My eyes scan the room, the very hazy room. Blinking, I try to focus, but my head and chest feel heavy.

It’s so smoky that my lungs and nose burn.

Smoke... Why is there so much smoke?

The realization slams into me and I’m instantly awake.

Alarm.

Smoke.

There’s a fucking fire, and I’m just sitting here like something’s burning in my oven. Like my life isn’t in danger.

Bar-B-Que anyone?

"What the—" I don’t even get to finish speaking before spiraling into a coughing fit so violent that it has me doubling over. My lungs seize, refusing to cooperate. Every breath feels like I’m inhaling razor blades.

I need to get out of here. Fast. My body moves on autopilot as I stand up, but I don’t realize my comforter has fallen to the floor, so I don’t register how my foot catches in it, only that the entanglement causes me to trip. I take a few steps, trying to catch my balance, but there’s nothing for me to grasp.

News flash. I lose my balance even more, pitching forward and my shoulder slams right into the nightstand before my knees buckle and I hit the floor with a heavy thud.

Better my shoulder than my face, I guess.

"Fuck," I growl before coughing up a storm once more. I can’t catch my breath, and it’s like the world is conspiring against me as I try my hardest to get out of this burning death trap.

I take a deep breath; well, as deep as I can manage without hacking up a lung, which isn’t as easy as it sounds.

Come on. Think!

What am I supposed to do in a fire? It’s not like we didn’t have those damn drills in elementary school all the time, but that was ages ago, and I’m an adult. And this isn’t fucking school!

Still, I run through everything I can remember from what’s been ingrained in me. Stay low. Wet a towel and place it at the base of the door. Cover your mouth with a wet towel. Do I open windows? Or does that feed the fire?