Page 22 of No Greater Oblivion

“Dahlia, te vas a lastimar⁠—”

My breaths come in short, erratic huffs. I sit up and my entire body screams in protest, the ache in my muscles and bones burning like fire to gasoline. The machines beep and screech in tandem, only heightening the terror flooding my lungs. A sob breaks free and I yank at what I think is the wire monitoring my heart rate.

“M-my mother d-died like t-t-this. Take it off, take it off⁠—”

“Okay, all right, please. Let me do it.”

I feel the rough brush of gauze against my cheeks as he removes the oxygen mask. The pinch on my finger is relieved when he takes off the pulse oximeter. He grabs a remote on the side table and the bed rises into an upright position. Only then am I able to take in the sight of him.

“What happened to your forehead?”

He attempts a smile as he sits on the edge of the bed but it falls short. “It’s not as bad is it looks. Head injuries bleed the most because of all the blood vessels⁠—”

“I’m very concerned you know that.” I touch the side of his face and graze the edge of the bandage covering the gash above his left temple. “How?”

“There was a gas leak and one of the pipelines burst. It got out of control pretty quickly.”

Realization dawns on me. “Oh my God, I heard someone⁠—”

“Silvie came back to close the back door. Don’t worry, she’s fine. And so are you.”

“My ankle…it hurts when I move it.”

“I know. Doctor says you have to stay off it the next few weeks.” He inhales as if to say more but stops himself.

Aside from the injury to his head, he looks mostly unscathed, save the bandages on his hands and I wonder what they’re for. Black smudges on his neck and the light dusting of ash on his clothes send alarm bells ringing in the back of my mind.

“Why do you look like that?”

He avoids answering. “I’m fine. It’s nothing serious.”

I sit up in bed and grab the collar of his shirt, pinching the fabric between my fingers. Traces of soot and smoke linger behind. “Alex…don’t tell me you went inside.”

Again, he doesn’t respond.

“You went into a burning building?”

Without meeting my gaze, he says, very quietly, “You were in there.”

The room goes silent.

“No one could find you. One of the metal shelves fell and you were under it so I went in and got you.”

Words evade me. The bandages on his hands…did he lift the shelf himself? And his head. Did something fall on him? Was the ceiling caving in? I don’t remember much after the explosion. Flashes of red and black sear into my vision. People shouting, the smell of smoke, the feeling of being in a dream. I remember a fire truck…I think. Or maybe my mind is filling in the blanks because he’s already told me what happened.

He want back for me.

More than gratitude, shock, or even fear at having come so close to death, all I feel is awe. It overwhelms me, fills me, ignites the blood in my veins. Every nerve ending in my body bursts to life and goosebumps sweep over my skin, triggering a tingling sensation I can’t quite name.

I open my mouth to speak but struggle to find my voice. “I can’t believe you love me enough to do that.”

“I couldn’t imagine loving you any less.”

I know I should be conscientious of his injuries—the ones I can’t see and the aches he must be feeling—but for a moment I forget. I throw my arms around him and pull him close. He holds me so tightly my ribs cry out in protest and my lungs struggle to expand but I don’t care. I let him hold me for as long as he needs to as the tremors move through his body. I hold him through each one, reminding him that I’m here. I’m okay.

Death has never been kind to us. At early ages it ripped away, without mercy or prejudice, the most important people in our lives in the most traumatic ways possible. Hospitals remind me of Mom and the horrific way she died. Tonight must’ve reminded him of his dad and the abrupt, brutal way in which he lost him.

“Dahlia,” he whispers against my neck, fingers tangled in my hair. “Mi amor, mi vida.” He punctuates each word with a kiss. Across my jaw, the corner of my mouth, my cheek, my forehead, the tip of my nose. “I never want to be this close to losing you again.”