Page 38 of Firefly Embers

This whole building smelled of mold and something pungently vile. It had clearly been sitting vacant for a long time before the crazy fuckers who kidnapped Charlie, and subsequently Stella, started using it to stash their drugs.

POP

What the fuck?!

Fuck, why am I on the ground? Why can’t I move my legs? Why does everything feel like it’s on fire?

POP POP POP

Turning my head to the side, still stunned and confused as to why I couldn’t fucking stand up, I saw Emmanuel, Ray’s dad, standing off to the side with his pistol pointed at something or someone behind me. Everything had happened so fast, and I was trying to put the pieces together as everything unfolded around me.

Max knelt down next to me, taking my hand. Why did he look so frantic?

“Shh, it’s okay. We’ve got paramedics on the way. Don’t move,” he scolded.

Excuse me, I was the older twin here; I would do the bossing around.

I tried to move, but nothing seemed to work as it was supposed to. I pushed off the ground with my hands but immediately fell back down as agonizing pain shot through every single fiber of my core, radiating down my legs. How could I feel the pain coursing through my limbs but not lift the lifeless appendages to move?

“Max…” I started, but even my lungs hurt. Every breath felt like it was tearing my chest in two. There was no other way to describe it than a searing and scorching pain that felt like fire was consuming every piece of me and burning me from the inside out.

“No. No, you’re not giving me some lame-ass speech that I need to take care of things if you die.” Die? I was just going to ask him to help me up. “You’re not going to fucking die, do you hear me?”

“Fuck…you…” I gritted out, ready to lay into him for bossing me around but losing the steam to argue.

“It’s gonna be okay.” His promises hung heavily in the air as reality dawned on me. The pop, a gunshot, my legs… Fuck, my legs. I couldn’t move my fucking legs. What was happening?

Tears welled in my eyes, blurring my vision, as the pain—physical and emotional—gripped hold of me. A choked sob crested my lips, and it felt as if it stole every ounce of breath I had left.

“Max…” I sobbed, not caring if I looked like a whiny ass bitch. Suddenly, I was terrified, point-blank. “I can’t feel my legs.”

Fear like I’d never experienced before flooded my veins. I fought for every ragged intake of breath as my heart beat wildly in my chest. I’d been shot, and I couldn’t feel my fucking legs.

“Wade.”

The sweetest voice called to me in the haze of my dream, a frantic lilt to the words.

Was I dreaming? The nightmares had become so vivid and frequent that I sometimes had trouble deciphering whether I was actually lying on the musty floor of that warehouse or if I was snug at home in my bed.

“Wade, baby, wake up.” I could feel someone shaking me, but the pain was overwhelming. Sweat dotted my brow, and I struggled to catch my breath.

My chest was on fire, my back felt like someone had poked a cattle brand directly on it, and the screaming… Fuck, why was someone ‌screaming?

“WADE!”

At the terrified sound of her voice, I felt my senses snap back to reality. Ray stood beside the bed, tears streaming down her face, and her arms clutched tightly around her body, my shirt dwarfing her small frame.

She looked terrified, and the idea that I’d done something to cause that look gutted me.

Blinking away the haze of the nightmare, I took in my surroundings. The bedside lamp lay shattered on the floor, shards of porcelain scattered across the rug.

Sheets were strewn about as if they’d been balled up and tossed haphazardly back on the bed, tangled around my waist.

The spot where I had been lying was damp with the sweat that I could feel beading down my neck and soaking the hair at the nape.

Ray stood on the opposite side of the room now, her hands now by her sides. I didn’t miss the subtle shake in them as she warred with how to approach, and it hit me. I was the one scaring her. The screaming had been me.

“Sunshine…” I whispered, afraid to scare her further.