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“I want so badly to be mad at you, but I think my chest just got a hundred pounds lighter.”
“Good, that means you’ve got room for me on top.” I roll over Casey, parting her legs and sinking deep between them again. I’d give anything to stay crazy with this girl in my life.
I spent the night with Casey, and after a repeat session of love my way, we ordered in, completely famished for some of our favorite greasy cheesesteaks. Cheese dribbles down our chins from the tasty sandwich with fried onions, peppers and mushrooms nestled between crunchy bread rolls and thin slices of juicy meat. No matter where I’ve traveled, or what five star restaurant I’ve eaten at, there’s nothing comparable to the cheesesteaks in Philadelphia. I’d swear by them and sitting here with Casey eating my favorite food feels like home.
For a while, everything is great and peaceful. We don’t talk about all the issues hanging between us, and admittedly, I don’t want to right now. We watch reruns of old SNL episodes on her small TV, laughing and falling asleep in a tangle of limbs on her couch, pillows buffeting the rough coils that threaten to poke through. It’s simple, uncomplicated, and the best kind of date night I’ve ever had. We’re happy, and in the morning, I kiss her sweet face, brushing hair off her shoulders and letting her know I’ll call her later to plan for Wednesday. I’ve decided that today is going to be a much better day.
27
Casey
Thick smoke wraps around my throat like constricting bands of ribbon. I wake, gasping and unable to catch my breath with the heaviness crushing my throat. I’m sweaty and confused. It’s Wednesday morning, and I’m supposed to see James later today, but I’m at a loss. Struggling in the dark, I try to find my phone. The acrid smell burns my nose and produces stinging tears that blind me for a moment. The apartment is dark, and it looks like the power is out.
Finally, I find my phone and slide my finger over the screen; the time reads 4:49 a.m. It’s early for most and especially for me, given the schedule I used to keep. Disorientated, I stand up, clutching my aching head, phone clasped in my palm as I wander the apartment. Maybe I should call 911, but I want to see what I’m dealing with. The smoke is lighter here in the bedroom than it is in my living room. A deep, almost green, haze fills my apartment as lights from across the street filter into my living room with ghostly vapors. Warmth licks at my legs, and the crash and boom startle me into a crouched position on
the floor. My legs are unsteady like new born horses and my body struggles to wake up fully this early hour of the morning. I wonder if this is it as I struggle to get back up again. Glass shatters from another apartment—next door, maybe—but I’m not sure. Yelling grows outside my door, and I shake to keep myself coherent. I think there might be a fire in my building, but no alarms have gone off yet, which is strange.
Without thinking, I push the chain above my door and grab the doorknob. “Shit!” The damn thing is scalding hot! I cradle my hand against my chest while frantic energy buzzes around me. The zinging tender pain from my hand gets the adrenaline going, and numbness tingles in my fingers and toes. I need to get out of here, I need air to breath, and this is all consuming me too fast.
I look around my apartment for something to open the door and run to my bathroom to grab a towel off the rack. My hand is throbbing as I run back to the living room bare feet padding against the hardwood floor. Sweat slicks my brow as a sickening feeling comes over me. Using the towel, I jerk the door open to find the hallway filled with dark smoke. There aren't any visible flames, but that means nothing. I don’t know where the fire is, and I’m two flights up. I don’t have time to grab anything—not even shoes. I run out into smoke so thick, I double over and drop the towel. Trying to crab walk, I hurry down one flight to find the fire is on the first floor. Flames cover the cheap, thin walls and pulse upwards to where I am. Terrified, I sit there frozen.
“Come on, let’s go.” Someone behind me grabs my injured hand, pulling and jerking me forward. The pain is excruciating, and I snatch my hand back. It’s Devin, my creepy neighbor. We waste a second, our eyes locked, mine wary and unmoving. I don’t know whom I can and whom I can’t trust, but he doesn’t give me time to respond. Instead, he pulls me down the next flight of stairs, the fire surrounding us quickly.
“What the hell happened?” I yell between choking sobs.
He grabs my other hand so tightly it squeezes around my phone, pinching my fingers. “Fire on the first floor.” As we reach the foyer, we find it covered in hot flames that are dancing around our only hope of exit.
“How did this happen?” I shout.
Devin shakes his head. “No idea.”
“Oh my God, we can’t get out.” A beam from the staircase railing falls forward. I scream, and Devin pushes me back out of the way. I fall on my ass hard on the stairs, bruising my rump.
“Up. We’ll have to get to a fire escape on the next floor and jump out.”
“Are you sure? What about the staircase?” The thought of fire inching closer continues to paralyze me.
Devon gives me a look that says, resistance is futile, as he reaches for me again.
“Wait!” A whimper is my only response as he grabs me hard and drags me up. He’s the last person I want to be with right now, but I follow closely behind him, and we make our way back up through the smoke, away from the heat and flames chasing us.
Something else falls behind us and we ignore it moving forward. “This way… maybe.” He’s looking around, looking for what, I don’t know. I risk trusting him as I don’t see any of our other neighbors left inside.
“You don’t know?” I’m scared, and the only response I get is a grunt. I wonder if all his video gaming experience has given him the skills to escape a fire, and suddenly I don’t care—we’re stuck dealing with this together.
I follow Devin, and we lean against the wall, unable to see in front of us. “Why didn’t the alarm go off?” I feel like I need to say something to make sure this is really happening. My raspy voice is merely forced air coming from my dry chest.
“Shitty landlord? Dead batteries? I don’t know.” Devin’s response is gruff, and he continues pulling me along the wall. We get to a dead end in the hallway. “Stay here,” he tells me as if I was planning to run off. I’d roll my eyes, but the smoke forces me to squeeze them shut as dizziness overcomes me and I'm doubled over with a racking cough.
Devin bangs against a neighbor’s door several times before busting it open. Deliriously, I wonder if all those hours playing videos games and whacking off has given him superhuman strength.
“Come on, Casey.”
I’m barely able to follow him inside the empty apartment and to the window. “Fuck,” is all I hear Devin say before he grabs a lamp off a table and smashes it against the window. Oxygen flows through, pushing us back with cleaner air. Gasping for relief and air that doesn’t feel like cut glass when inhaled, I push forward to the fresh air.
I scramble for the hole in the window, trying to escape. “We need to get out!” Tears and emotions blind my better judgement.
“Careful, it’s not—”
