Do Not Disturb
Page 93
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“Fire and medical, please update me to your status in regards to Twenty-three Prestwick Place.”
The crackle and pop of empty air.
“Um… Captain Scott here with Engine Twenty-nine. Looks like a chemical explosion of some sort. Whole house is up right now. We’re working on containing the blaze and locating any survivors. One female found, in front of the blaze.” His words are cut off by a scream, a scream that—even through the miles, through the distortion and feedback of the radio—is haunting in its anguish. Mike grips the desk, listens to that scream, his heart rising and falling in one quick roller-coaster ride as it vibrates through the room.
CHAPTER 111
I AM CARRIED away from Jeremy’s house, my legs dragging at the dirt, my body limp, by a man in yellow. He speaks to me, words that I ignore, words I can barely hear through my screams of Jeremy’s name. Screams I am not sure are even coming from my mouth; they may just be screaming through my soul, my head, imaginary breaks in my sanity like bright-ass light streaming through a wasntpulledtightenoughclosed curtain.
I am dragged away, and my view of the house disappears as an ambulance door replaces it.
I will kill Mike. I don’t care if I brought Marcus to his doorstep. I will kill him and then kill myself. Slowly, in a fashion that will cause as much pain as my body can physically take. Fuck, I may skip Mike, my self-hatred too strong to control. I, killer of good, am not fit to live.
I am lifted, a second face joining the first, and they speak, a light shining into my eyes, useless questions coming forth from their lips. I speak, through the screams, the only thing they need to know.
“Jeremy.” I repeat it, just in case they didn’t hear it. Repeat it again, louder. And again, my strength dropping. Then I am whispering the name, and I don’t know if anyone, other than my soul, can hear it.
“Jeremy.”
CHAPTER 112
WHY DOES JEREMY love her? Why love a girl that he doesn’t really know? A girl he’s afraid to question, afraid he won’t like the answers, that his conscience will step in and pry their hands apart, will push his heart into a blender and shut the door to 6E forever. Maybe the damaged are the easiest to fall in love with. She is damaged. Damaged in a strange way that has strength—a silent, don’t-open-that-door, watch-your-back-in-the-dark strength. Her eyes sometimes glint in a way that is unnatural; her hands shake from something other than nerves. She has told him that she is dangerous, that she wants to hurt others, to kill. That alone should make him leave, should put distance between them. He should find a girl who is normal, whom he can bring home to the family and not worry about curfews or Mom’s knife drawer. But her vulnerability, her fear, her rules, her absolute adherence to isolation… she has good in her. She tries so hard, she worries so much. He wishes he could take that worry. Give her a clean life full of children and carpools and grocery lists and vacations. Wipe the stress from her eyes. It fades a bit, every time they are together. His strength reassures her, his ability to physically restrain her softens the fear that she may hurt him and allows her to drop her guard. Let him touch her. Let him distract her mind in ways that make his cock hard.
He doesn’t know why he loves her. But does anyone know why they love? We don’t love people for their traits—traits are common. We love them for their unique ability to tug at our soul, to connect to us in a way that no other person can. Love is unexplainable, unpredictable, and often unreasonable. It doesn’t make sense, and doesn’t care to explain to us its thought process.
He hears his name, a scream from her lips, and everything else stops. He tries to lift his head, tries to move, but the weight on his back is excruciating, his body pinned beneath something, most likely hundred-year-old chunks of brick and pieces of a house that was never intended to come apart. There is the feel of heat, incredible heat, and he wishes he could call her name. Wishes for something other than to struggle silently, his world dark. He feels the sharp edge of something along his cheek and tries to work it over his eyes. Tries to move in a way that will rip open the tape and give him back his sight in these last moments of life.
He fails, the sharp edge doing nothing but scratching the hell outta his face, his attempts stopping at the first bite of pain.
The heat is incredible, building. Growing. It feels like his skin is cooking, yet he can’t move, can only lie still, blind and burning.
And still her screams continue. The sound rips at his heart, and he prays that she is not in pain.
CHAPTER 113
EVERYTHING HAPPENS AT a moment when I want nothing. I want to stand by my car and scream some more. I want to run through the burning debris and find Jeremy. I don’t want to be wrapped in blankets and coddled like a victim when I am the one responsible. I don’t want valuable personnel helping me when they should be looking for him.
The crackle and pop of empty air.
“Um… Captain Scott here with Engine Twenty-nine. Looks like a chemical explosion of some sort. Whole house is up right now. We’re working on containing the blaze and locating any survivors. One female found, in front of the blaze.” His words are cut off by a scream, a scream that—even through the miles, through the distortion and feedback of the radio—is haunting in its anguish. Mike grips the desk, listens to that scream, his heart rising and falling in one quick roller-coaster ride as it vibrates through the room.
CHAPTER 111
I AM CARRIED away from Jeremy’s house, my legs dragging at the dirt, my body limp, by a man in yellow. He speaks to me, words that I ignore, words I can barely hear through my screams of Jeremy’s name. Screams I am not sure are even coming from my mouth; they may just be screaming through my soul, my head, imaginary breaks in my sanity like bright-ass light streaming through a wasntpulledtightenoughclosed curtain.
I am dragged away, and my view of the house disappears as an ambulance door replaces it.
I will kill Mike. I don’t care if I brought Marcus to his doorstep. I will kill him and then kill myself. Slowly, in a fashion that will cause as much pain as my body can physically take. Fuck, I may skip Mike, my self-hatred too strong to control. I, killer of good, am not fit to live.
I am lifted, a second face joining the first, and they speak, a light shining into my eyes, useless questions coming forth from their lips. I speak, through the screams, the only thing they need to know.
“Jeremy.” I repeat it, just in case they didn’t hear it. Repeat it again, louder. And again, my strength dropping. Then I am whispering the name, and I don’t know if anyone, other than my soul, can hear it.
“Jeremy.”
CHAPTER 112
WHY DOES JEREMY love her? Why love a girl that he doesn’t really know? A girl he’s afraid to question, afraid he won’t like the answers, that his conscience will step in and pry their hands apart, will push his heart into a blender and shut the door to 6E forever. Maybe the damaged are the easiest to fall in love with. She is damaged. Damaged in a strange way that has strength—a silent, don’t-open-that-door, watch-your-back-in-the-dark strength. Her eyes sometimes glint in a way that is unnatural; her hands shake from something other than nerves. She has told him that she is dangerous, that she wants to hurt others, to kill. That alone should make him leave, should put distance between them. He should find a girl who is normal, whom he can bring home to the family and not worry about curfews or Mom’s knife drawer. But her vulnerability, her fear, her rules, her absolute adherence to isolation… she has good in her. She tries so hard, she worries so much. He wishes he could take that worry. Give her a clean life full of children and carpools and grocery lists and vacations. Wipe the stress from her eyes. It fades a bit, every time they are together. His strength reassures her, his ability to physically restrain her softens the fear that she may hurt him and allows her to drop her guard. Let him touch her. Let him distract her mind in ways that make his cock hard.
He doesn’t know why he loves her. But does anyone know why they love? We don’t love people for their traits—traits are common. We love them for their unique ability to tug at our soul, to connect to us in a way that no other person can. Love is unexplainable, unpredictable, and often unreasonable. It doesn’t make sense, and doesn’t care to explain to us its thought process.
He hears his name, a scream from her lips, and everything else stops. He tries to lift his head, tries to move, but the weight on his back is excruciating, his body pinned beneath something, most likely hundred-year-old chunks of brick and pieces of a house that was never intended to come apart. There is the feel of heat, incredible heat, and he wishes he could call her name. Wishes for something other than to struggle silently, his world dark. He feels the sharp edge of something along his cheek and tries to work it over his eyes. Tries to move in a way that will rip open the tape and give him back his sight in these last moments of life.
He fails, the sharp edge doing nothing but scratching the hell outta his face, his attempts stopping at the first bite of pain.
The heat is incredible, building. Growing. It feels like his skin is cooking, yet he can’t move, can only lie still, blind and burning.
And still her screams continue. The sound rips at his heart, and he prays that she is not in pain.
CHAPTER 113
EVERYTHING HAPPENS AT a moment when I want nothing. I want to stand by my car and scream some more. I want to run through the burning debris and find Jeremy. I don’t want to be wrapped in blankets and coddled like a victim when I am the one responsible. I don’t want valuable personnel helping me when they should be looking for him.
