Page 1 of Sweet Hate
1
HAVEN
“BOLLOCKS! ALEXA, TURN THE FUCK OFF!”
Of course, this bitch ignores me, gleefully blasting Kasabian’s “Fire” at deafening decibels, to compete with the smoke alarm screams ruining my morning.
I can’t even fault her song choice. I did yellfire, but in my defense, there are huge buggering flames bursting out of the oven. While this isn’t my kitchen, I know that’s not supposed to be happening.
Jesus. It’s hot as Satan’s balls in here!
The acrid smoke hangs heavy in the air, burning my lungs, making it hard to breathe. Shit, it’s even hard to see. My eyes water, and the smoke is everywhere. The flames grow by the second, already crawling along the length of the counter.
I’m really trying not to panic.
If I don’t get my ass in gear and grab that damn fire extinguisher fast, I won’t be able to see the end of the hose, let alone where to point it.
That seems like a huge problem.
After taking a couple of shallow breaths, I sprint across the kitchen like a hellhound and I’m back in front of theoven in seconds. As I yank out the pin, I silently thank my old boss for making sure we diligently did our fire training every single quarter.
And he definitely mentioned sprinklers. Why aren’t there sprinklers?
Haven, pull your shit together.
I take a deep breath to steady myself and consequently sputter it out, before aiming the hose toward the angry looking flames spewing from the oven and pray this is going to be enough to put it out.
The powder sprays out at full force, and I stumble slightly before planting my feet like a ghostbuster and taking care of business.
Bollocks, there’s no way this extinguisher is enough.It might have shrunk the flames bursting out of the oven, but the ones traveling along the counter now run up the length of the far wall and crawl onto the ceiling.
The fucking sprinklers would be really useful right about now.
This is bad. This is really, really bloody bad.
Starring in an episode of Chicago Fire wasn’t on my bingo card, no matter how hot Severide is. Speaking of which, where the hell are the firefighters? I dialed 911 ages ago, and the fire alarm blaring will have absolutely woken up the entire town by now.
Shit, the flames dance across the ceiling so fast, swallowing it entirely before I even blink.
Coughing wildly, I can barely breathe. The kitchen is gone. There’s no way in hell I’m stopping this fire alone. I need to get the fuck out of here.
Covering my mouth with my arm, I blindly feel the counter for my phone. I’m sure I tossed it around here when I grabbed the fire extinguisher.Where the hell is it? I need to call Grams, Ineed to call…I can't hear myself think with the bloody siren hammering my eardrums.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, I can’t do this.Doubled over coughing my lungs out, I grab my knees for support, trying to stop myself crashing to the floor. Eyes watering, my glasses black from the smoke, I can’t see or feel my way out of here.
Sod the phone.
PSSSHHHHH.
A shriek tears from my throat as an almighty crack brings down some of the ceiling plaster just as an icy jet of water hits my back.
With another screech, I slip and fall flat on my ass, bashing my funny bone in the process, my glasses flying off my face.
Well, the sprinklers work. Only ten minutes too late.
Crawling onto my hands and knees, a wave of nausea rolls through me thanks to the pain radiating from my elbow. My wet clothes and hair cling to my skin, making it even more difficult to move as I struggle to find my glasses on the floor. I’m blind as a bat without them.
Luckily, something wants to go my way today, and I find them nearly a foot away. With a labored breath, I shove my now ruined, freshly-dyed pink hair away from my eyes, and slide them on to my nose just as my entire world tips upside down.
