Page 1 of Breathing Wisteria
Wyatt
Ten Years Earlier
Smoke.
My nostrils twitch as the subtle acrid smell hits them and a sliver of unease curls itself around my consciousness.
The club is crowded, and I’m jostled carelessly between a sea of sweaty bodies. My hand instinctively finds my belly and I internally curse Flynn for convincing me to come tonight.
I crane my neck, searching for the source of the putrid smell, but I can barely see past the people surrounding me. Their clammy skin pressing against my own combined with their loud voices ringing in my ear, the atmosphere practically suffocates me.
My breathing begins to quicken. Short, shallow breaths that I have to fight to get into my lungs, heighten my anxiety and the mild apprehension I was feeling morphs quickly into full-blown dread that thrashes violently through my veins.
Closing my eyes, I try to block out the crowd around me and concentrate on Flynn’s voice, which floats above the cheers and catcalls. My vision is blocked from my position over here, along the side of the room where I, wrongly, assumed I could avoid the crush of the congested dance floor.
That’s when it happens.
With my eyes squeezed shut, one hand pressed against my hammering chest and the other curled protectively over my stomach. My brain shuts down, focusing only on the voice of the man I love, singing the song he wrote about us. About cherry Chapstick and cheap beer.
The moment my life was forever changed.
One word screamed.
Hundreds of bodies pushing, fighting each other, chased by the cruel heat and wicked burn.
I’m shoved forcefully up against the wall as people lose all sense of decency in their own fight for safety. My eyes flicker to my left and I see the orange flames dancing with the plumes of black smoke above the stage. My heart sinks and I unconsciously begin fighting against the crowd. Sweat prickles along every inch of my skin and I fight every instinct in me as I try to make my way toward Flynn.
A tall guy stops right in front of me, his face is panicked, and I can see a fear in his eyes that I know is echoed in my own. He bends down and grabs my shoulders, his fingertips digging in painfully. “Go the other way!” he screams in my face, his spit coating me. Shaking my head, I push past him and hear him mutter, “Stupid bitch.”
The pungent smoke has filled the room and as my lungs struggle to cope, screaming for fresh air, I become disoriented. I spin around, my eyes burning while I attempt to gather my wits. But when a stray elbow connects with my already aching temple, I lose my balance, falling to the ground. And in a moment that I know will forever be imprinted on me, amidst the cacophony of terrified screams, flailing bodies, and heart-wrenching terror, I lose everything that I love.
