Page 50 of Burned By Sin
She doesn’t respond, and not because my microphone clip flew off atsome point whilst running. Instead, she leans into my touch and closes her eyes on a sigh. I can’t handle seeing her like this, not when I know I’m part of the cause. The message from the projector was directed at me, and although I don’t know what I did to cause such a thing, ultimately I must be at fault for something. I’m the one being punished and selfishly dragging Harper down with me.
An EMT nudges between us, needing to check Harper’s blood pressure so I take a few steps back. Rhys’s shoulder bumps mine, his arms crossed and it’s only now I realize his designer shirt is singed in several places.
“How bad is it?” I ask.
“She’ll be fine. Some minor smoke inhalation but she’d had the good sense to wrap her sweater around her face. I assume you didn’t manage to catch that shitface.” His pale blue eyes slide to me, emotions hidden in their depths that he won’t reveal in Harper’s presence. “Pack your shit. You’re all moving into my place. You, Harper and that preppy roommate of hers.”
“About that,” I clear my throat, keeping my voice down. “I think I have a new addition for your suspect list.” Rhys’ eyes darken instantly, his sharp mind catching onto my meaning without me needing to put it into words. Nodding, he runs a hand through his ash coated hair, the veins in his arm popping furiously.
“Then it’s lucky she’ll be in my house where I can keep an even closer eye on her, isn’t it?” Rhys returns to Harper’s side the moment there’s space while the EMT fits an oxygen mask over her face. In my peripheral, a figure steps out from behind the fire truck, her pink hair dirty and face streaked with tears. I briefly meet her gaze, holding it long enough to send a clear message. Tread carefully Addy. We’re onto you.
Chapter Thirty
I’ve roused enough to see sunlight peeking through the curtains, but still cling to the remnants of my dream. If I don’t open my eyes, I can pretend the anxiety isn’t seeping back in like liquid nitrogen flowing through my blood stream. I consider myself a strong person for the most part, but that last power move by the Beanie Bastard, as Clay has called him, has affected me more than I’ve let on.
There was a brief point between the smoke curling around the doorframe and me passing out that I remembered how I felt during the car crash that took my parents. Terrified, vulnerable, done for. I swear I caught a glimpse of my mom looking back at me in the mirror too, before I dropped to the ground to await my fate.
Now, wrapped in Rhys’ sheets, that same terror lingers like the smoke trapped in my lungs. The scent of his cologne mixes with the faint trace of burnt hair on my skin. My throat still aches from the coughing, my nails sore from scratching at the locked door. Every time I close my eyes, I see fire licking the edges of the wood again, clawing to come inside.
Muffled voices drift up from downstairs. Clay’s low, steady baritone, Rhys’ clipped tone that means he’s trying to stay calm, and then there’s a softer, feminine one, threading between theirs like she’s tryingto hold the peace. I vaguely remember dipping in and out of last night, hearing parts of conversations through Rhys’ mic. No one wanted to be the one to tell me, but they spoke of the video that played in front of the entire school. How my privacy was breached, my body gawked at. That’s why Rhys ordered Addy to pack up our belongings under his watch while Clay stayed with me. Then they swapped over so Clay could go back to his dorm and do the same.
It should comfort me that they’re all here, that we’ve all moved into this fortress of a frat house, but instead, it feels like we’re all just waiting for the next disaster. A temporary illusion of safety before another attack comes crawling out of the shadows. Not that there’s anything I can do about it. I’m on strict bed rest, since Rhys has taken the EMT’s instruction to heart. But also, I need a shower.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and instantly regret it. My head spins, and my muscles feel like waterlogged sandbags. The thought of standing under hot water should be comforting, but even that feels like a mountain I’m not sure I can climb. My chest tightens as I stare at the en suite door, the place I need to go, but can’t. I tell myself it’s just a shower. Not another trap, not another locked door waiting to smother me in smoke.
Picking up my phone from the nightstand, I take it with me, the mic app activated. I don’t need any more surprises to catch me unaware. The floor is cold beneath my feet as I shuffle towards the same room, holding the wall for balance. Every creak of the floorboard sounds like the echo of that night. The mirror above the sink reflects a girl I barely recognize, pale, hollow-eyed, haunted. I reach for the shower handle, but my hand hesitates mid-air, fingers trembling. My reflection looks back at me like she’s asking,Are you sure you can do this?
I’m not. Whether the smoke is still screwing with my system, or just my mind in, I’m trembling, clutching at the oversized T-shirt on my body. I know I’m safe here, but my naivety that I’m safe anywhere on this campus has caught up with me. The door opens behind me,and I flinch so hard my phone clatters to the floor. Like someone has just slammed a hammer into my skull, I collapse at the sheer volume of the noise booming into my inner ears.
“Hey, hey, it’s just me,” Clay says softly, kneeling to slowly pull my hands off the sides of my head. I don’t attempt to stand, not trusting my legs, so I tip sideways into his chest. Clay wraps his arms around me, stroking my back and arms until they stop shaking. Once I’m ready to try again, Clay picks up my phone and steadies me with his palm at my elbow. “That’s it, take it easy.”
My chin wobbles, my self-pity reaching a whole new level. Clay turns on the shower, testing the water with his hand, and then reaches for a towel to drape over his shoulder. His movements are practiced and unhurried, the way they always are. Clay doesn’t demand attention or affection. He’s justthere.
Leaning my hips against the counter, he lowers to his knee again, dutifully peeling off my socks and then the thong from beneath the large T-shirt. Clay makes no move to take a peek beneath the fabric, whereas Rhys’ head would have already been up there. Standing to his full height, Clay smiles gently, just as the door slams open again. Speak of the devil and he shall appear.
“What the hell are you doing?” Rhys’ voice slices through the steam already curling up from the running water. His expression is tight, his blue eyes intense. “She’s supposed to be in bed!” Shouldering his way between us, Rhys cups my face, cataloguing the fragility of my features.
“Back off shitface. She wants a shower,” Clay mutters, attempting to step between me and Rhys once again. A stubborn-off ensues, shoulders shoving and biceps barging. My head swims, another wave of dizziness passing through me. I can’t deal with this macho-bullshit right now.
“Addy!” I scream out. The pair in front of me still, not bothering to hide their contempt when Addy marches in and slaps them both around the back of their heads.
“Right, you two. Out. Now.”
Clayton places my phone on the counter before he leaves, an apology written all over his face. It’s not his fault, nor Rhys’. They’re both freaked out and caring for me in the only way they know how. I hear their bickering continue, my phone’s mic picking up on fragments before Addy kicks the door shut.
“You always have to be the freaking savior, don’t you?”
“You’re the one who can’t give her two minutes of peace.”
“Well, you’re the one?—”
Addy taps my screen and mutes the mic, a knowing smile growing. I wish I could smile back to show her how thankful I am for her being here, but a sob breaks free of my throat. Addy clings to me, pulling me into her arms. Typing on my phone one handed, a robotic voice transcribes her message into my head.
‘Let it all out, babe. Once you’re out of tears and cleaned up, we’re going to breakfast. No one can make us run scared.’
I press my face into Addy’s shoulder, and for the first time since the fire, I stop trying to be okay. The sobs come out jagged and uncoordinated, the kind that make my whole body tremble. Addy doesn’t try to hush me or feed me empty reassurances. She just holds me tighter, her fingers tracing slow circles on my spine while I crumble in her arms.
The shower continues to thunder, the stream coiling around us. It’s thick, clogging my throat like the smoke did but I leave it. At least the steam won’t block my airways, filling my lungs with filth.
