Page 16 of Marko

What the hell was that?

It took me a minute to process what had happened. The gas smell! That masked bastard had blown up my home.

We stayed cocooned behind the tree, our breathing laboured as we tried to avoid the overpowering smell of gas and flames, waiting to ensure the explosion had ended before Marko cautiously peered around the trunk, scanning the surrounding area.

Pinned between him and the tree trunk, I couldn’t move, so I simply watched him. The flickering flames cast shadows over his face, making it difficult to read his expression, but when he turned back to me his eyes sparkled with barely contained fury.

“What the hell happened?” he asked.

“I heard someone in my house,” I began, keeping my voice low. “When I peeked out of my bedroom door, I saw a figure creeping up the stairs. I didn’t want to stick around, so I got out through the window. That’s when the person threw a knife at me.”

“Shit, are you hurt?” Marko held me at arm’s length, moving me around as he scanned my body for injuries.

“No, you appeared just in time and rolled me out of the way.”

“Thank god,” he said, hugging me to him again.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him, suspicion creeping through my bones. What was he doing here? How had he shown up just when someone was breaking into my home?

It seemed too coincidental that he had been there when I got mugged and was now here tonight when I was attacked in my home. I didn’t believe in coincidences.

“We need to talk,” we both said at the same time. Marko smirked.

“I’m glad we are on the same page about that, but I think it might be best to get you away from here in case the person responsible is still around,” he said urgently, pulling me towards the garden gate.

Despite my suspicions about him, I didn’t feel he was an immediate danger to me. In fact, I didn’t feel he was a danger to me at all. It was inexplicable considering my current circumstances and the obvious fact that he kept turning up whenever something bad happened to me.

Yet ultimately, I doubted he was responsible for those bad things, but it was obvious something was going on with him. Just what it was and what it meant for me was what worried me. However, I needed to find out, and he was right, the man who attacked me could still be around. So, I let him lead me away.

Marko pulled out his mobile and made a call as he hurried me through the garden. Protesting seemed pointless; getting out of there right now seemed like a good idea. The heat from the flames was immense, and the crackle of the fire was loud in my ears. Sirens wailed in the distance, which I assumed were from fire engines racing towards us. I knew I would need to talk to the authorities about what happened, but getting away from the garden was definitely a priority.

As we reached the gate, I glanced back, and my heart sank. The gas explosion had left my home in ruins, flames tearing through the familiar walls. A profound sense of loss and despair overwhelmed me, leaving me numb with grief.

My beautiful home lay in shambles. It had once been a warehouse which my dad had lovingly converted into two apartments years ago. The larger flat on the second storey had been our home whenever we were in the UK. We used to rent the smaller flat below out. Thankfully, it was vacant at that moment, and with the closest neighbours over fifty feet away, separated by a driveway and garden, I took some solace in knowing that nobody had been hurt.

Tears threatened to spill as smoke stung my eyes and tightened my throat. Watching the flames engulf my home was overwhelming. Everything ramped up a notch; the roar of the flames grew deafening, the heat became suffocating, and sweat began to trickle down my neck, my breath coming in short, laboured gasps.

Then suddenly, the world around me seemed to blur. The cacophony of the fire was replaced by the harsh sound of my own panicked breathing. My vision swam, and I felt a wave of dizziness, as if the ground beneath me was shifting and I swayed unsteadily.

A firm hand gripped my arm.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. It’s just a panic attack. You’re going to be fine,” Marko said, his voice slicing through the panic. “Breathe, Melissa, take long, slow breaths,” he urged gently, pulling me close.

Focusing on the calming words he mumbled into my hair, I tried to steady my racing heart, taking deep, measured breaths. Marko’s presence grounded me as I fought to regain control. Finally, after several minutes of concentrating on my breath, the world stopped spinning, and I felt calmer again.

Glancing up at him, I felt a twinge of embarrassment. Having never experienced a panic attack before, the sensation was entirely new to me. With no history of anxiety, this was something I wasn’t familiar with. The relief I felt for Marko’s presence was immense, knowing he was there to guide me through the ordeal and I wasn’t alone.

“Sorry about that,” I said, hoping it hadn’t put him off me.

“Don’t be. You’ve been through a lot today. It’s perfectly understandable,” Marko assured me, kissing me on the forehead.

“Let’s get you out of here,” Marko said, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and leading me into the street and towards a white van nearby. It occurred to me that I had noticed it parked outside the house earlier today, but hadn’t paid much attention to it at the time. I knew I should be questioning that revelation, but my brain just wasn’t up to it right now.

Climbing inside, I glanced out of the window.

As I watched the fire licking the dark sky, I felt a bit dazed. If it hadn’t been my home, I might have found it oddly beautiful. But seeing my house burn, taking with it all the memories of my parents, left me utterly distraught. It was all I had left of them, and now it was gone.

Tears began to fall uncontrollably, streaming down my face as I sat there, watching the fire crew battle the flames with their hoses. My mind was overwhelmed with memories. I remembered my mother passing away when I was only eight, leaving just Dad and me. Images of us playing in the garden together came flooding back.

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