Page 162 of Burning Embers

The rest of Desiree’s words get lost in a blaze of heat sweeping through my insides.

What the fuck?

The pain is sudden and intense enough to stop me in mid-stride. This time, Desiree doesn’t continue walking but stops and turns towards me.

Her brows furrow in concern. “Izzy?”

But I can’t answer her through the agony ripping me apart and rearranging my insides like a wooden spoon in a bowl of soup. A whimper of pain slips past my lips as my fingers tighten around her arm, my nails digging into her skin. I’m probably drawing blood, but I don’t care.

Can’t she see that I’m on fire?

That I’m being burned alive?

Why isn’t anyone stopping this? Helping me?

A scream lodges in my throat as my skin continues to burn and burn and burn.

Oh god.

Make it stop.

Please.

“Come on, Izzy.” Desiree’s voice is low and urgent as she slings one of my arms around her shoulders. She wraps her own arm around my waist and supports my weight as we stumble towards the office. “We’re almost there. You’ll be okay.”

All I can do is sob.

I don’t care that we’re garnering attention.

I don’t care that some of the students are whispering behind their hands.

I don’t care that people are staring at me in confusion, concern, and amusement.

Nothing matters but the pain ripping me apart.

I’m going to die.

I can feel it in my bones.

“A few more steps. You’re doing good, babe. We’re almost there,” Desiree soothes. A door is pushed open, and she yells, “Montgomery!”

“What is the meaning— Izzy?” Mr. Montgomery’s voice is rife with disbelief. Silence stretches for only a second before he immediately takes charge. “Bring her to my office. Now.”

Another door opens, and I’m half dragged, half walked into the vice principal’s office. Desiree releases me, and I all but fall into the armchair opposite Montgomery’s desk.

“What the fuck happened?” he demands, moving to stand in front of me.

Through the pain, I can’t help but think he’s so handsome. So, so handsome. Sexy.

I want to touch him. Feel him. Run my fingers through the stubble on his chin.

“I don’t know.” Desiree sounds frantic. “It’s her eighteenth birthday, and she just started crying.”

Montgomery leans even closer to me, and some of the pain recedes. The flames are still there, still eating away at my skin, but the heat is now…pleasant. A strange fire bursts to life in my lower belly.

A halfway delirious laugh escapes me.

“What is happening?” Desiree asks.

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