Page 143 of Quinlan

I understand.

But then there’s my trauma. The flames are still hot in the closet. My own cries for help blend into hers.

Cries that were left unanswered.

“Please.” She sobs in her sleep, her body breaking in tremors. Wrists and ankles tugging on the restraints. Her head thrashes left and right. “Blake. Help Blake. Please, please, please. I can’t… I don’t… Mommy”—heart wrenching sob—“please, whereareyou?”

I have to help her. Have to wake her up and yank her back into safety.

She was only five when he died. The police reports said he slipped on the edge of the pool. Crawled on it and fell. He wasso small. His lungs filled up fast. Even Quinlan’s dad, who was a lifeguard, couldn’t get to him on time, and he jumped in right after him.

Quinlan’s cries make it sound like it didn’t go down that way.

I would be mad, but nothing really registers, not to its fullest. I’m in hell myself. In the closet. Flames lick my skin. My mother’s dresses burning down at my side. I can’t get out of here. Can’t.

“Blake. No.” The words are howls. The O stretches on forever, tearing me apart. Punching at my lungs that’s stopped working a minute ago. “No, no,no.”

The physical pain intensifies. Quinlan’s voice sounds less and less like hers. Like the twenty-three-year-old version of her, anyway.

She sounds like a kid.

I was a kid once.

Panic. That’s all I feel. A prisoner in my own body.

My head is fucking with me, damn it. It’s fucking with me and I have to help her.

I have to—

I’m not alone in the closet. Quinlan’s locked inside with me, and we’re both burning.

Because of me. Because I couldn’t stand another moment of the darkness. Of being so helpless. So alone.

My parents would cry when they find our burned corpses. They’ll weep and scream and mourn. Mine and Quinlan’s.

Because of me.

It’ll be my fault.

I should’ve never let Aria lock you in here with me, Quinlan. I’m so sorry. So sorry. So. Fucking. Sorry.

Quinlan’s sobbing on the bed, and I’m to blame for it too. My precious little flame.

My fault. My fault. My fault.

A sliver of light reaches from the door. I don’t have to look over there to see a shadow hovering. Maybe two. I don’t know.

I don’t—

“Help us,” she screams. Her arms strain.

Her chest heaves.

I’ve had enough.

Whoever’s outside in the hall trusts me to help her.

A blink, and I’m back in Quinlan’s bedroom. My fingers are hooked around the covers. The walls aren’t closing in on us. My Zippo is on the bedside table. I didn’t use it. Didn’t burn anything down.

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