Page 25 of Burn

My mouth drops open, but before I can reply, the door to biology opens; I turn and see Mr. Dean pop his head out, “Joining us, Morgan?”

When I turn back around, Story is rounding the corner at the end of the long corridor.

Hurts

Lex

The knock on the door is too light and hesitant to be one of the nurses or a doctor. They rap twice and push the door open, not waiting for me to confirm they can enter. It’s also too soft to be a man, and a wave of disappointment washes over me.

“Come in,” I croak out.

Fuck, my throat hurts.

The handle on the door twists down, and the door slowly swings open. Lane looks in at me, Dave a few inches behind her. The look on both of their faces just about sends me over the edge; they look so nervous.

“Hey, babe,” Lane says cautiously, moving further into the room. “Can we come in?”

I nod but keep my lips sealed, trying to save my throat and vocal cords from the pain of speaking. A smile spreads across her face as she rushes into the room and to my bedside, wrapping me in an awkward embrace.

Dave doesn’t move beyond the door and keeps his voice low when he says, “We’re so happy you’re okay, Lex.”

I look up at him, smiling weakly. There’s a momentary flicker of joy. It passes through me like a gentle wave and recedes quickly, replaced by sorrow and guilt. Joy because I’m not alone anymore. Sorrow because they’re not who I wanted to see walk through that door. Guilt because I’m still hurt. Hurt by his actions, the way he used my body, the way he put me on display for a room of strangers. Nausea roils through me at the thought of the party, and I feel the sting of tears filling my eyes.When I sniffle, Lane releases me, pulling back to look at my face.

“It’s okay, babe. You’re okay,” she whispers.

My face crumples, and the first tear spills over my lashes, leaving a hot streak down my cheek. She reaches for the tissues on the table, offering them to me as I reach for them, my hand trembling. My throat burns and tingles, and when I try to clear it, the sensation intensifies, causing me to cough violently. The taste of ash fills my mouth, making me retch. I grab a tissue and press it to my mouth, scrubbing it against my tongue. When the coughing finally subsides, and I lower my hand, the tissue is covered in dark sludge, making me cringe. Without hesitation, Lane takes a fresh tissue, wraps it around the one in my hand, and tosses them into the trash.

“The doctor said you’d likely cough that stuff up for a while,” Lane reassures. “It’s totally normal. Don’t stress over that, okay?”

I scan the table, looking for a drink, something to wash the taste out of my mouth. When I can’t find it, I ask, “Is there a drink anywhere?”

Lane and Dave react upon hearing my voice for the first time, and I sigh in defeat. I was hoping maybe it sounded worse to me. Lane looks over her shoulder, leaning back to grab a Styrofoam cup from the table, and hands it to me. I sip the room-temperature juice, which still tastes like a dirty ashtray but somehow better than whatever was in my mouth before.

“Well,” Lane starts, her expression thoughtful. “Wasn’t expectingKermit the Frog, but really, it’s kind of cool. Very Kathleen Turner inCalifornication.”

She supplies me with a cheeky smirk, and I start to laugh, immediately wincing and coughing.

“Don’t make me laugh. It hurts. I’m injured, Lane,” I whine.

I really do sound like Kathleen Turner.

We sit in a comfortable silence for a few moments before my curiosity gets the better of me, and I quietly ask, “Was there anyone else here?”

Lane shakes her head.

“No, honey, not since we’ve been here.”

“When did you get here? How long have I been here? Has anyone said anything about Mildred?”

I didn’t even think about how long I may have been out. I assumed it was minutes, but…

“We got here a few hours after you did. That was yesterday morning. Just about twenty-four hours ago. I haven’t heard anything about Millie. Did you leave her in your apartment?” She looks at her watch while she speaks.

“I swear I had her in the hall. Then I couldn’t find her.” I sigh, rubbing my temple, trying to ease the dull throb — No one else. No Millie. “Have you heard anything else about the fire?”

“Not much. I saw on the news that two people died, but I turned it off because I didn’t want you to wake up to that.” Her tone is solemn, and my pulse skitters at the confirmation of what I already know.

When the tears start this time, it’s different. They pour out of me, soaking my face and the top of my hospital gown. I gasp for air, my coughing breaking up the sobs that sneak out. The pain explodes through my throat and chest, feeling like a fire poker being shoved down my esophagus. I claw at my chest, desperate for relief from the pain, and the monitor next to my bed beeps wildly before sounding alarms.

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