Page 118 of Chasing Infinity

“You came for me.” My brows pinch together at what this could possibly mean.

Noah’s eyes find mine, and he holds my gaze so arduously I wonder if I might melt under the intensity. “Of course, Parks. I couldn’t leave you in there.”

My cheeks warm up, and I squeeze his hand. “Are my parents here? Were they able to get out?”

Noah’s expression darkens, and I suddenly know without him having to say another word. I swallow the lump of melancholy in my throat and blink back tears attempting to control my emotions, but I know it’s no use. I can feel the walls closing around me, and I know I will break at any moment.

“I’m sorry, Addison,” Noah whispers. “I went in there to get you out, but I couldn’t—I had to get you out of there.”

Noah’s voice trails off as my ears start to ring. I stare blankly at him, and his lips continue to move, but I can’t register what he’s saying to me. My cheeks feel wet, and I recognize the tears streaming down my face uncontrollably. My nose is stuffed up, blocked, and snotty, and I try to breathe through my mouth, but my chest feels like there’s a fifteen-pound weight on it, pressing down against my lungs. I gasp for breath, but none will come. It only worsens the harder I try to breathe, desperate for air.

Nausea starts to swirl in my stomach, and black spots dot my vision. I press and massage the heel of my hand against my temple, trying to get the room to stop spinning, but it’s no use.

Between my gasps of breaths, I manage to choke out, “I’m gonna be sick.”

I don’t see him move, but before I know it, there’s a blue sickness bag in my hand. Within two seconds, I throw up whatever is in my stomach. I squeeze my eyes shut, tears still leaking through as I sob. My body starts shaking uncontrollably, and I throw up again, though nothing comes up this time. I dry heave into the bag a few more times before something in my brain registers there’s nothing left.

With a groan, I fall back against my pillows, my eyes shut. I feel a cool cloth run against my forehead and then down against my cheeks. I open one eye and see a nurse running about. She takes the bag from my hands and brings in several more, just in case.

I can’t move. I lay there, numbness sinking through every cell in my body as tears continue to stream down my face. All I can think about are my parent’s faces, each flashing in the back of my mind, smiling and laughing. Images I’ll never see again in this lifetime.

As I lay there in my grief, I strain to remember what happened last night, trying to put it all together. My memory is fuzzy, but it starts returning to me as I walk through the events. I remember the fire alarms going off in the café. I didn’t waste time before ushering the remaining customers onto the street. Before I had the chance to join them, it hit me like a lightning strike that my parents were still in the building. I spun on my heel and ran to the storeroom, where they went just minutes before the fire alarms went off to accept a delivery.

When I got to the storeroom door, I could hear them calling for help from the other side. I gripped the door handle, pulling with all my might, but it was jammed—I couldn’t open it. My hands yanked and yanked, but it wouldn’t budge. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears as adrenaline rushed through my muscles, egging me to open the door. I finally had to give up because the metal handle was so hot from the flames on the other sides. My burned flesh became too sensitive, and I could no longer grip it. So I resorted to alternating between throwing my body against the door and kicking it.

I screamed for my parents, and I could still hear them, but they yelled for me to get out of there. My feet were frozen to the ground. I couldn’t bring myself to move. Begging my parents to help me open the door. My father’s voice boomed over the chaos, demanding I leave immediately. With tears streaking down my face, I turned away and ran back to the front door. Hating myself with each step I took.

As I passed behind the front counter, a terrible cracking noise echoed through the café. Then the massive wooden menu board fell from its spot, landing directly on me. I screamed, trying to escape the flames licking up and down the board with all our menu items scrawled neatly across it in my mother’s perfect writing, but it was no use.

I’ve never felt more helpless in my entire life. I lay there, trapped, watching the flames devour the café my family had built, slowly accepting that this might be it for me, for us. Part of me was okay with this; I would still be with my family.

My parents’ screams ceased from the back room. Looking back on it now, it was a silence that I’ll never forget. A roaring silence through the smoke and the darkness, telling me that nothing would ever be the same again.

Blinking my eyes back into reality, the tears continue to come. I turn my head into my pillow, closing my eyes and letting the grief consume me. My body convulses nonstop as my pillow becomes unbearably wet with my tears. I cry for my parents and the life I had always taken for granted up until now.

I don’t know how long I lay there, but finally, the tears subside a little, and I manage to take a few deep breaths. I collect myself a little and wipe my mouth and nose with the back of my hand in a most unladylike fashion that would mortify my mother. I turn back to Noah. His forearms are laid flat on the railing of my bed. His chin rests on top of his hands, watching me. His eyes are ringed in red as if the sight of my crying has finally broken his resolve, and he’s been fighting off tears himself. I sniffle as I look at him and feel more tears threatening to come. A few leak out as I shift around in the bed to face him, more wholly fighting the headache pounding in my temples with each movement.

“Sorry,” I whisper, and he immediately shakes his head.

“Don’t be. I just wish I could take away this pain for you.” His eyes sparkle in the harsh hospital lights showing a deep sincerity.

My chin trembles and I nod my head, not trusting my words yet. A few moments later, I squeak, “It doesn’t feel real. Like this is a bad dream that I will wake up from, and everything will be fine. But the fire….” My voice cracks, betraying my true feelings as I choke back more sobs. “The fire keeps replaying in my mind, so I know it’s real.”

“What do you remember?” Noah asks, his voice hesitant as if he’s scared to ask, worried that he’s crossing an invisible line. That at any moment, I’ll be sent into another abyss of darkness and sadness. “If you’re up to talking about it.”

I breathe in deeply through my nose and exhale out of my mouth before telling him what I can.

“I just remember standing there one second, and everything was fine. Then it happened so fast. Before I knew what was happening, the whole café was filled with the worst-smelling smoke. Like burning plastic.”

Every other sentence, I break down into a mini fit of sobs, unable to eventhinkabout the whole ordeal without the pain leaking through my body. When I finish my part of the story, Noah tells me the rest, filling in some of the blanks for me. I hold his gaze, taking comfort in the familiar blue of his eyes.

“Parks, I amso sorrythis happened to you. If I could do anything to go back in time and keep this from happening, I would. I wish I could.”

“It’s not your fault. At least I still have my arm,” I say glumly, attempting dark humor that falls flat.

Noah’s face darkens. “Yeah. That damn thing sure did a number on you.”

“And you,” I murmur, looking down at his hands. His hands are covered in white gauze looped between his thumb and forefinger, bandaging up the spans of his palm and wrist. Reminding me of a boxer prepping for a fight.

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