Page 13 of Mark Me

The kitchen door is open, and holy shit—the flames are a live thing, all teeth and claws, devouring the room. Heat slams into me, so fierce it’s like a physical blow, and for a second, I can’t breathe, can’t think. I can’t even see where it’s coming from.

“Fuck!” It’s all I can manage again, a strangled curse that gets swallowed by the roar of the fire.

It’s everywhere, climbing the walls, licking at the ceiling, and turning everything it touches into an inferno. My mind’s racing, screaming that this is bad, so fucking bad, and I’m here, right in the middle of it.

I spot the fire extinguisher, its red body a beacon of hope against the chaos. With no time to hesitate, I lunge for it, fingers clumsy as I yank the pin free. My hands shake—I’ve never done this before—but it can’t be that hard, right? I aim the nozzle at the base of the flames and hope for the best.

“Come on, come on,” I mutter as I squeeze the handle, and foam bursts out, smothering patches of fire. But it’s like attacking a dragon with a toothpick.

“Work, damn you!” Desperation gives strength to my voice, to my grip on the extinguisher. The flameshiss and spit, angry at being challenged. They’re not backing down. Neither am I.

“Ever! What the fuck? Get out of there!” Lila’s cry barely cuts through the roar, but I can’t look back, can’t take my eyes off the flames before me. This fire will not win. It can’t. It’s us or it, and I’ve got too much riding on ‘us.’ My whole house cannot burn down.

The canister splutters, empty, useless in my hands. My heart slams against my chest, a drumbeat of dread as the heat wraps around me, a suffocating embrace.

“Ever!” Lila’s voice shatters the crackle and pop of the fire. She skids into view, eyes huge and reflecting orange horror, grabbing my arm and yanking me away.

“Fuck,” Lila breathes out, her usual calm shattered into a million sharp pieces. She’s right there with me now—in the thick of it, where every second counts and the wrong move means game over. “Kitchen’s screwed!” she screams. “We need to get out.”

“Go!” I shout, my voice hoarse with smoke. There is nothing else we can do. As if breaking from a trance, we turn on our heels, the heavy kitchen door slamming shut behind us, and we sprint for the front door.

I yank my phone from the back pocket of my jeans, almost dropping it in my haste. My fingers, slick with sweat, fumble over the screen as we burst through the door and into the cool evening air. I hammer the numbers 999 into the phone, pressing it against my ear.

“Fire,” I gasp out the moment the operator answers. “There’s a fire at 55 Gate Close!”

“Hurry,” Lila shrieks, her voice trembling next to me. She’s never been one to lose her shit—the girl who can recite Shakespeare at the drop of a hat is now struggling to string a sentence together.

“Are you outside the building?” the operator asks all business.

“Yes,” I confirm, dragging in lungfuls of fresh air that taste like freedom compared to the smoky prison we’ve just escaped.

“Good. Stay there. Help is on the way.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, ending the call. My hands shake, but not from the cold—it’s pure, undistilled terror. I clutch the phone like a lifeline as we back away, watching the beast roar and ravage everything we hold dear that used to be our sanctuary.

“Where the fuck is everyone else?” I whisper, glancing around. “We need to go back inside! What if they’re sleeping or can’t move?”

“No!” Lila says as I take a step forward. “Cass and Sash had later classes and were going to the pub after. Crystal went home for the weekend? Remember?”

Nodding slowly, stiffly as I remember.

“But what if?—“

“Don’t!” She shakes her head, her eyes wide. “Don’t go there.”

I can only nod again, gripping her hand tight because I can’t find the words. There’s nothing to say that can make this right. We’re just two broke collegestudents with our house on fire. Where the hell do we go from here?

The squeal of the sirens is deafening, and I guess that’s one plus. At least Fire and Rescue is here.

“Is everyone out?” one of the firefighters yells.

“We think so,” I manage to say, my gaze scanning the group quickly, counting heads as we now have a growing crowd come to gape at our utter misfortune.

“Fuck, there goes everything,” Lila mutters next to me, her voice hollow. It’s not just about the material stuff—the clothes, the books, the countless cheap trinkets we’ve hoarded over the years. It’s the loss of safety, the certainty that used to wait for us behind these walls.

We’re alone in this, truly alone. The flames dance in the reflection of our eyes—they don’t care who you are or where you come from. They just consume and move on, leaving you to pick up the pieces of a life you barely recognise anymore.

Lila’s grip on my arm is iron, her nails digging in through the fabric of my jacket, which I forgot to remove. My feet are clad only in socks, cold against the pavement, but I barely feel it, numb from the shock and heat that’s still pressing against our faces even as we stand across the street.

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