Page 55 of Twisted Heathens
I stand transfixed, watching the exchange with bated breath. My eyes are beginning to water from the smoke, getting stronger and more noxious by the second. Eli watches Phoenix with empty eyes, lips pressed together as he battles his demons. It’s almost like he doesn’t believe a word his friend is saying. Even though we’d never leave him, no person would when there’s a fire raging nearby.
Phoenix repeats the same assurances, a little more forcefully. He’s practically chanting it, begging Eli to trust him. It’s heartbreaking to watch, the terror that’s holding Eli hostage. Like he’s trapped in his own mind and can’t move a muscle, let alone speak.
An idea suddenly comes to me and I ease down next to Phoenix, moving him out of the way. Eli can’t listen when he’s under the influence of his anxiety, that motherfucker doesn’t listen to rhyme or reason. I’ve got to break through, and I know just how he likes to do that.
“Eli? It’s Brooke. We need to move, work with me here,” I coax.
Snaking my fingers up the sleeve of his hoodie, I hold his eyes as I search for the ridges that I know I’ll find. Four horizontal cuts, right where I watched him slice himself open a few days ago. They’re still raw and barely healed, so it’s easy enough to dig my nails in to rip the fresh scabs away. I scratch at his cuts until I can feel the blood flowing once more, warm on my fingertips. His eyes widen at the pain, teeth surrendering his abused lip.
That’s it. Come back to me, little Eli.
I know just what you need.
A few seconds pass as he slowly comes crashing back down to earth, latching on to the comfort of pain just like I knew he would. We’re the same fucking person. When he gives a slight jerk of his head, I step back and allow Phoenix to haul him up, resuming our descent towards the smoke-filled foyer.
I can’t help but stare at my red stained fingertips as I follow the guys, fascinated by the sight of Eli’s blood on my skin. Now we’re even, both claimed in crimson by the other.
We make it to the entrance of the humanities building, where students are pouring out the doors to escape the thick, oppressive air. I cover my mouth with my sleeve before the coughing fit can take over, ducking low and following the crowd. The smoke pours from one of the classrooms, and I can just make out the glowing flames as they attack rows of textbooks and papers. Eli and Phoenix are lost in the crowd as my feet freeze, rooted to the spot by the glorious sight of deadly fire.
My mind is quickly consumed by an evil, penetrating voice.
Walk in. Give it all up and offer yourself to the flames.
This is your best chance. Do it. Give up.
It would be so easy. I’m standing in the middle of chaos, there’s no guards or teachers to stop me. Cameras obscured by smoke and a glimpse of freedom right there for the taking. I place one foot in front of another.
Each step takes me dangerously close to the blazing heat that I feel against my face. My hands curl into fists, nails biting deep into my palms. The voice intensifies, drowning out all other noise. I can practically taste it on my tongue, the sliver of hope in the form of inevitable death.
No more breathing.
No more suffering.
No more living.
For the first time since that fateful night nearly a year ago, when I completed my spiralling descent into hell, I could be free again.
Just as I’m about to reach out and grasp the door handle, arms wrap around my waist. Big scarred hands hold me tight as I’m dragged backwards, further and further away from my salvation. I scream bloody murder, pleading for my captor to release me, but it’s no use.
I know those hands.
I remember the fights that scarred those knuckles.
“What the hell are you doing? The room’s on fucking fire.”
Hudson’s words send me falling back down the rabbit hole, into the sordid past. Memories of him ripping the duvet off me and snatching the pills from my hands, yelling and screaming vicious words. Or him bursting into the bathroom at school, careless of the other girls that squealed at his entrance. He nearly smashed down the stall door just to get to me, snatching the scissors away from my bleeding wrist.
“Let me go!” I scream.
Always touching me when he isn’t wanted. Sticking his arrogant nose into my business, like he has any right to involve himself after what he did five years ago.
“It’s a fire! You dumb bitch. We’re leaving.”
Hudson drags me all the way outside. We stumble into the fresh midday air and collapse on the ground in a fit of coughing. Other patients huddle all around, gasping for air. Hudson releases me and I immediately move away like he burned me, not the fire. I’m shaking like a leaf, adrenaline and anger compounded into a toxic chemical in my blood.
“How dare you touch me,” I yell accusingly.
Those bright blue eyes stare back at me with the same barely restrained rage that poisoned our every moment together. “You were seconds away from walking into that fucking classroom, don’t bother denying it. You always were unhinged. I just saved your damn life.”