The Guily Ones

Choices

I woke up, disoriented. Chaos reigned around me. People were running in all directions, smoke filled the air, and the stench was overwhelming—burnt, bitter. I struggled to my knees, only to immediately vomit violently. God, what was that foul smell?

In the distance, an alarm wailed. I clutched my aching head.

What the hell had happened?

"Ash?"

Oh, someone was calling my name. I turned my head, trying to see who it was, trying to make sense of everything. Or anything really. However,  the world spun around me, turning my stomach anew.

"Damn it, Ash!" Someone grabbed my elbow, the one with the injured shoulder, but stopped when I groaned in pain, kneeling beside me.

"Shit, I'm sorry." Jason's face appeared at my uninjured shoulder, his features and clothes smudged with dirt and soot. He wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me up. I groaned again. "Oh shit, Ash, are you hurt?"

Jason inspected me more closely, carefully picking glass shards from my hair. I looked at him, dazed. "What the hell happened?"

My voice was squeaky again, but for once, it felt somewhat appropriate. In the distance, someone screamed. I flinched, startled by the agony in the voice.

"I... Luke..." Jason looked around desperately. Once he was sure I could stand on my own, he stepped back, bracing his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

"Jason?"

He looked up at me, his eyes wide, suddenly appearing like a frightened child. Then it all burst out of him. "I had no idea what he was going to do, honestly. Oh God, Luke. I don't understand... I mean, he was... why?" He looked down at himself, as if searching his clothes for answers. Almost catatonically, he fished something out of his shirt... God, was that a piece of flesh?

"Why would someone blow themselves up?"

My breath caught in my throat. "Someone blew themselves up?"

Jason nodded mechanically. "Luke." His lips were unnaturally pale. The usually sun-kissed, clever, and charming Jason looked like a wreck, as if he was about to collapse. Gently, I placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to get him to look at me.

"You knew the attacker?"

Jason nodded again. Now, he wasn't just pale, he was turning green. He looked like he might cry at any moment. Or throw up. Maybe both. 

"Oh, Jason!" I took a step toward him, wanting to support him, but he looked at me like a frightened deer, so I hesitated and let go of his shoulder. Then, he turned away and vomited as noisily into the bushes as I had earlier. The roses were certainly getting their share of fertilizer today.

Groaning, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked up at me apologetically. "Ugh. Sorry." He took a deep breath. "Okay. Good. I'm good."

He glanced past me toward the house's entrance, then wrapped his arm around my waist again, giving me a questioning look.

"Can you walk, or do you need help?"

Pride told me to shake him off and walk on my own, but I cautiously took a few steps. Walking was possible, though I felt pretty battered. It would be quicker to list the uninjured parts of my body than to count the injuries at this point. Nothing seemed broken.

That was about the only good news. The rest of me was a mess. My entire body was covered in cuts, some large, some small; I had fallen on my dislocated shoulder; and my head was pounding as if I had downed three bottles of tequila by myself and then used my skull as a battering ram. And as if that wasn't enough, I stepped on a piece of glass lying on the ground.