The Citrus Syndrome

10 ; fire

Fire

Violet

My heart has never beat this hard before.

The world is burning down around me, and all I can do is run. Sparks fly, some landing on my clothes. But there's not time to stop drop and roll -- I need to get out.

I heard the screams of the damned behind me as I plow through the rubble, trying to outrun the flames. They're coming for me, they know who I am. They whisper my name with voices like the crackle of a burning petal in their inferno. I run, my tears evaporating from my face as I sob.

The heat is heavy and scorching, pushing against me in short, powerful breaths. It tries to knock me down, but I push through it with all the force I have left.

The air is permeated by the scent of burning flesh; my own, and that of those around me. They are faceless strangers, the burning ones. Most of them, at least.

Every few minutes, I pass someone I know.

Natalie comes first. She runs with me, her platinum hair whipping through the orange air with resilience. She looks at me, shouting something I can't hear over the crackle of the flames and the screams of the others. When I don't answer, she grabs my hand and locks our fingers together. But she is wretched away by the flames a moment later, cast into the fiery inferno of my nightmares. I look behind me, sobbing for my lost best friend, but she is gone. Incinerated.

I have to keep running. My pant leg catches fire, and I scream. It hurts so bad. I can feel my skin peeling off.

The fire puts itself out as I run, leaving no trace of itself besides my new scorch marks and the missing fabric from my ankle to the top of my calf.

Bo appears next. He looks just as panicked as I am. He reaches for me, grabbing the same hand that Natalie did. His hands climb up my arm like a rope, as if he's afraid he will lose me if he lets go for a single moment. As we sprint, he wraps his arms around my shoulders, trying to shield me from the flying sparks.

But then -- then I see someone else. That woman, Catherine? She's running too, running faster than I am. Her hair is down, whipping around her face in long brown chunks. And Bo sees her too. "No!" I scream. "Stay with me!"

He either doesn't hear me, or ignores me. He lets go -- lets go and runs to her. Catherine takes his hand, pulling him along after her. They sprint forward, and I can hear their conversation.

"Don't leave."

"I have to. I don't want to get sick, too."

"I feel . . . I feel better when you hold my hand."

And then, I wake up.

I gulp in breaths of clean, cold air, trying to collect myself. I can't stop crying. My tears are hot and plentiful, streaking down my face one after the other. There are whimpering noises coming out of me that I can't control.

So that was a hallucination. I try to center myself on that -- it wasn't real. Natalie's alive. Bo didn't leave me. The world is not burning to ash.

But the burn on my leg is real. I can feel it pulsing at the foot of the bed. The scent of burning flesh hasn't left my nose.

I look down to find Bo looking stricken as well. Oh no. He didn't see it, too, did he?

A tear escapes his eye. "Vi?" he whispers. "Are you okay?"

I feel too weak to talk. I can't stop thinking about Catherine and Bo, running away from me together. The hallucinations are supposed to be your worst fears, right? So is that my worst fear? Am I really so pathetic that my worst nightmare is my boyfriend leaving me for another woman?

Bo pushes up to his elbows with a grunt. He wipes away the tear, forcing himself into sitting position. Exhaling deeply, he grabs the side of my bed and pulls himself onto it.

"It was just a hallucination, Violet," he says, breathing hard. Bo takes my hand, which just makes me cry harder. I feel better when you hold my hand . . .

"F-fire," I choke out. "A-and you . . ."

Bo collapses from sitting up to lying down in half a second. He curls his body around mine, closing his eyes. I wonder if he's wishing I was someone else.

"It's like a bad dream," he tells me. "It's horrible, then you wake up."

No it's not, I think. Because I wake up, and you still want her, not me.

I think it would hurt less to walk in on Bo in bed with another woman. Then, at least I could console myself with the thought that their relationship was purely sexual -- ours ran much deeper. But no, instead I had to witness he and Catherine right in front of me, their romance and friendship and the desire they obviously felt for each other.

Bo doesn't look at me like he looks at Cat, anymore. Has he gotten bored?

I see him kissing each of her fingers, watching her face as his lips touched her skin. How could such a small, conservative act convey so much intimacy? I want to turn away from him, but I am too weak.

"Wh-where's Faith?" I stutter. I already know the answer -- I just want to hear how he says her name.

"Cat has her. Don't worry."

He says it in an exhalation, like a diver coming up from the bottom of the ocean with one perfect pearl. Like if he says it any quicker, he'll drop the pearl and he may never get it back. Like he is in awe, and he will be in awe every time he looks at the tiny, flawless sphere in his palm, and nothing else could ever even come close to comparing.

And I'm just another flat rock on the beach, good for skipping but not much else. I am dispensable. My name is said with a certain amount of satisfaction at having found a good stone to skip, one that will go far for him, and once it's gone, he'll forget the stone. It will sink to the bottom of the ocean, amongst the other perfect pearls, waiting and waiting for someone to come along and think it is beautiful, more beautiful than the perfection around it.

Bo will never think that.

I wrap my arms around him and cry.