NB: The Girl from Hell (GirlxGirl)

Chapter 5: I am the Fire

Where am I? I think.

I’m so tired.  It takes a minute, but eventually I open my eyes.

I’m in a room.  There’s someone standing over me.  It’s a man.  He looks like he’s in his mid-twenties.  He’s white with medium-length curly hair.  He has big lips, like really big lips.  He’s wearing baggy blue scrubs.

“Take it easy,” he says.  “You’ve been through a lot.  Can you sit up?”

I try.  The nurse helps me and I manage to sit.  I’m wearing one of those hospital gowns.  As I move, I try and check to see what’s underneath.  I still have my underwear on.  I find that fact a little reassuring.

“Where am I?” I ask.

I’m lying on what looks like a hospital cot.

The room is a pale grey.  There aren’t any windows.  There’s a hardwood floor, but it looks old.  There’s a large shelf with an assortment of medical supplies on it.  The door is white.  I’m tempted to try and make a dash for it and go to the hospital, but I feel so tired.

 “We’re nowhere important,” he says.  I think that’s a matter of opinion, but I doubt he’ll give me a better answer if I ask again.

“Why am I here?” I ask.

“You were badly hurt,” he says.  “We needed to extract you before anyone found you.”

“Extract me?”

“Take you away,” he says.  I knew what the word meant.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because you’re special,” he says.  “And most of the world doesn’t know how to deal with special people.”

“What do you mean special?”

“Has anything strange ever happened to you?” he asks.

I don’t know if I should tell him the truth, but after being, shot, kidnapped, and who knows what else, I don’t have the energy to lie.  I think about the Cynthia and the fire.  “Yes,” I say.  I always knew I did it.  I always knew I was the fire.

“I’m special, too,” the nurse says.

“Do you start fires?” I ask.

“No,” he says.  “I can feel other people’s pain.  You’re thinking about something painful right now.”

“When I was eight, I burned down my house and almost killed another little girl,” I say.  I don’t why I’m opening up to this guy.

“It hurts you to think you’re responsible for what happened,” he says.

I nod. Of course it does.

Feeling other people’s pain sounds terrible.  I’m not sure I could bear the pain of the world.  I would need to hide in a secluded cabin in the woods somewhere.

“What’s it like?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer right away.  I quickly realize that I asked a very personal question. “It’s complicated,” he says. 

Another awkward pause. 

He breaks the silence this time.  “How’s your arm?”

“It’s alright,” I say.

“That’s good.  I took out the bullet.  Your body can heal really quickly, but you still have a ways to go.  You need to eat before you get any better.”

“Alright,” I say again.  I generally don’t eat food from strangers, especially not the kind that kidnap me and tell me that I’m ‘special’.  But, as soon as he mentioned food, I realized how hungry I am.