Cold Fire [SAMPLE]

[8]

 CHAPTER EIGHT

In the morning, the cut on my forehead is practically non-existent, and I am reminded of my extremely fast healing abilities. The doctors say that it's a side effect of my disease, along with my inability to get sick and hallucinations, but I don't, nor have I ever, entirely believed them.

I rip off the band aids, wincing as they pull at the hairs on my arm, and discard them in the bin. You can still see the cuts where the shards of glass pierced my skin, but they've been reduced to thin pink marks, barely noticeable.

I get ready quickly, and leave the house.

-:-:-:-:-

For the first time in months, my heat attack comes during class.

I'm sitting next to Caden up the back in History when I feel the wind on my skin even though all the windows are closed. I instantly know what's happening, and I suck in breath, as if it will somehow stop what's coming.

Caden notices that something's up straight away. "Melissa?

In the few seconds before it arrives, I recall how he's never seen me having a heat attack before and I wonder whether he'll still look at me in the same way after.

And then it comes.

It surges inwards, pushing at my skin. I feel it everywhere; my arms, my legs, my chest. It's a fire that can't be escaped or controlled; it can't be seen, and can't be felt except by me. It scrapes and claws at my skin with sharp burning fingers. I open my mouth to take a breath and it gushes in. It's a burning in my mouth, my throat; soon it's in my lungs and I can't breathe. There's no air, no nothing. My throat squeezes and I shut my mouth; the burning doesn't just come from the heat that's being forced into my body, it comes from me – a deep aching fire that spreads, and grows.

Strangely, in the midst of all this chaos, I manage a thought that seems totally out of place: I'm drowning. But in truth, I am drowning. People's faces – both concerned and disgusted – surround me. They are distorted, as if I'm beneath the water and looking up at them on the shore where they are breathing and living – where they are safe. And here I am, trapped under an unbreakable surface of fire; it crawls into me, consuming my body whole. I can't breathe, can't move. I'm drowning; drowning in an ever flowing river of heat.

Somewhere, someone is saying my name, grabbing at my shoulder before pulling back because of the heat in the air around my body and the fiery cold of my skin. I'm a cold fire – two opposites contained within one body. But I can't feel the cold even though I wish I could. I wish I could shake off my disease and feel the iciness of the air, but it won't go – it's stuck to me, woven into the fabric of my being, and no matter how much I thrash and lash out, it won't come undone.

Finally, I fall apart, unable to keep the pain bottled up, and I scream. The pain is everything now, there is no one else; nothing else. I'm dying, I think, and even though I know I'm not, in that instant, it sure as hell feels like it. And I wish for it too – for the pain to end, to be encased in a cold darkness and carried away from it all. I want to leave the fire behind – to leave it trapped in a body that's no longer mine.

And then, for a split second, it happens. I've left my body and I'm floating above watching the scene unfold -

Caden's by my side, speaking words of comfort; the teacher's shouting: "Get back! Get back!" and shoving the students massing around my chair away; some people are in the far corner, afraid – cowering; and then there's a few fuming students shouting insults at Caden as he helps me. Like he did with Branden, he stands up for me, for himself now too, and all the while softly gripping my hand, baring the searing pain that I'm sure he feels.