•Word count: 1,610
-5 Months ago-
"When are you planning to quit that morbid habit ?" I ask with an exaggerated roll of my eyes. I'm not sure when he started it, but I personally think his current 21 years of age is just too young.
In response to the smirk he's now sporting, I narrow my eyes and pull the collar of my shirt up to cover my nose and mouth from what I know would be a hovering cloud of smoke in a few seconds.
He doesn't answer until another draw of the toxin he's holding;
"It keeps me in control of my temper-" he's interrupted by a cough -coming from him- and I raise a dubious eyebrow at him. His lungs obviously disagree here.
"and it helps me think properly" He's in a coughing fit now, and I don't notice that I'm coughing just as hard until Andrew's image begins to blur.
When did the smoke become so thick that it's making me choke on my already shallow breaths?
Why is my breathing shallow in the first place ?
"Lily!" when Andrew desperately shouts the nickname, I only manage to wipe some of the tears before strong hands clamp onto both my shoulders.
I open my eyes to have them stare directly into clear blue ones- Andrew's.
"Wake up! we have to get out of here!" Why is he screaming ? I'm right in front of him.
Why is half his face masked ? And when did smoke from a single cigarette make this much-
"The house is on fire, Lily. Please get up!"
My mind only allows a fraction of a second for me to try to comprehend the sudden turn of events -one second I'm about to make an announcement to my fiancé, who's a regular smoker, and the next, he's telling me my parents' house is on fire- before I'm leaping out of the bed and heading for the hallway in no time. I barely notice the carbon filter mask he slaps against my face and helps secure each strap behind my ears in a hurry.
Despite my brain's attempts to catch up with everything, I will myself to move forward, following after Andrew's steps.
He's headed for the baby's room, but someone -also masked- already stands there; the baby, safely tucked in a portable baby nest bed, cradled in their arm.
I don't remember any of my parents purchasing this; it's covered in some sort of acrylic or polycarbonate glass, keeping the baby completely safe from the black smoke that's engulfed the house.
"...a black SUV is parked just across the street, waiting for you." I catch the last bit of words falling off Andrew's mouth before I'm ushered towards the fire escape.
I've only made a few steps before my brain freezes on a crippling thought and I, once again, pause and look back at Andrew through wide eyes.
"Mom and Dad are still in there, here, take the baby; I'll go get them" He catches the baby when I clumsily pass him the nest, whilst I'm turning, headed for their room.
He follows me, uttering all sorts of incoherence, or at least it's what my mind identifies as such.
Despite the warm smothering air, the feeling of a bucket of ice being poured over my head stops me in my tracks right in front my parents' room. The door is still locked and I can see the flames escaping the bottom of the wood where the door meets the floor; however, what scares me the most is the silence, the absolutely deafening silence. No cries for help, no screams of agony from the scorch, and not even whispers of tender words. Nothing.
Although the sounds of crackling flames and the sound of house structure hitting the ground as it collapses bit by bit is a constant reminder of who's in charge here.
With the horrendous sight before me, my imagination fails to picture what might be happening behind that door. Muffled voices fade into the background but a hand I've grown more familiar to its touch by the day once again falls onto my shoulder.
"I'm sorry but you have to move" Andrew says.
What is he apologizing for ? Where are my parents ? There's no way they're in there.
Through a blurry vision, I regard their bedroom door.
The thought of grabbing the doorknob and barging in is interrupted by an angry flame causing a piece of wood to tumble from the ceiling and land a few inches away from my flip-flopped feet, which has me gasping and stumbling backwards.
"Your mother said to take your sister and go" He says, sounding more urgent than apologetic.
At the mention of my mother, I manage to pull myself out of my stupor and l'm staring at blue eyes once again -harbouring a gaze full of a mix of both, sympathy and apology.
He's sorry my parents left. They've probably left. They must've sensed the fire, woken up and left. Yeah that's it. My head is nodding on its own, willing me to believe my own suppositions.
The nest is once again thrusted into my arms and this time, I'm a bit more awaken, guided by the urgency of the situation.
Surprisingly, I do move with the baby in my forearms towards the fire escape before another thought has me stopping in my tracks,
"Hey what about you? Shouldn't you be out of here too?" I can see the frustration in his expression at my inability to follow simple orders.
"There's something I have to take care of and then I'll leave. Now go!" But I don't. I remain rooted to my spot.
What if he doesn't make it ? What if the-
"Please, go. I'm right behind you. I promise"
He pleads, shoving me only slightly so I can move.
With a heart heavier than ever, I take my first receding step while still looking at him, taking into the picture all the fire viciously singeing every inch of the house around him. Everything's charred, nothing to salvage.
How will you ever escape this, Andrew ?
I think he senses my reluctance because he closes the few steps between us and plants a kiss to the crown of my head.
"Go, I'm right behind you" He repeats this, in a tone he seems to use to convince himself more than to convince me, with his forehead pressed against mine.
Nodding, I turn around and sprint towards the fire escape, and this time, I do not look back until I'm in the backseat of the SUV Andrew spoke of earlier.
But when the car roars to life and the driver shifts the gear to drive, I'm quick to reach over and grip his shoulder.
"We're waiting for Andrew" I tell him.
He complies, reshuffling the gear stick back to park. There's a safe distance between the car and the house, which is promising.
My leg begins to bounce up and down.
I'm still looking out the window when a thud against the opposite window has my head sharply turning and the driver rolling the window down.
"What are you doing ?! You have to move!" The man, I recognize as the one who stood by the baby's room holding the baby's nest, yells at the driver.
"We're waiting for Andrew" I tell him, refocusing my attention on the house once again, anticipating Andrew's advent.
My stomach clenches and unclenches rhythmically.
"Andrew is not riding with you. His car is parked by the curb" He says, regaining my attention. My chest inflates when I spot his car, parked a yard or two away from ours.
"What about my parents ? What car did they ride on?" When I ask him this, his eyes drop to floor, his head hanging for a few seconds.
I wait for him to answer, refusing to believe the stupid conclusions my mind is weaving.
"I'm sorry-" He begins, avoiding my gaze by all means.
"No" A voice croaks; is it mine ?
My stomach sinks.
"We received the emergency call from your father's phone but there was no answer from his side, so we drove here immediately" His words barely register through the haze of black out inclination.
My chest hurts, there's a frantic rise and fall to it, but it's the feeling of my insides collapsing that has me probing further.
"What does that mean ?" My words are choked out.
"They're obviously gone. There's no trace of them-"
"They left! I know they did! They left because of the fire" At this point, I'm already crying, hands trembling with a new found devastation.
He shakes his head throughout the whole rant.
"That's not possible. We got the call from this address, arrived in record time, and made it for your parents' room in time to... to find..."
He stumbles over his own words, his hands gripping the car's door harder.
"To find what ?!" I unintentionally snap, driven by the fear of his answer.
"Blood" He finishes. The metaphorical punch actually knocks the air out of my lungs.
"There was blood all over the floor, but there was no trace of their bodies. It was enough evidence for us to settle our attention and efforts on rescuing you and the baby" His explanation doesn't make it to my comprehension. Only one word does.
Blood. Blood.
The word repeats itself within the confines of my consciousness, sending a distinctively pungent smell into my nose. Blood.
One would think I was mentally prepared for this, for my parents to disappear one day from my life for good, according to their nature of work. I can't bring myself to identify their disappearance as something else.
••••
Hello Everyone, this is another project which I hope I won't bail on.
Constructive feedback is what'll help me get through this, so let me know what you think in the comments.
Thanks in advance (=
-Asia