Where there's smoke, there's fire.
A wise person once said that, though it seems rather simple when you think of it; when something looks dangerous, it most likely is a bad thing to do or the wrong place to be. I'd heard the saying several times, and it was self-explanatory, and I always kept thinking of situations it would apply to. That you should run if you hear someone screaming, because you don't want to be screaming in pain, too. That you should beware of dark alleys, because its easy to hide in the dark, stay in the cover of the shadows. That you should keep away from bad people, because bad people can do very bad things.
So when I saw smoke flooding my bedroom all those years ago, why was it that I remained glued to my bed? That I refused to believe that there was a fire in my home right then?
Was it fear? Was it skepticism? Was it just that I couldn't grasp the fact that all I had and all I knew could be reduced to rubble in a matter of moments?
All I understood was that I would've probably spent those moments pondering why my legs refused to carry me from my bed, would've screamed bloody murder as the fire engulfed me.
This would have happened had my brother not swept me up, ensnaring me in his large, strong arms, and carried me away, my twin in his other arm.
Where's there's smoke, there's fire; and the smoke that clogged my throat then and the fire that singed me that night haven't yet completely gone away.
"Eli! Eli!"
The horror stricken cry of my sister causes me to recoil, as if I, too, am experiencing the pain that clings to Jayla. I whimper as she shrieks my brother's name again and again, her voice shaky, and press my hand clinging to the fabric at the collar of my shirt harder against my nose, covering my mouth from the smoke, too. And as tears burn at my eyes, I'm not sure if they are result of the smothering, grey vapor that threatens to choke my twin, who hasn't had the thought to cover her mouth yet, or from the fear that clutches at me, the overwhelming sense of despair that envelopes me as willingly as Eli's arms.
Jayla appears a moment later, tears streaming down her cheeks, choking out, "I can't get him."
"What do you mean?" Cassi's bottom lip quivers, "Where's daddy?"
My questioning gaze passes over my trembling big sister, as well, and I observe with alarm as her knees begin to knock together, weakly protesting her standing up as the smoke and her sobs increase. She coughs haggardly, and tips to the side as she wheezes violently, "He chained himself to the bed. He star-" she pauses, eyes widening to the point I'm afraid they'll pop as she hacks again, managing through her fit, "He started the fire."
And with that, Jayla topples backwards, falling down the stairs.
And as Eli lunges out to catch her before she hits her head, I am knocked loose from my position in the crook of his arm and slam back against the banister
The burning banister.
The pain is instantly crippling as the flames sear my pajama top and burn every nerve in my lower back. I yelp in agony, trying to fight the tears, but I let them flow when I hear the sickening crack of Jayla connecting with the ground at the base of the stairs. I cry harder, unable to move through the blinding pain.
I shake as the sobs continue to rack my body, desperately attempting to lurch forward, away from the banister, from the flames licking at my bare skin. Eli snatches me by the wrist, pulling me along with him as he flies down the staircase, trying to shake awake both my sister's who have fell into the state in between being conscious and not; Jayla from the impact, Cassi from smoke inhalation.
Fear grips me as neither of my sister's awaken, directed more towards Cassi than Jayla, for Cassi is still my little sister, even though it is only by a matter of minutes. I knew she needed to cover her mouth, I knew it! And yet I didn't say anything. I should have told her, I should have told her, I should have told her!
As the world blurs at the edges, the smoke further clouding my vision, the same chant echoes in my mind. And somehow I still hear it softly as I, too, slip into unconsciousness.
Even now, the words are still fresh in my head, echoing relentlessly, nagging me over what I should've done.
And they also remind me constantly of what I didn't.
The sound of mechanical beeping is what wakes me. A buzz, two synchronized hums, and a steadily sounding ding. Something nearby is making the annoying pitched sounds, and when I come to I want nothing more than to fall asleep again and block out the only noises that break the silence.
The room is a white, and smells sterile. It's almost revolting how clean the whole place is. The smell, the look. The bright, fluorescent lights shine blindingly down on me, also catching me off guard when I see their reflection in the sparkling tiles. Everything is in perfect order, even the magazines on the rack beside my bed. But I can't touch them, not because of the length of my arms and their distance from my small form, but because my limbs are tied down to the bed, my body restrained. I attempt to roll around, hissing violently as soon as my torso twists even in the slightest. My back protests every movement, refusing to bend the way I want it to go. Squeezing my eyes shut, I turn slowly and gingerly away from the door. It doesn't make the all to clean smell dissolve in the slightest, or my pain; but at least in the darkness my eyelids provide I can try to gather what is happening; try to recollect the memory of the fire so I can understand why my back aches so strongly, and why I am not in my own bed.
"Hello, dearie." A woman's all-too-cheery voice calls, and, unsettled, I whirl around to face her. I cry out in pain, and the stranger's bright, white smile paired with shining blue eyes both morph into an utterly concerned expression, and she places a hand on the small of back, steadying me as I quake violently. "Careful now! Those bandages were hard to put on. And expensive. So don't struggle against them!" The young woman admonishes me, fixing a stern glare onto her rounded features, a lock of honey nut brown hair falling loose from her tight bun.
I wriggle around once more, to spite her, before the pain, which before came in small waves, crashes over me in its full and I have no choice but to stop.
She smiles again, this time it is far more strained, and hands me a cup of water and presses two tablets into my empty palm, "Take these. They're painkillers, and will help with your back."
I greedily shove them in my mouth, gulping down the water after, desperate to rid my mouth of the artificial taste. I mumble a quick, hasty 'thank you', not really meaning the words as they slip off my tongue.
The woman seems to be able to tell, and can't help rolling her eyes. The blue orbs bulge the next moment, realizing her mistake, and she clears her throat awkwardly, "Yes, yes. You're welcome."
I roll my own eyes, trying to disguise it as studying the bland ceiling above us, pretending to focus on the cracks running through it. When I bring them down again, the woman's lips are pressed into a thin, white line, and she hums lightly, trying to fix her face into a smile when she notices I am watching her again.
"Listen dearie, your older sister is all good. Fixed up just fine. Your twin," she purses her lips, unable to keep up the cheery facade, "That's where we ran into problems."
Problems. The words would still make me snort, as it was probably the understatement of the century.
But the gravity of the problems that they found, that is what sobers my mood, and what urges me to become far from sober in my state of mind.
"What do you want me to do, miss? Rid your little sister of her condition?"
The doctor is beyond angry with me. As are the other nurses brought in when the news of my sister drove me to hysterics. That has to be part of the reason they practically chained me to the bed, aside from my age, so thatvi couldn't flee the room or attack them; because I wanted nothing more than to run to my sister and tell her everything will be fine and scream and wail until the doctors agreed to help cure her of her muscular disease.
"Yes!" I shriek through my tears, "I don't want her to live like that!" I don't want her to have no control over her limbs when she went into her fits, for her muscles to twitch and protest whenever she tried to use them. She didn't deserve it. She didn't deserve to drift into a pre-stage of asphyxiation which cut off oxygen to her muscles and resulted in this condition.
She didn't deserve for me to hold my tongue.
And I, most certainly, don't deserve to have escaped our burning house with nothing except a third degree burn.
"Well, frankly, there's not one damn thing I can do about what you want." The black haired man hisses, frustrated, "Unless your father has left you so-"
"Our father was the one who set the house on fire. He obviously didn't give a damn about our well being, and therefore didn't leave us anything."
I turn my head to see my brother sitting up on his bed. No restraints are on his arms, so groggily he cups his face in his hands, rubbing at his eyes. He shakes his head like a dog, his chocolate hair the same hue as mine getting messed up perfectly, in the way it seems only Eli can. He gives me a goofy grin when he sees me still watching him, crossing his blue eyes, the color my mother's were in all the pictures I saw of her. She died in childbirth years ago. And so did the baby.
I usually laugh at my brother's antics, but now I can see they are meant to distract me from the situation unfolding around me. Frowning slightly, I turn back to the nurses and doctor.
The black haired man, the one mad at me, opens his mouth as if to speak, but a nurse frantically comes flying into the room, clipboard in hand, before a word can fall from his lips.
The frantic aura soon grips the nurses that were already here as they merely glance at the papers the brunette brought, enveloping the whole room in a sense of sheer anxiety. The doctor appears unperturbed, but even his voice is slightly shaky as his eyes finally rise from the sheets of paper and opens his mouth again.
"There have been a change of plans with our course of action with you two. Due to... an entirely too small budget for our old plan."
Silence smothers the room, the only sounds being the shifting of the nurses weight, the rustling of the papers, and the mechanical noises that still sound.
"Well? What is it?" Eli demands impatiently. It's our only trait we have in common. He's the gentle one, I've got the temper and have been known to bite back. He finds relief in jokes, I find it it in silence. He likes to talk, is the epitome of a people person, I'm the social freak who holes away, hiding from the action. But we both have a lack of patience.
And I even have the short end of the stick on that, as I have even less than the tiny shard Eli possesses of the virtue.
So I'm almost driven insane as the nurse's gulp and fret, and the doctor tugs at his collar, trying to speak.
"It appears that only one of you can... live through the night."
And here I am, thousands of nights later. But life feels so much more empty without him. Even though we were virtually polar opposites, I know I'll always miss my big brother.
"Clove, you are going to have an amazing life, you know that don't you? Everyone will want to know you, to say they even shook hands with the famous Clove. But knowing you, you probably want to be the infamous Clove. The one everyone underestimated because she was small, but still can fight and be the strongest person in the 'll turn down all the asses who want you because you'll be better than them. You'll be better than everyone, but still find it in your heart to let in the important ones. You'll be the best of the best, and when I look down on you with all the people up in heaven, the people as numerous as the stars, I'll get to brag to them all that you're my baby sister."
Eli's melodic voice carries over to my ear, rousing me from my little sleep. I yawn big, and roll over carefully, to see the most horrifying sight of my life.
The needle containing the 'sleeping juice' as the nurse put it, but I still knew it was the offing medicine, was no longer on the tray the lady brought it on.
It was clutched in Eli's hand, positioned over the vein in his arm.
And before I can say a word, he presses down, pushing the needle through his skin and releasing the medicine that will shut down his organs into his bloodstream.
And then all I can do is scream.
Time heals everything.
Everyone says the person who said that was wise as well. That heartbreak can disappear, as well as the hangovers you get in the midst if that wretched time. That moments apart from someone you are disagreeing with let's you cool off, and then you can resolve your differences. That all wounds begin to dissolve as the years pass.
But they are wrong, seeing as the burned skin on my back hasn't yet to even begin to recover all this time later.
And neither has the hole in my heart.
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