A/N: Thanks for all the reviews so far, and especially to my Guest (I'm just sorry I can't PM you to thank you properly!)
I'm switching it up in this chapter and introducing a new character, so stay with me. It was very fun to write! :)
Chapter 4
Casey
I examine myself critically in the mirror as I apply the last coat of lipstick, carefully following the outline of my mouth, eyes unblinking. I like the new shade that is just the right balance between casual and elegant, a nice plum hue that compliments the rest of my flawless skin. I finish off my look with three coats of mascara per eye, then place the little black tube with its companions. Everything in the drawer is color-coated, then arranged by size. The lipsticks tell the colorful story of a near rainbow, while the brushes are more neatly placed than in an art class. My green eyes swiftly take in the contents to make sure all is in order, and I exhale relaxed, seeing that all is in place. I have always drawn serenity from order. Precision. I see co-workers snickering at me once I arrive at the teller desk every shift, organizing papers and stamps and clips until they are perfectly aligned, but I don't give a fuck about what they think. I can't work in the midst of chaos. And they're apes, anyway.
I powder my heart-shaped face lastly and run a brush through the silky brown tresses that reach my shoulders. I check my watch, although I already know it will be 8:25. I calculate my morning routine to the second. I have my usual two cups of coffee and whole wheat toast before I wash all dirty utensils in the sink before I leave. After every droplet has been dried from the counter and sink, I sling my light coat over my arm and off I go, locking the door behind me before pushing on it slightly to make sure it doesn't budge. I love the certainty that comes from it.
I reach the bank ten minutes early, as per usual, and as I walk into the refined building, I thank the heavens that it's Friday. Two glorious days await me, where I don't have to pretend to like these people and laugh at their lame jokes and brainless commentary on life. As I walk past the glass-shaped information booth, my reflection appears, and I nod with approval at my short skirt and the alluring cut of my blouse. As much as I hate my job, I don't see why I can't look good doing it. Killer, in fact. I smile a little before Dan the Idiot approaches me, waving that stupid little wave that fills me with rage. I remind myself coolly to breathe and plaster on a fake smile. Eight more hours of this and then wonderful, wonderful freedom!, I tell myself, nodding a little to invoke courage.
Half an hour before lunch and I get Dan the Idiot to cover my teller desk while I take a bathroom break. After flushing the toilet with the tip of my heel, I pump some soap into my hands and lather up, checking my pretty reflection in the mirror. I keep scrubbing my hands under the running water. I don't trust those damn cleaning ladies. They're too sure of themselves.
It's sudden and at first I wonder if I'm imagining it, but the smell of smoke reaches my nostrils. It reminds me of campgrounds suddenly. I rinse my hands quickly to stop the sound of running water, my ears listening carefully for anything out of the ordinary out there. But even before I hear the fire alarm, swirls of smoke are rising from beneath the closed doorway. The effect is similar to smoke machines out of bad music videos in the seventies.
Heart racing, I boot it for the door and pull on the handle wildly. Nothing. I panic, before I realize that I've locked it, of course. I tell myself to breathe, unlock it, and pull again. The door doesn't budge and more panic seizes me, swirling inside me like smoke is currently doing in the small bathroom. I pull on the door again, banging on it now, frantic, but it's probably useless over the deafening sound of the smoke alarm.
"Open this fucking door!" I yelp, clawing at the door and banging on the handle. Maybe one of those losers is trying to kill me!, I think, starting to cough from the smoke in the small room. I know it's unlikely, but I would still come back as a ghost and haunt their sorry asses if that were the case.
"Help!" I start to yell, fists pounding on the door. My yoga muscles are doing shit! A coughing fit overtakes me as I taste the elusive texture of smoke. It swirls down my esophagus, performing an elegant tribal dance, then settles in my damp lungs, cutting off oxygen supplies.
I kick the door, swearing and yelling through my coughing fit. With less than sane thoughts, my brain goes to the expiring milk carton in the fridge, the unpaid bills on the counter and the clothes spinning in my dryer. All things needing resolution. My life needs me!
My hands start to tremble and my forehead is bathed in sweat. My eyes dart around the small space, helpless, and hot panic seizes me. A thick haze has taken a hold of my head, my thoughts. The last thing I hear before passing out is the violent drumming of my heart in my chest.
When I open my eyes again, the movement comes as no easy task. I feel heavy, like led, and I try to move my head. I cringe as the back of my head throbs with the movement, which means I probably hit it on the way down. Then, a wave of panic seizes me when I realize my movements are limited. As if I'm attached to something. Or nailed down to the ground.
"Easy," I hear a voice above me, and I force my eyes to focus. Reassurance is present in the sound and I blink. Blue. I blink again. Deep ocean blue, I think this time, as I lose myself in that hue present in his eyes. The Fire Department City of New York emblem on his uniform catches my attention next, indirectly informing me that the person hovering over me is a firefighter. His cheek is smudged with soot and I somehow want to brush it away delicately, noting the chiseled jaw line and appealing features of the stranger. My hands are reaching out and end up touching the mask placed over my mouth, instead. I instantly panic once more, my eyes widening at the discovery.
The stranger takes my hands to stop their frantic movement and meets my eyes. "It's okay, that's just an oxygen mask," he explains soothingly, with the kind of tone that makes you stand to attention. His voice is deep and warm. Warm. The fire. Oh God! What happened? Where am I?
"You were in the bathroom when the fire broke out. The door was jammed. Had to axe it down, actually. But you're safe now, we got you out of the building in time. So just breathe in some clean air and relax. Don't worry about a thing. Everything's under control."
Control. He used the magic word. That blessed, sacred word I love, and it's like a switch has been turned on inside me. I grip his hands tightly, committing to memory the rougher texture of his skin and the steady beating of my heart.
I let out a content sigh and close my eyes, lulled by the comfort of his touch. The background noise of wailing sirens and commotion disappears slightly when my mind is surrounded by him, and I feel myself drifting...
"You need to stay awake," I hear his voice, and I am stunned that he can read into my intentions. I blink and focus on his eyes, his generous mouth, wondering all the while if it's the extra oxygen that's causing me to picture those lips on mine. I would nearly die for him any day!, I nearly snicker wildly, before realizing he's asked me for my name, like, five minutes ago.
"Casey," I let out, unsure if he's heard me through the mask.
Another uniformed helper comes by and he nods over at the woman. She seems a paramedic of sorts and I'm inundated by sadness at the thought that he's letting me go. No! I fake a coughing fit, but this only makes the woman come closer and start to fuss over me.
"Wheeler, we need you!" I hear someone calling urgently behind us, and the handsome stranger looks up in its direction, ready for action.
"I have to go, Casey, but I'm leaving you in good hands," he smiles at me, and it's the most beautiful sight I think I have ever seen. Warm. I'm going to be needing a lot more oxygen than this, my heart can't seem to keep up!
He squeezes my hands one last time as the paramedic checks my mask, and he's suddenly gone. I try to follow him with my eyes, straining to lift my head from the ground, but the paramedic firmly holds my body in place. Let go, bitch!, I want to yell loudly at her, but I refrain, breathing in deeply and closing my eyes once I can no longer see his uniformed body in the crowd. I focus on my breathing and repeat one word in my mind like a mantra, drawing comfort from it. Wheeler.
