I dimly realized that I was tipping over backwards - very, very fast, yet apparently very, very slowly; it seemed like we were moving in stages, and the stages were timed to my super slow heard rate.

I craned my head back and around to see the bleacher-ceiling only a foot away from slamming into my savior's back.

It was the weirdest thing - we were falling at a rate equal to (or slightly faster) than that of the bleachers' fall. For the duration of our entire agonizingly long trip to the floor, I watched the structure remain at the same distance away. I watched as dust and wood particles slowly, slowly filtrated the air.

I stopped breathing.

Finally, finally, we reached the ground. I felt the hot arms slide out from under me, laying me ever-so-gently on the wooden floor. The hands braced themselves against the solid ground on either side of my arms, and the feet below mine. In push-up fashion, the elbows bent and the muscular chest came closer and closer to my face again, until it was only a scarce inch away.

I looked up to see the bottom corner of a perfect, chiseled chin. I knew that chin. Matt.

Before I had time to form another coherent thought, time seemed to catch up with my brain, and we were hit.

I tried, even knowing it was too late, to brace myself for the slam of Matthew's body onto my own as I heard the tremendous rumble and slam of hundreds of pounds of wood and metal hitting him.

It never came. I squinted, trying to see through the now-clogged-with-dust air.

I heard the wood and metal hitting the ground on either side of me. I could make out pieces giant shapes sliding and bouncing off of Matthew out of the corner of my eye. But I must have been hallucinating, or maybe the dust just made everything look weird - there was no way the tremedous weight over us would just bounce off of him. But then, why weren't we both being crushed? I could hear all-too-well, the overwhelmingly loud crashing and banging which meant the structure was hitting something. It wasn't possible that merely luck prevented anything from falling directly on us. And how was Matthew here, anyway? He had been in the middle of the gym seconds ago - and even if he had been close to the entrance, I had looked both ways and he was nowhere near. Then a second later he was? Impossible. I must have been dreaming the whole day. How else was any of this explainable?

Finally, finally, after - well, it could have been seconds, or minutes, or hours, or even days for all I knew - of falling and crashing - with the bleachers' last, desperate, dying groan; everything ceased. The boards and bars settled around and on top of us.

Everything was eerily silent. I swear I could hear the floating dust, the only thing still hanging, suspended in the air.

Then the noise commenced.

I heard muffled and rapid talking. For me to be able to hear it whilst under so much meant that it must have been spoken much louder than the usual. It was too muffled to make out any individual words, but it the tenor of the conversation seemed panicked.

Then I realized that I was hearing a lot of voices, rather than just one.

"Shit," I heard, soft and low and fast above me.

I opened my mouth and inhaled, only to feel dust instantly filling my mouth, clogging and coating my throat, making breathing impossible.

I started coughing uncontrollably; gasping for breath only to instantly expel it.

I started to wheeze.

"Fuck," I heard, once again, above me. Then he was looking down at me. His arms straitened and his body rose up, away from me, so fast I almost missed it.

The dust had more room to move around in then, and while it was still thick in the air, it was a little easier to breath.

I was reduced to just coughing.

"Breathe through your shirt," I was instructed. So I lifted the collar of my shirt up, over my mouth and nose, and breathed. It worked; I could breathe again and it wasn't accompanied by coughing. Why hadn't I thought to do that on my own?

"Thanks," I told him grudgingly. He grunted in acknowledgement.

"Curl up in a ball for a minute, okay?" He asked. I did so without even thinking about it. But I still watched.

Then his arms left the floor completely and he kneeled, leaning over, his body at an impossible angle that still provided a shelter for me.

I don't think he knew I was watching, but his hands flew around at a blindingly and impossibly fast speed. They moved beams of wood and bar around, propping some up against others - I wasn't really sure what all he did, but the wooded ceiling above us barely moved the entire time.

Then he was done. He moved out from above me and half-lay, half-crouched by my side instead.

Instinctively I recoiled and braced myself, once again, for my crushing death - but, again, it never came.

I sat up a bit, tentatively.

Apparently Matt had constructed a sort of fort out of the ancient structure's remains - we were in a small space; about two feet high and a good four feet across. It looked so natural; it almost looked as if we had been the luckiest two people alive, and that something - some bar or whatever - had prevented anything from falling on us.

If I hadn't seen all that I'd seen, I'd have believed it myself.

I met his eye. His gaze held anger and concern - it was extremely tense, but held no fear.

My mind was numb and completey stunned. It was as if it was completely refusing to acknowledge or think about what it had seen. It was in complete and utter denial.

I didn't blame it.

"I -" I started, my shirt still over half my face.

Matthew shook his head and gave me a look that told me that he wasn't planning on talking.

I scowled, anger rising within me, shooing away the numbness.

"So, what, you think you don't have to explain anything?" I growled.

"I don't," he growled in reply. I was taked aback by the hostility and anger in his tone and voice. I'd never seen anything like it him before. He was acting even more hostile that Lorraine.

But then I got over it, and just got madder.

"Oh? And just why is that?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

"I saved your life. Since when does that require explanation?"

"Since now," I announced angrily, all attempts at feigned casualty melting away.

"Too bad."

"Oh-ho?"

"Just drop it."

"I won't."

"You're so - stubborn! Why can't you just be grateful?" he spat.

"I am grateful. But that still -"

"Than why can't that be enough?" he interrupted me.

He did save my life. Maybe I did owe him a bit of privacy. But he still owed me an explanation.

"Fine. Whatever. I'll let it go - for now. But this isn't the end of it, you know."

"Why was I afraid of that?" He murmured.

And so we waited in silence.

Occasionaly, we'd hear the muffled sounds of outside voices. We listened to them swell up and down in volume; once they got so loud and panicked, I could actually pick out a few syllables, but still not a full word.

Usually we couldn't hear anything.

And so we continued to wait in silence; me not even looking at Matt.

Meanwhile, my mind was reeling. I mentally replayed what had just happened a thousand times, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation. I couldn't find one.

By the time we heard the wood and metal starting to be removed, slowly, around us, I had come to a conclusion. Impossible as it sounded, as unbelievable as it was, I knew for a fact, one thing.

Matthew was not human.