TW: domestic abuse, fire, panic, cussing

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You belong with me, the text read. Rosie had typed out a dozen replies, but deleted each one. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he take no for an answer? She had tried so hard to make it work with Mike. Too hard. But every fight made her feel like she was losing a part of herself, and she just had to make it stop.

He wanted too much, and read into every little thing she did until she wasn’t even sure if he was living in the same reality that she was. She didn’t love him anymore, she just felt… tired. He exhausted her. He hurt her; hurt her heart, body, and soul. She didn’t want to feel that way anymore. She wanted to look forward to seeing her boyfriend, to be comforted by him, not to feel nervous and insecure and afraid just thinking about him.

She called Ray.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” she said. “Can I sleep over tonight?”

“Yeah, what’s up? Is your mom okay?”

“Yeah, no, she’s okay, she’s between treatments, at Aunt Dina’s. It’s Mike,” she said.

“What did that motherfucker do this time?” Ray said harshly.

Rosie winced at how angry he sounded.

“Just weird texts,” she said.

“Block his ass,” Ray told her.

“I know,” she said. “I just… the way he’s acting, I don’t feel safe I guess.”

“You know you don’t need a reason, Ro. My casa is your casa.”

Rosie smiled. “Thanks. I’ll be over in a couple hours, okay? I just need to finish a paper.”

“Pizza, Chinese, or just ice cream?” Ray asked.

“Hmmm,” Rosie thought, still smiling. “I mean, is there a law that says we can’t have all three?”

Ray was silent for a moment, then shouted “You’re a fucking genius!” They both laughed.

“Okay, okay, I’ll see you soon,” Rosie said.

"Okay, be safe Rosemund.”

“Yes Raphael. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Rosie smiled and hung up the phone, noticing another text had come through while she was talking with Ray.

You’ll see, it said.

Rosie’s smile died. She wanted to leave the house, but she knew if she tried to finish her essay at Ray’s place, it wouldn’t happen. She pulled a chair up to the little desk in her bedroom and camped out with her laptop for an hour or so, adding a couple solid paragraphs to her paper. It was about library accessibility laws and how they affected electronic resource selection in public libraries. It was a bit of a slog, but she got to the minimum word count, formatted her bibliography, and was just about to read through it one last time to see if there were any major flow problems when she smelled something funny.

She looked up and tried to place the smell. It smelled like something was burning, like when her last roommate had microwaved some instant noodles and forgot to put water in the bowl. It was probably a neighbor burning dinner.

She read through the essay quickly and decided it would be good enough, and submitted it online. She was so focused on finishing it up that she didn’t realize how much worse the smell had gotten until she started coughing. She looked up and saw a haze in the air.

Oh shit.

The rest was a blur. She ran into the living room and smoke was everywhere. The carpet was on fire, the sofa was on fire, the curtains were on fire. The heat was intense. The flames danced in the room, the light from the fire making everything the wrong color. The fire alarm was silent. Later, she remembered that even in the panic of the moment, she was angry at the fire alarm for not going off.

The door to the apartment’s exit was blocked. The carpet blazed between her and the door, and she wanted to run through and just force her way out, but she was so scared. The heat was too much.

Rosie ran back into the bedroom for her phone. She called 911 and tried to pry open her bedroom window, but it wouldn’t open. She didn’t even remember what she said to the person who answered the phone, but they must have helped her calm down and figure out how to escape, because the next thing she knew she was outside in the parking lot looking up at her 3rd floor apartment billowing smoke.

People were yelling, running, sirens approached, cell phones were ringing. Rosie wandered to the edge of the parking lot and sat on the curb, numbly staring at the activity. She had hung up on the 911 operator at some point, she realized, looking at her phone still clutched in her hand.

She called Ray.

“Hey Ro, you still like plain chocolate or you want to mix it up tonight?” he said.

“I think Mike set my couch on fire,” she whispered.

“Ro? I can’t hear you, I’m at the store. Chocolate?”

“Ray,” she croaked. “My apartment is on fire.”

“WHAT? Rosie get out of there!”

“I’m out,” she said quickly. “I’m outside. Ray please come get me.”

“I’m coming,” he said. “Stay on the phone with me Ro.”

“O-okay,” she said, her voice shaking.

He talked to her the whole 7 minutes it took for him to get to her place. He found her sitting on the curb and sat next to her, wrapping her up in a big hug. She cried into his chest and he rocked her gently until she was done and pulled away. He stayed by her side, holding her hand when she talked to the firefighters and the police.

He got out of the way when the paramedics were checking on her, but after she was cleared, he side-hugged her as he walked her back to his car. He had parked a little down the block, the parking lot was completely inaccessible with the emergency vehicles scattered around.

They got into his old blue Jeep and just as Ray put the key in the ignition, Rosie gasped and grabbed his arm. He followed her gaze.

“Is that Mike’s car?” he asked.

Rosie couldn’t speak.

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Ray growled, opening his door.

“Wait!” Rosie cried out, pulling on his arm.

“Rosie, he-”

Tears streamed from her wide eyes as she dug her fingernails into Ray’s arm.

“Can we please just go?” she begged. “I can’t… I can’t…”

Ray looked at her hard.

He snorted a sigh angrily and shut his door, started the car, and drove them away. Rosie couldn’t stop trembling, her mind seeing red and orange flames leaping, destroying, burning.

The crackle and the smoke and the air that she couldn’t breathe. The overwhelming fear, the flames, the panic.

Sounds overlapped, the rumble of Ray’s car with a rhythmic purring.

She woke with her chest heaving, sobbing, fingernails digging into rough skin and soft fabric.

“You are safe, it’s okay,” Droya repeated over and over, rubbing her back. His voice was low and rumbled through his chest, Rosie could feel it vibrating through her hands. She cried for a while, but she relaxed her hands so she wasn’t hurting Droya, instead snaking them around his waist and holding on tight. He rested his cheek on top of her head and leaned against the headboard, pulling her on top of him and continuing to make comforting noises as he pet her.

She quieted down eventually, and he did too. They held each other.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” Rosie whispered. She made no effort to pull away.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Droya asked.

“I… I do, but… not right now,” she said.

Droya stroked her back soothingly in response.

Rosie took a breath and started to push away from him.

“If you need to go back to your room, I-”

“I’m fine here,” he said, pulling her back.

Rosie’s face was hot from embarrassment. She didn’t want to take advantage of his kindness. But his closeness, his presence was so… nice. That scent of motor oil and thunderstorms. His firm arms. The warmth of his skin. His breath on her neck.

“Thank you,” she mumbled. She nestled against him, the steady rocking of his breathing soothing her back to sleep.