XCIII | Someone Else
❦
Someone’s replaced my blood
with lead.
I can’t move.
My lips part
after
a mammoth exertion.
‘Ta…mmie…’
I blink,
surprised.
My vision is
flooded
with light.
I squeeze my eyes shut
quickly.
I don’t want
to see
her
glowing
grey
eyes.
A hand brushes
my cheek.
Nails scrape
across my skin.
I recognise this touch.
The stench
of rotting flesh,
of smoke,
is gone.
Only the familiar smell of vomit
remains.
Very slowly,
I come back
to the world.
I’m staring straight
at a flat surface—
a ceiling, i think
—of LED lights.
I turn my head,
the movement
compounded because I don’t know
if I have a neck anymore.
(Apparently, I still do.)
It turns
and I’m looking at
a white window.
I’m
in a white room.
The person sitting by my head,
caressing my face,
is Tammie.
She gives me
an apologetic smile.
Her grey eyes
are anxious.
Not glowing,
not luminous.
But maybe that’s because
there are no shadows
in this room.
Everything’s brightly lit.
I struggle
into a sitting position
but a gloved hand
holds me down.
There’s a masked nurse
sitting on a chair,
beside me.
I’m horrified
for a moment,
thinking I’ll be stuffed
into a cupboard
with leotards.
I’m going to be another corpse
in the studio room.
I thrash
but I have no legs.
I rip the blanket off my body.
My legs
are there.
One foot bandaged.
The other leg
in a full cast.
I’m wearing
a paper dress.
I feel under my pillow
for a
plastic knife
but this isn’t my usual bed.
My hand closes
around thin air.
Lie still, Fiona.
The voice is muffled
either by the mask
or because of my ruined eardrums.
Tammie looks sad.
I stop struggling
and the nurse replaces
the blanket over me.
My arms are heavy too.
They’re also
bandaged at several
intervals.
I’m wrapped up like a mummy.
Everything is sore.
A machine beeps violently.
The glowing green line
across it wobbles,
an infant on two feet.
I’m searching for Tammie,
afraid she’ll be gone.
(She’s still here.)
She smiles down at me,
apologetically.
The nurse speaks,
You were badly injured
in the fire.
He/She picks something
off a metal tray.
A needle.
A tear slips out
the tip of it.
Everything’s okay now.
He/She leans closer.
I shrink away.
A vitamin shot.
You’ve been out for
two days.
Two days?
The needle sinks
into my arm
with no resistance.
No pain.
I guess there’s
too much of it
for me to feel this prick.
The nurse
restrains my arms
by my sides.
He/She leaves the room.
and I notice
there’s only
my bed
in this white room.
There are
no cupboards.
The air reeks of
antiseptic.
Machines tell me how I’m feeling.
Tammie?
I whisper again.
She lays her head
on top of my chest,
grey eyes wary.
I was so scared.
She’s unhurt,
no trace of having gone
anywhere close
to the fire.
She was
in the studio room
the whole time
after all.
She shakes her head.
You’re an idiot, Fifi.
Why did you run
into the fire?
I was trying to save you.
Tammie’s eyes
light up
with laughter.
She giggles.
It’s a different sound
to the one in the
dark studio.
She shakes her head,
lips pursed,
disapproving.
I don’t need you
to save me, Fifi.
I wasn’t even there.
❦
