Burning Love to Ashes

When I woke up choking on thick smoke, I calmly dialed my boyfriend’s work number three times—he’s a fire captain.

When he finally answered, all I got was his angry yelling: “Don’t be jealous, I’m just doing my job. Do you really have to joke about a fire?”

In the noisy background, I could hear Ivy gushing, “Thank you so much! You’re my hero!”

With the flames creeping closer, I didn’t have time to argue. I reported the fire right away.

The operator regretfully told me, “The nearest fire station is on another emergency call. It’ll take half an hour to reach you. I’ll coordinate with other rescue teams immediately.”

In a daze, I saw a news notification: the fire captain had mobilized all rescue forces and successfully saved a suicidal, depressed girl.

If I remember right, this was Ivy’ 99th bout of depression.

I looked desperately at the warped door and then out the window from the 18th floor. Between being burned alive or falling to my death, I chose the latter.

Just before I passed out from suffocation, I sent my last text message: [I’m leaving. I wish you all happiness. Please don’t disturb or miss me.]

——

I saw my own body, curled up like a sculpture in the corner of the balcony.

Even though there was no breath between my lips, my face still showed a longing for life.

A wet towel had fallen from my left hand, stained black from filtering smoke. The fingers on my right hand were horribly burned, with charred skin peeling away to reveal crimson flesh. My pinky finger was almost nothing but bone.

It turns out I’m already dead.

Twenty minutes ago, I was shaken awake.

When I opened my eyes, thick smoke was everywhere.

The fire had started in the kitchen and spread through most of the living room.

I stayed calm, wet a towel, covered my mouth and nose, and crouched low to feel for the door.

My boyfriend, Aiden, is the fire brigade captain, and I’ve learned a lot from him.

The door lock was glowing red-hot. Even through the thick, wet towel, I got burned and shivered from the pain.

Blisters quickly formed on my delicate fingertips. I fought through the pain and tried pulling the handle a few times, but the door wouldn’t budge.

The door frame had warped from the heat and was jammed shut.

The smoke got thicker, almost blocking my view.

My head started to spin—a sign of carbon monoxide poisoning.

I hurried to the balcony, opened the window as wide as it would go, and made my first emergency call.

To my boyfriend, Aiden, who was currently not speaking to me.

Today was Aiden’s duty day, and the fire station he leads is only a five-minute drive away. High-rise rescues are his specialty.

“The number you have dialed is currently unavailable. Please try again later.”

A cold, indifferent tone played from the phone.

I double-checked the number—it was his work phone.

When Aiden gave me that number, he had promised:

“Elena, this is my work phone. It’s only for emergencies, and I’ll never turn it off. You have to pick it up when it rings. Aside from my colleagues, only you know this number. Think of it as our emergency signal. Whenever you call, I’ll be there right away.”

I had already dialed 911.

But after hesitating for a moment, I tried Aiden again.

The area I’m in is his responsibility, so the call would eventually go to him anyway. Maybe it would be quicker to contact him directly.

The sound of the phone ringing echoed in my ears.

Until I heard Aiden’s angry voice.

“I’m busy! What do you want? Don’t waste my time!”

I realized I had unconsciously dialed his number a third time.

This time wasn’t intentional.

I shook my heavy head and tried to look out the window.

My nose felt swollen, like I couldn’t breathe at all. I guess I had already been poisoned by carbon monoxide while I was sleeping.

Aiden didn’t notice my heavy breathing. When I didn’t respond right away, he grew impatient.

“Elena, there’s a fire at home, can you come and save—” I struggled to push the words out through my burning throat, but he cut me off with a heartless reprimand:

“Elena, please stop being so jealous.”

“I’ve explained a million times, that there’s nothing between me and Ivy, I’m just doing my job. Why can’t you believe me?”

“Do you really have to joke about a fire?”

In the noisy background, I heard Ivy’s slightly sobbing, admiring voice: “I thought my brother didn’t care about me anymore. You’re truly my savior!”