Page 28 of Playing with Fyre
But when I push, nothing happens. Fyre is holding me too tight.
When I begin to struggle, he lets out a patient, “Shh,” and strokes the top of my head. Then he puts his hand in his pocket.
I open my mouth to scream, and that’s when he presses a handkerchief over it. Immediately, an acrid stench hits my nose. My lips and tongue go numb, and it feels as if every ounce of blood leaves my face at once. A harsh tingle runs through my head, down my arms, through my entire body.
My spine melts, and suddenly I’m limp in Professor Fyre’s arms. The darkness we are nestled in in this blind alley starts converging in on me, pressing tighter and tighter, suffocating me.
I’m dying, but it’s gentle. Calm, almost.
The sky wheels above my head as Fyre lifts me, and I feel nothing when he cradles me against his chest. My eyes slide closed a moment before I hear him whisper, “I love you, Charlotte Ash. And with time, you’ll learn to love me too.”
The End
