I dart upstairs, knowing full well I can’t withstand the crawl of the elevator nor the proximity of strangers. The speed also caps the sloshing fire fuel leaking into my internal organs. What a hot mess I am.

Continuing my momentum, I push the exit door a tad too forcefully outward, and it stops mid-swing with a resounding crack. A loud groan indicates someone has been effectively incapacitated. I fist my hands at my sides, preparing to fight my conscience over seeing how much damage I’ve done to whoever is on the other side. While I can’t afford to waste time, I can’t really blame the person I bulldozed in my haste for slowing me down. I use the metal door as support to cautiously peek, finding a fully mobile body with an angelic face, unscathed and smirking at me. Okay, perhaps not entirely angelic, hence the smirk, but certainly ethereal.

Who’s the sledgehammer now? Superego tuts unhelpfully.

I should ask if he’s all right. Do I? No, I don’t. My train has a single track, the awkward route. “What are you doing here?” It comes out accusatory.

“Apparently, I’m stopping doors from maiming old ladies and innocent children,” he chastises. “What are you doing here?”

Instant and uncontainable heat sparks in my cheeks. “I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”

Nice going, Champ, Superego mocks. Smooth like a cheese grater.

Derry smirks again, and my blush deepens to a burning crimson.

“Maybe you should check me out,” he suggests, amused by my delayed concern.

Cringing, I search for signs of visible damage. He bathes me in his Morning Glory and Sunshine scent when I step closer. Lost in a strange trance, my fingers gently work their way across every inch of his face. He has prominent features, a finely chiseled shape, and while his skin looks taught to the touch, it’s a satin pillow. I justify this as an injury check, but it’s so much more than that.

Like a cloud absorbing an incoming current, I see a transient flicker in his eyes, followed by a strange pulse of energy at the point of contact. Each jolt draws sparks from my fingers. Derry coughs a bit, bringing his hand up between us to push me away in a calculated move meant to appear unintentional. “I’m fine.”

Swallowing down a narky lump lodged in my throat, I slowly emerge from the trance. It must be a new security measure my body has conjured up since I’m obviously incapable of consciously doing it.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

He tilts his head to the side, staring at me seriously for what feels like hours, though it couldn’t be more than ten seconds. He’s trying to find something in the expression on my face. “Where’s the fire?”

A weird noise escapes my throat. It’s a moan merged with a gag reflex, suspiciously similar to a cow mooing.

“Are you cool?” He warily reaches out a hand, second-guesses his advance, then retracts it.

Guess he missed the memo about mad cow disease not being contagious, Superego clips.

“Yeah, cool, sure. I have to go.”

There’s a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “That’s probably a good idea.”

“Great idea.” Ideas. I’m full of great ideas. “Uh…” I’m ready to meet my end, but what I’ve failed to prepare is a location for my public debut. Derry, in the most horrifically karmic fashion, has paved the way for my tragic finality. The Rec Room will be filled with people, and at least one of those people could be a Sumair. It’s my best chance. It’s also my only chance. I clasp my hands in front of me to keep them from shaking. “Is your sister singing tonight?”

“Yes,” he draws out the word so it comes out more like a question.

I square my shoulders. “I want to hear her.”

He pushes back several copper waves from his face, tousles his hair, and lets them fall right back where they were at the start. He’s no longer amused or playful. He clearly doesn’t want me to go. I keep a professional attitude, yet can’t help being slightly disappointed. Okay, that was a white lie. I’m more than slightly disappointed, but my feelings here are moot.

“Bad idea?” I gulp, not much looking forward to the voiced rejection after basically inviting myself.

“Horrible idea.”

“You don’t want me to come?”

How deep are you digging the hole? Superego chides.

He cups my chin, lifting my face to look him in the eye. Sparks shoot up in a streak to where he touches, but he releases me before they find purchase.

“Nothing would please me more.” Crack. When he smiles broadly, my lips tentatively mirror the expression. “I just hate admitting to my sister she’s right.”

“Right about what?”

“She knew you’d cave.”

“Are you one of those people that always has to be right?”

He shrugs. “I was looking forward to changing your mind.”

“Oh.”

Uh oh. You’re in for it now, Superego muses.

Of course she’s right. She always is. My pocket vibrates, cued by the sudden foundation of my plans.

U can do this—Declan

I look back to Derry, who’s watching me curiously.

“Do you need a lift?”

I nod.

“I’ll be waiting for you on our bench.”

I stand there slack jawed. Our bench. We don’t have a bench. Well, we didn’t. Maybe now we do?

He winks and slides around me through the still-open door. There’s a giddy skip in his step as he makes his way down the stairwell. I smile over putting it there.

Another buzz brings my attention back to the device in my hand.

U have 1 hr B4 I drag U here kicking & screaming—Tally

Not even a minute passes before my phone vibrates again.

2 hrs. She’s sorry, or she will B when I’m thru w/ her—Declan

I shove the red annoyance back in my pocket. They won’t expect a response because I seldom give them one. I know how to text. I just don’t bother. Having them in arm’s reach is oddly comforting while completely debilitating. Will two hours be long enough?