Losing Inertia

by VK Gregory

  I breathed shallow breaths of acrid smoke. My lungs already damaged from the night before, gasped futilely for breath. I had to get out. I had to move. I pushed my hand to the ground and tried to lift my injured body, something hurt deep within me and I fell backwards. Fire from the kitchen crept closer, burning its way along a rug, enveloping the wall opposite me. Hopelessly I stared at the wall of blue and orange flames that led away to the kitchen stove, a neverending fuel source filling the room. Until that woman burnt to the ground and let go of the oven knob. I did not want to be burnt alive. I did not want to die. I wanted to live. Even if it meant living here. I closed my eyes against the heat and willed myself forwards, one arm, one leg, one arm, crawl, crawl. Gasping and crying I tried to make my way out, but I didn’t even know which way out was.

  And then a hand was on my arm, an arm around my waist. I reached out and clung to them, whoever they were. Friend or foe, I clung to them. Tears of relief flooded me as I held the unknown person in my arms

  ‘Can you walk’ I heard in the crackle of fire, I did not speak but I clung to them, and put one foot in front of another, him guiding me, supporting me and holding me. And there was the door, outside I could see sunshine and grass and the church, and all that life that carried on, life I had forgotten about. All the plants, the flowers, the trees. They were alive. Life had not stopped after all.

  As we were steps away from the door I saw the cat dash in front of us, running up the stairs,

  ‘The cat’ crying out I let go of the stranger, pointing towards the stairs where the black cat had run away. The stranger paused,

  ‘GO, get out, I’ll get him,’ and I knew the voice. I looked through the haze of smoke and fear and saw Danny, his strong, handsome face staring back at me and the fire fell away. For a second it was just us and I loved him, ‘Go’ he pushed me towards the door and I half stumbled, half walked through it, finding myself on the other side, in the open. Where once again I could breathe.

  I had to get as far away as possible. I had to move from the house…but I stopped. Danny had gone after that damn cat, he had seen how much it mattered to me, and he had gone and there was no sign of life within. Flames licked through the downstairs window, burning upwards towards the rooftop,

  ‘Danny’ I called as loud as my burnt throat would allow, ‘Come back, forget it,’ it was then I saw the cat come out the door, strolling as if nothing in the world mattered, as if he wasn’t being chased by a fire, slurping at his heels, But Danny did not follow.

  The fire had taken over the house now, soon there would be no doorway to escape through, ‘Danny’ I stared at the cat who was preening himself by the far garden gate. And then I stared at the house. Shaking my head at my own stupidity I ran through the open door and back inside the inferno.

  The stairs ahead were on fire. The flames swept upwards to the ceiling, ‘Danny, where are you,’

  ‘Go Katy, leave,’ I heard his voice through the flames and I looked upwards onto the landing beyond and saw him, trapped behind a wall of flames, he stared dubiously at the fire, backing into the corner, trapped all around.

  ‘No,’

  ‘Just go,’ there was no escape except through the fire. None of the last few weeks, or our quarrel mattered anymore.

  ‘Wait here, just wait’ with more speed than I ever thought possible, I ran out of the house, back across the lane, through the cemetery to the church.

  I hoped I was right. I had to be right. The desperation made searching even harder, as I breathed frantically through scorched lungs. Each breathe like knives in my chest.

  ‘Where is it?’ there was regulations, always health and safety, I thought as I ran around the church searching. And there it was. Sweet, blessed luck, there it was. Attached to the wall under a stained-glass window depicting Noah’s ark. I grabbed the fire extinguisher and ran, back down the aisle. As I ran out the door, I thought I saw the woman, the woman in the pew bowed in prayer, she was sitting on the bench now. Watching me. I thought I saw her move. I hesitated only momentarily, I could not stop. Reading the instructions as I ran, I ran across the road, only Daniel on my mind. I could not stop the fire, but I could fight the fire enough to save Daniel’s life.

  ‘Hold the hose and press the handle down’ reading as fast as I could I ran through the door into a hellish scene.

  I could no longer see the stairs for the flames, ‘aim towards the base of the fire’ I fired the extinguisher at the flames, towards where I knew the stairs were, ‘Danny, Danny, are you ok?’ the extinguisher worked but only momentarily, soon the spaces seemed to fill with more flames, but I powered forwards, freeing up one step, then another, as the heat burnt at my skin, ‘Danny?’ please don’t let it be too late.

  And there he was. At the top, crouched into a corner,

  ‘Quickly Danny, quickly, please’ I was spraying the flames and they were abating enough but Danny was not moving, I sprayed until the last of the stairs were clear and then I ran, I ran to him, begging with every step that he was still breathing.

  The heat in the house was intense, I could feel my hair curling to a crisp, my skin tight and hot. The stairs creaked ominously under my weight, every moment seemed to slow down as I ran to him.

  ‘Danny, please, please,’ tears ran down sizzled cheeks as I reached him, my hand touched his, was it too late? The last few weeks were gone. Nothing mattered. Nothing except him.

  He moved. His hand moved with mine,

  ‘Katy?’ his voice was weak and barely audible above the roaring of the fire,

  ‘Yes, yes, come quickly, come on,’ but he didn’t move, ‘I can’t lift you Danny, you must come, please. I… need you, I love you,’ and I did. We held each other, surrounded by the intensity of hell surrounding us, I thought we might die like that together, and maybe that was okay. But suddenly he seemed to move and I half dragged, half pulled him down the stairs to where the fire had already regained ground, spraying as much as I could, Danny somehow found his way to the bottom. The relief was like a wave of joy as I saw him claw his way to the door.

  When the stairs collapsed, I didn’t even notice, my joy was so great that when I fell, all I could think was ‘Danny’s safe.’ And relief when the blackness enveloped me, I let it, seeking its promise.

  The fire burned my skin.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The world swayed, left, right, left right, my neck aching painfully, my skin on fire. I opened an eye, arms held me too tightly, stinging my injured skin. I took a breath and gasped in pain.

  He didn’t look at me as he somehow swept me through the flames, eyes focused on the way out,

  ‘Danny,’ I tried to call to him, but the pain was too much, the damage to great. The intruding blackness welcomed me into oblivion and it all faded away. Then there was rumbling, the feel of a car engine beneath me, the roughness of fabric as I bounced around, the shiver of being too hot and yet too cold. And the pain, intense pain that I could not find words to describe. The longer I lay there, awake, the greater the pain. Eventually I cried out, begging for relief, from anyone. From death. A face turned to me,

  ‘Hang on babe, I’ll get painkillers,’ but the world was gone again. I didn’t want to wake up, I recall the vivid sensation of wanting never to wake again, the desire to simply stop breathing, let the pain take me away.

  I tried so hard, with such desperation to give up, but something was stronger, somehow my body was not ready. As I prayed for death, life seeped through my spoiled skin; as I hung onto the darkness, light danced playfully across my eyelids, waking me for brief moments as Danny busied himself around me. As I relished the encroaching weakness, strength bubbled up in my bones, from somewhere, anywhere. Until the sound of life around me permeated my dreamless sleep and the sound of humming drew me back to my world.

  But the room was empty. No one was humming. As I opened my eyes, I wondered how long I had laid unconscious between hearing the humming and finally forcing open my swollen eyes. There was just me. And
the quiet, unfamiliar room.

  And the pain. Maybe it was the pain that woke me after all, the searing, burning, stretching pain of swollen tissue and fire-damaged lungs. I tried to move my head and let out a cry of anguish, how could everything be so hurt, and yet I still survive. Why did I always survive?

  ‘Katy?’ he was there, as if he’d been waiting for me. I stared at him through my blurry eyes, ‘are you in pain?’ I nodded, watching as he walked to the window and removed a small medical bottle, ‘Morphine,’ he added as he drew the clear liquid into the needle. As the stinging pain stabbed into my thigh, and the warmth spread through my legs, I looked at him once more. I felt the disconnect of the narcotics, but most of all the emptiness from my near-death experience.

  ‘You should have let me die,’ I whispered hoarsely, my whole body shaking with effort. He swallowed as then the morphine haze filled my vision and the relentless pain faded into the haze and I was gone again.

  I watched Danny listlessly on my wakings. He spoke little and injected me often with his clear syringe,

  ‘Morphine,’’ he explained, ‘I made sure to read up first, but it doesn’t seem to have as much effect as you’d imagine,’ he spoke without emotion as he filled his needle with the clear fluid. I welcomed the morphine. The break from the pain, the end of my own suffering. ‘Your burns are going to hurt for a while,’ I could just remember, it lingered on the edge of my consciousness as I fought against it. The house, the fire, the burning steps as I fell. ‘Someone wants to see you,’ and I felt something on the bed. A black cat appeared. Kitty had survived somehow; after everything he had caused with his antics. I had nearly died for this cat, I stared at it, then looked away, no longer wanting to care.

  Daniel didn’t mention what I had said. He did not try to reassure me about my life as he nursed me, nor did he promise that anything was better. We did not discuss our separation or all the things that had happened between us.

  Daniel would sometimes sit with me, talking or reading, sometimes I wouldn’t see him for hours and I would lie, staring at the ceiling, wishing for his company.

  One lonely evening I stared blankly at the ceiling above me, silent, craving the morphine that I could not have again for a while. Something brushed my fingers, something warm. Thinking it was the cat, I turned to look, but it was Daniel, his burnt hand reaching for mine. I did not move away, but I did not reciprocate.

  ‘I thought you were dead, Katy. Convinced you were dead actually. I couldn’t even see you in the rubble and smoke and dust.’ He rubbed his nose with his other hand. ‘I used your extinguisher to put out some of the flames as I tried to pull you out. But you looked so badly hurt’ he looked away, for once he seemed to experience genuine fear as he remembered the trauma. A warm feeling of compassion and hope tried to infiltrate my brandished despair. I pushed it away, ‘I didn’t think you were going to make it, we both had to walk through fire to escape. I thought I was going to lose you. I almost left you’ I thought there was a hint of a tear in his eye, a real tear, but then he stood up and walked towards the door, caught in his own unlikely emotions. He stopped and looked at me, ‘Maybe I should have let you die, maybe I was selfish to try to save you, but I won’t be sorry for saving you,’ as he left, I caught a glimpse of his bandaged arm, and I knew how much pain he must be in, but his face only looked sad. I closed my eyes against the image of his hurt. His new weakness was alien to me. But the hope I felt seeing it was familiar. Hope that he would change, that he would be different, that things would get better. Promises, upon promises, upon endless hope. I had lived it before. I thought back to the fire, to the feelings of love I had felt saving him, the relief when he had survived. My love for him was undeniable. And it was dangerous. Like the fire, it would destroy me.

  The certainty of our love, I had felt that day, had wavered. I could not rekindle it, nor did I search for it. But I knew it.

  I lay at his mercy, relying on his kindness and love to bring me food, drink, medicine and company. It was not enough that I was incapacitated, I had to need the help of a man I had chosen to abandon, and chosen to save. Kitty visited me often, lying with his warm, furry body against my stomach, or sometimes under the blanket. For much of the time, he was my only company, my only friend, and I would talk to him, pouring out my heart to a creature that would never judge me, and never answer back.

  My recovery was, as expected slow. But even as my wounds slowly healed, over days, over weeks, I noticed my general health did not. I did not get stronger, I did not feel brighter, energy did not surge through my tired body. Recovery was slight, mere surface deep, and even then, barely healing over the burns across my injured body. The scars looked fresh, the wounds deep. But the pain lessened.

  One day I had craved morphine for hours. Too long, I had lay there shivering, wanting it, needing it. And when it came it barely took off the edge of my need. The pain was deeper than my wounds. It was addiction. And I knew it. I could not live in this bed, I could not live on my morphine and soups that Danny brought me. If I was living. I was living consciously.

  I had to stop the morphine, but it would not be a simple fight,

  ‘I don’t need it,’ I told Daniel as he lifted the needle, ready to fill it with the fluid. He hesitated, surprised,

  ‘You’ll be in pain,’

  ‘I feel okay, I feel…better than I did,’

  ‘It’s masking it,’ he said not stopping as he measured out the morphine exactly. I wanted it, I wanted the release. I swallowed back my dry, anticipating mouth.

  ‘If I need it soon, I’ll tell you, but I can’t keep taking it.’ I kept calm. I did not want to challenge him. That could be a dangerous move,

  ‘You’ve been on morphine for a few weeks now, you can’t just stop, not like that. You’ll get withdrawal symptoms,’ he walked over to me, needle in hand and a surge of panic washed over me. I kept my voice steady, my body still. If he chose to inject me, I could not fight him off.

  ‘I’ll be okay. I’ve not been having that much,’ he glanced towards the bottle doubtfully,

  ‘More than you think, I’m just trying to help you, Katy,’ he lifted the side of the duvet and I pulled back, blowing out a breath, like I was extinguishing candles, fighting off the panic,

  ‘Okay, how about just some codeine then, to take the edge off withdrawal,’ he held the needle too close to me. I had to diffuse the situation, I had to calm him before he felt he must act aggressively, show his power. The weakness of his emotional awakening had not calmed his aggressiveness, or his need to control. ‘Danny boy, you have no idea how thankful I am for everything you have done for me.’ he smiled a little, relaxing, ‘you have been…my rock. You saved me,’ I laughed and smiled with him, ‘and I know that you have done what is best for me, and gone above and beyond to keep me going,’

  ‘I have,’ he answered confidently,

  ‘Exactly. And thanks to you, I’m now ready to come off the morphine, and get better. And be with you, really with you,’ he looked at the needle and back at me, and I smiled with the calmness that I did not feel,

  ‘Well…’

  ‘If I need anything, I know you’ll be there for me,’ he nodded and then walked back to the bag, and put down the needle. The relief I felt was euphoric, filling me with happiness as I realised that I had read him, assessed him and won. Only when he came back with the promised codeine did I realise that my win was not as victorious as it first looked. I took it without a word.

  Daniel was right about one thing though, well two, the pain and the withdrawal. I refused to admit to Daniel that the pain was significant, and the shaking, sweating nightmare of withdrawal surprised even him. He didn’t say anything to me as I suffered. but I could see his virtuous anger as he watched me, offering me only the pills and nothing more.

  When the withdrawal passed, it took with it a lot of the pain, and a new determination to get moving again, beyond the chairside commode that Daniel helped me to use. One cold morning I sat up, looke
d over at the chair next to the bed and made my own decision. With Daniel gone for the day again, I actually felt more confident alone, he was not there to argue with me, disagree with my own judgement or silently mock my failures with sighs and looks.

  No, just me. And my perseverance. It took careful, strained effort to inch myself out of the bed, and then put my unaccustomed feet down on the roughly carpeted floor. The next step was the big one, anchoring myself, I held onto the bed post and levered myself out of bed. My initial burst of energy and optimism, did not match my strength.

  My legs were weak and buckled instantly, and my arms were not strong enough to hold me up, so down I went with shocking force. The pain of landing on my burnt injured body, was nothing compared to my pride, and the fear of Danny finding me, stuck on the floor. It was this that forced me onwards, giving me the strength to drag myself to my feet and pull myself into the chair, where I sat panting and hot and tired and ready to be back in bed.

  I knew I would not get back into my bed alone that night, but as the evening grew darker, filling the room with shadows and a breeze of frigid air that made my toes curl, I wondered if he was coming back at all. I stared at the bed, the thick duvet, the soft pillows, with a mixture of longing and hate. I craved it’s warmth, I hated it for the weeks spent dying there.

  If I tried to make it back, I could fall and get seriously injured, the weakness in my legs was palpable, but it was the pain that stopped me trying. The deep burrowing ache in my bones, the gnawing hunger in my belly, the bizarre urge to rip the skin from my own face to distract myself from the overwhelming discomfort. I reached for the blanket on the bed, but it was too far and so I curled up in my chair as much as I could, protecting myself from the cold with my dressing gown. Lying there, shivering and in pain, the memory of falling to the ground was too much to bear, too familiar to me.