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THE END
SOMEONE HAS PUT me in a hot oven and locked the door.
Someone has doused me in kerosene and lit a match.
I come awake slowly with my body on fire, consumed in flames. The sheets are cold and
damp. I’m drowning in sweat.
What’s happening to me? It takes a moment before I realize that there are many, many
things wrong.
I’m shivering. I’m more than shivering. I’m shaking uncontrollably and my head hurts.
My brain is being squeezed in a vise. Pain radiates out and crashes into the nerves behind
my eyes.
My body is a fresh bruise. Even my skin hurts.
At first I think I must be dreaming, but my dreams are never this lucid. I try to sit up, to
pull the blankets closer, but I can’t. Olly’s still asleep and lying on top of them.
I try again to sit up, but pain buries itself deep in my bones.
The vise around my brain tightens and now there’s an ice pick stabbing
indiscriminately at the soft flesh.
I try to cry out but my throat is raw, as if I’d been screaming for days and days.
I’m sick.
I’m more than sick. I’m dying.
Oh, God. Olly.
This is going to break his heart.
He awakes as soon as I think it. “Mad?” he asks into the dark.
He turns on the bedside lamp and my eyes burn. I squeeze them shut and try to turn
away. I don’t want him to see me like this, but it’s too late. I watch his face go from
confusion, to recognition, to disbelief. Then terror.
“I’m sorry,” I say, or try to say, but I don’t think the words make it past my lips.
He touches my face, my neck, my forehead.
“Jesus,” he says, over and over again. “Jesus.”
He pulls the blanket off and I’m colder than I’d ever thought possible.
“Jesus, Maddy, you’re burning up.”
“Cold,” I croak, and he looks even more terrified.
He covers me and cradles my head, kisses my wet brow, lips.
“You’re fine,” he says. “You’re going to be fine.”
I’m not, but it’s nice of him to say so. My body pulses with pain and my throat feels like