Fiery Little Thing: A Dark Academy Romance

“Kohen,” I whisper, frozen to my spot as I watch his black hoodie soak up the blood pooling on his lower abdomen.

I can’t fucking breathe.

He isn’t moving.

I can’t see his chest—

No.

No.

No, no, no, no.

Fuck.

He—he can’t. He fucking can’t be—

“Kohen!” I scream as my grandfather points the gun in my direction.

“Don’t move.” My grandfather’s voice is a distant sound.

I rush toward Kohen who’s lying by the entrance to the room, crashing onto my knees beside his fallen form. Tears spring to my eyes as I rip his mask off and touch his clammy skin. “Kohen. Open your eyes. Kohen, baby. Wake up. Open your fucking eyes, Kohen.”

He doesn’t. The only movement comes from the blood soaking through multiple layers of clothes, turning the rug crimson. A soft groan escapes his lips.

“Kohen,” I repeat, voice cracking as I press my lips against his and gingerly press on his wound. “Come on. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

The space between his brows wrinkles, and his head lolls. The walls around us seem to close in, and nothing matters but him.

“Kohen,” I plead, shaking him by the collar. The tears burn down my cheeks, making it harder to see. “Come back to me. You promised you’d never leave me.” I keep tapping his cheek, getting harder with each second that passes. Panic grips my lungs in a vise, squeezing hard enough to make acid climb up my throat.

“Step away from him, Marie.”

My head whips toward the voice. My grandfather is barely more than a blur from the tears that cast a haze over my vision.

That motherfucker.

Thunder and fury flood my veins, coursing venom straight into my heart. The sound that comes out of my mouth barely sounds human. “You did this.”

He’s a fucking dead man.Content rights belong to NôvelDrama.Org.

Jonathan steps back as I prowl forward, keeping the gun fixed in my direction. Just before I lunge for him, a click sounds through the room and I freeze, dropping my gaze to the weapon.

The asshole tried to kill me.

And he didn’t hold down the safety.

The fury explodes through my marrow, and everything ceases to exist. The gun flies out of his grasp when our bodies crash together. I don’t feel the pain in my muscles or the cramp in my hand. He hits me. Kicks me. Does everything a desperate man would. All I’m aware of is the feeling of my hands around my grandfather’s throat, the way he tries to throw me off when I pin him to the floor, and the man who owns every inch of me who’s bleeding out on my demon grandfather’s rug.

I can’t make out my grandfather’s face through the tears. The sound of his cries and useless pleas are lost to me as my fists descend on his face. I hit him for the years of trauma he could have prevented. I hit him for the years of abuse at his hand. I hit him because of the pain he caused, even during his dying moments.

He’s the one who’s meant to die. Not Kohen.

I choke on a sob. “You think you can just kill me?” Punch. “I’m the monster you created.” Punch. “I’m the reason for your ruin.” Punch. “I’m the fucking victor.” Punch. “I can’t. Fucking. Lose him.” A strike accompanies each word, even though my grandfather stopped fighting long ago. My fists keep descending onto his face even as my punches slide into the dip in his skull. I cry out when the last hit collides with his broken features, jarring me back to the present.

Kohen.

I grab the gun from the floor and tuck it into my pocket. “Kohen!” I scream, clamoring up next to him. I rip my glove off to feel his clammy skin in my hands and cup his face just like he does to me. “Kohen, wake up. Come on, baby.” My tears fall onto his face as I pepper kisses all over his face. “Please wake up. Kohen, I swear to fucking God, if you don’t wake up, I’m going to bring you back to life just to kill you again.”

He doesn’t get to fucking die. There’s still so much we haven’t done. So much he said we will do. He promised me a trip to Bora Bora because he wants to see me lounging around in a bikini all day. He swore we’ll get a house of our own, and I can get a cat with an absurd name who I’ll train to do random tricks. We’re meant to go to the woods three days from now and start a bonfire. We have tickets to some stupid sci-fi movie that’s had him geeking out for the past month.

Kohen’s meant to get his degree and get into medicine. He’ll keep saving people because that’s what he does. He’s meant to go old and gray, and we’ll be the couple everyone hates at the retirement home. He needs to know that I love him more than anything else in this world. That I would give it all up for him too.

He deserves to live. Not me. Not the screwup who left the gun unattended.

“Please. Get up. You have to get up. I… I love you. Okay? You can’t fucking die without hearing it. I love you, you pyromaniac. I love you. You can’t—” I choke on the words while trying to press on the wound. “You can’t leave me. I won’t let you.”

“Say it again.” The three words drift out in a whisper. My chest squeezes as he peels his eyelids open, revealing a hint of hazel. They start to close again, and I slap him across the face. Hard.

“Don’t you close your eyes on me, you fucking cunt!”

His eyes snap open when I slap him a second time.

“Say it,” he croaks, his eyes glazed over as if he’s fighting tooth and nail just to keep them open. Still, they’re right on me. They’re always on me. Seeing me.

“I love you, Kohen. Get out of this alive, and I promise to tell you any time you want,” I sob.

“I’d like that.” He sputters on a cough, a sad little smile playing on his lips that tears at my heartstrings.

I peel back the layers of fabric to look at the wound. Kohen prepared me for this exact scenario. He sat me down one night while we were still at school and walked me through everything I needed to do if either of us were ever shot. I refused to listen to it at the time or comprehend why he insisted we carry a first aid kit on us. Now I realize it’s because he was always willing to die for me.

It’s why he made me learn how to fight. How to point a gun, shoot, and throw my fists to cause a knockout blow. After all this time, it’s because he thought he might not be here to see it through. He wanted me to be prepared in case he had to leave.

But he doesn’t get to just die on me. I still need to kick his ass for all the shit he pulled on me when we were kids.

“Yeah?” I say, trying to keep him talking. “Maybe we get those words tattooed too, huh? We don’t have any matching ones.” I yank his top up and gag at the sight of the blood pooling on top of his abdomen.

“You keep copying my style.” The words are barely audible, referencing our outfits from prom.

“I need to seal your wound. Okay?” I say, trying to keep my voice calmer than I feel. I bite down another surge of acid as I squeeze my hand between his back and the floor to feel for a second wound. Unzipping my coat to grab the first aid kit on the inside pocket, I rip straight into the gauze. “I’m so sorry. This is going to hurt.”

Bile lurches up my throat at the sound of his groans, and I narrowly stop myself from retching at the squelching noise his body makes when I push the gauze as deep into the wound as I can without doing more damage and tape more of it over the gunshot.

“You’ve always been the one to save me,” he whispers.

It sounds like the confession of a dying man. I choke as my tears slip past my lips, spreading their salty taste over my tongue. Fuck, I can’t lose him.

“You saved me too, Pyro.” Blood smears over my cheeks as I try to wipe away my blurry vision. I put my gloves and both of our masks on and move into a crouch to grab one of his arms. “I need you to walk for me. Can you do that?”

“Anything for you,” he slurs, then winces as I try to pull him onto his feet.

Kohen stumbles. My body protests but I manage to haul him back upright and tuck his arm securely around my shoulder. He sways like deadweight against me as I try to get us to the stairs and out the door.

My own legs threaten to give out, and it only becomes harder to walk when we step onto the slippery gasoline.

“Just a couple more steps, and you can have a break,” I lie, pausing to lean against the wall to catch our breaths.

I pull him forward again, each step a more monumental struggle than the last. My heart sinks as soon as we reach the top step. Pushing him down seems like a viable option, but something tells me I’d cause more harm than good.

“Baby, I’m going to need you to hold on to the banister while we go down, okay?”

A grunt is his only response.

I manage to catch him before he falls headfirst, but he does exactly as I say, even though I’m sure it only worsens his wound. Nausea rips through me from the exertion of carrying half his weight, and my head swims from inhaling the gasoline.

He crumbles onto the floor at the bottom step and makes no attempt to sit up. I help him lie back and put another fresh layer of gauze over the wound with my shaking hands. “You can hang on for me, right? I’ll be right back.”

He mumbles something that sounds like yes, and I take it as my cue to sprint down the driveway to the front gates, passing piles of duffle bags as I go. The sharp winter air burns my wet cheeks as my boots pound against the concrete. An ache forms in my ankle and doesn’t go away even as I reach the gates.

Nothing matters but getting Kohen to a hospital. I don’t give a shit what happens to me; whether I get sent to prison or killed, Kohen lives. This is all my fault. This was my quest for vengeance, and I dragged him into it. I left the fucking gun on the table, now he’s hurt.

It should be me lying on the bottom step, bleeding out. It should be me making peace with my demons before meeting them all in hell.

“Fuck,” I scream as I slam the Open button on the gate.

I push myself harder as I sprint down the street toward the car. I need to be faster. I need to be at the hospital right fucking now. If he doesn’t see a doctor soon, he’s going to fucking—

No.

He’s going to be fine. He’s a fighter. He’s all fury and fire. This isn’t how he dies. This can’t be how our story ends.

My fingers shake as I grip the key and unlock the car. Every second feels like hours as I rip past the gates and tear down the driveway at breakneck speed. My entire body trembles from the combination of adrenaline and fear. The car screeches to halt as close to the front step as humanly possible.

“I’m here,” I call, opening the back door before I bound up the steps.

Kohen hasn’t moved from his stoop on the stairs, and the battle with sleep is clear in his eyes as they drift open and shut. “I’m bleeding everywhere,” he mutters.

“Exactly why I need to get you to the hospital,” I pant, wrapping my arms around his torso without warning. My back strains in my attempts to get him up, but Kohen tries to push himself up after a couple seconds of delay.

A whimper breaks past my lips as he slumps against me, but I try to hold firm and shuffle us closer to the car.

“If you don’t clean up, we’ll get caught.” Kohen’s voice sounds distant. Even on his deathbed, his brain is still turning, analyzing and plotting.

I huff out a breath as I walk us backward toward the car, careful not to slip on the gasoline. “I—No. You’re bleeding out. Just—just shut up. I’m getting you out of here.”

He says something I don’t understand as we struggle down the steps, and my arms give out as soon as we’re next to the Honda. He drops onto his back, then attempts to push himself up onto his elbows like he wants to get out of the car.

“What are you doing?” I ask, stuffing him into the back seat. “I need to get you to a hospital—”

His bloodshot eyes meet mine. “If they find my blood, they’ll win,” he mumbles, swaying with the effort to lift his head.

“If you die, they’ll win!”

“Please. I want to see a fire one last time.”

I bite back a sob. “You aren’t going to die,” I insist.

“Please.”

One word. That’s all it takes. Please.

I slap my hand over my mouth to swallow down the sob that wants to come out. Somewhere in the back of my mind a voice tells me that it’s his dying wish, and if the roles were reversed, he’d burn the heavens and save me at the same time.

Tears stream in a constant pour down my cheeks as I make sure his legs are in the car before slamming the door shut. Quickly, I throw the bags Kohen filled into the trunk and round to the front of the house to take one last look at the place where my family prospered while I starved. I fish out the box of matches from my pocket, and picture the girl I could have been if life hadn’t fucked me the way it did. But I can’t grieve someone who never existed.

“You won’t need a jacket,” I say beneath my breath as I light the match, recalling my grandfather’s words when he left me inside the frozen tub. “It’s warm in hell.”

The match falls into one of the puddles of gasoline that’s decorating the house, and the entire hallway lights up in golden flames in the blink of an eye. I sprint back to the car without appreciating the sight of my past turning into cinders, feeling my soul scream in terror for the man in my car.

I fire up the engine and turn back to look at Kohen, only to find that his eyes are on me, not the destruction painting the manor in gold. “You’ve always burned prettier, Blaze,” he whispers. “You’ve always been my fire.”

It smells of death in here.

The beeping, the coughing, the soft murmurings, the squeak of rubber soles against the lino. The man in the bed behind the curtain divider is snoring away softly. I curl up and try to soak up the morning sun that trickles through the hazy curtains along the back wall of the shared hospital room.

A nurse comes in to check on Kohen and scribbles away notes in her chart like she does every half hour. I gave up trying to ask how he is an hour ago when I kept receiving the same response.

He lost a lot of blood.

He needs to sleep off the anesthesia.

We just need to wait and see.

I’m trying to follow the motto of “Do not bite the hand that feeds,” but it’s fucking hard not to pickpocket every person or take the random things that I pass by. The urge to steal is stronger than it’s been in months. But it isn’t the only battle going on in my mind. The need to sneak out of the hospital doors to find the closest dealer has sunk its teeth into my marrow. Only three things play on a loop in my mind, so loudly it blocks out every other thought and sound.

I need to steal something.

I need to get a hit of something—anything.

I need to save Kohen.

But I can’t do any of those things because I’m stuck watching him waste away right in front of me.

It should be me lying in that bed, not him. I thought I knew what being a failure felt like, but this is something else entirely.

Blood streams around my nail bed as I continue picking at the skin with my teeth. His heart rate monitor looks steady, but what the fuck do I know? The doctors said his surgery was a success and he should make a steady recovery. They also mentioned some more medical shit to me and showed me pictures that I’ll leave for Kohen to translate for me if he wakes up.

When. Not if.

The police stopped by at nine this morning, asking questions about the bullet the doctors found in his gut. I’m not sure which part shocked me more: the fact that they didn’t accuse me of being the one who shot Kohen, or that they believed me when I said it was a drive-by. Maybe the jeans and the knitted jersey Sue made me sold the story. Picture-perfect innocence and all. Or maybe it’s the fact that I couldn’t stop myself from sputtering and crying like a little bitch.

I peel the skin on the side of my nail, lost in thought from imagining a life without Kohen. I don’t know how I would cope without him when he’s helped me get this far without falling back on my urge to get lost in white powder. I’m barely on the wagon as it is. Losing him might tip me over the edge, and I don’t know if I’d return. But the more I picture it, the more I realize that even if he didn’t make it out of this hospital, I’d make him proud. For him, I’d stay clean just to burn the Osmans to the ground, because if he dies for my vengeance, then I’ll die for his.

Squeezing Kohen’s hand, I stare at the bite mark tattooed on his finger and freeze mid skin-peel when he squeezes back. I launch to my feet and crowd his space, placing my hands on either side of his head as his eyelid twitches.

“Wake up, dickhead,” I whisper urgently, tapping the side of his face. “Nap time is over.”

He mumbles something that sounds eerily like “Fuck off.”

I huff and slump back in my chair. “I’ll give you another hour,” I grumble.

Time ticks on far too slow for my liking. I have no phone to keep me entertained, so the only option I have is the TV which only has the news—which is depressing as shit—and more goddamn infomercials. Only this time, they have subtitles and no weirdly catchy music. Neither of those two options are appealing to me, so I liberated a coloring book and crayons from the kids’ area earlier, and I’ve almost finished coloring every page despite how much my knuckles protest. My postkindergarten-level art is mortifying, but it’ll be Kohen’s Get Better Soon present.

“You suck at drawing.”

My attention whips to the voice. “I’m coloring, not drawing, idiot,” I snap, then send the book careening onto the floor as I assault him with desperate kisses along his cheeks, forehead, nose, eyelids, lips, throat. Anywhere and everywhere.

He’s alive.

He’s a-fucking-live.

The words replay in my head, turning into gleeful shouts as his fingers wrap around my wrist. I don’t notice the sobs tumbling out of my throat until liquid salt seeps through the seam of my lips. Wiping the snot and tears on my sleeve, I slap him lightly on the cheek. “Don’t you ever fucking do that again.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” Kohen’s voice is a low grumble that takes me back to just a few hours ago, when he could barely speak while I had his blood on my hands.

I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’ll kill you if you do.”

“That’s my preferred method to go.” His eyelids droop and reopen slower than normal. Every medical professional here would say he needs to rest, but I’m a selfish person. I need to hear him speak to know that taking my grandfather out didn’t take Kohen from me.

Against my better judgment, I flick his ear. “Don’t you joke with me, Kohen. I thought you were going to die.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily, Thief.” He winces as he brings his hand up to my face to wipe away my tears.

“I don’t want to get rid of you,” I whisper, grasping his hand to kiss the inside of his wrist. “I love you, Kohen.”

His mouth breaks into a soft smile. I wish I could capture this moment so I’ll never forget how his eyes light up like he’s finally reached the pearly gates. All because of thirteen letters.

“About getting those words tattooed…”

I roll my eyes and chuckle as he traces my lips with his thumb. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”