Just Now ·
The carpet's actually the least of it — it's the ice bucket, it's just sitting there sweating on the desk, totally fine, and six inches away the lamp's still sparking a little where the cord got yanked. Smells like a struck match. That burn mark's already set into the carpet, it's not coming out, so at minimum we're eating the deposit.
Right. Just look at it. Don’t touch it. I said don’t touch it. The carpet’s ruined. The lamp’s fried. I said don’t touch it. Why are you looking at me like that? It’s just stuff. Broken stuff. I’ll pay for the carpet. I’ll pay for the lamp. Just… stop breathing so loud. It’s fine. We’ll fix it. I’m fixing it. Right now.
I'm not touching it. I'm not — okay, hands down, see. You're the one who keeps reaching for the cord and it's still hot, Dev, look at the plate on it. Nobody's asking you to fix anything this second. We can just stand here for a minute. The carpet's not going anywhere. Neither is the lamp.
I’m not reaching. My hand just… twitched. It’s still humming. You hear that? That little buzz. It’s trying to start back up. I need to kill it. Properly. If I leave it, it’ll catch the rug. I said I’ll pay. I’m paying. Stop staring at my hands. Just look at the wall. Look at the stain. It’s black. It’s done. Let it burn. I’m done. I’m so done with this mess. Just let it be.
Dev. Look at me, not the wall. The buzz is the transformer dying, it does that, it's not going to jump the outlet. I'm not staring at your hands, I'm watching them because you keep saying two different things — kill it, let it burn — pick one. Actually don't. Just stand still a second. Nothing else in this room is on fire yet.
You’re right. I’m talking nonsense. Transformer’s dead. It’s just noise. Dead air. I need to sit. My legs won’t hold me up. Did you see the sparks? They went straight up. Like little snakes. And the smell—match and ozone. It’s stuck in my throat. I can’t breathe right. The lamp’s dark. It’s dark. Why is it so quiet? You’re still breathing. I stopped. I think I stopped breathing. Cass? Cass, are you still there? I can’t feel my fingers.
Hey — sit, floor's fine, don't fight it. Breathe out first, all the way, then in, I've got you, count with me, one — you're not stopped, you're talking to me right now which means air's moving. Fingers tingling is the breathing, not the sparks. I'm right here. Two. Keep going. You stopped for a second, not for good.
One. Two. Three. My hands are shaking. Look at them. Just vibrating. Like plucked strings. I didn’t mean to pull the cord. I was just… standing there. And it moved. The lamp moved. I swear it moved. Is that possible? Physics doesn’t work like that. But it did. And now the carpet is black. And you’re counting. Four. Five. Why are you so calm? It smells like death. Sweet death. Like a burnt match. I hate the smell. Get it out of the room. Can you smell it too? Or am I the only one choking on it? Six. Seven.
I smell it, you're not alone in it. Six, seven, good, keep counting. Lamps don't move on their own, Dev — cord probably snagged your sleeve, foot, something, that's all, physics is fine. Nobody's blaming you for a lamp. I'm calm because somebody has to be and you already called first on falling apart. Eight. Almost there. Hands'll settle before the number does.
Eight. Nine. It snagged my sleeve. I felt the fabric jerk. That’s all. Just fabric. My fault. I’m clumsy. I’m always breaking things. The deposit is gone. I’ll pay. I’ll work extra. I’ll scrub the floor if I have to. Ten. Okay. I’m sitting. You’re right. It’s just a lamp. Just carpet. Just a stupid mistake. I hate this. I hate that I’m shaking. Stop looking at me like that. Like I’m fragile. I’m not. I’m just… tired. Let’s go. Before the smell gets worse. Before I start crying. Which I might do.
Not fragile, just wired wrong for the last ten minutes, that's different. Nobody's paying with scrubbing floors, it's a lamp, it's carpet, it's a Tuesday-sized problem dressed up as a bigger one. If you cry you cry, I'm not going anywhere. Let's just get out of the smell first, worry about the rest of it standing in the hallway instead of on top of the burn mark.
Tuesday-sized. Yeah. Okay. Hallway. I can do hallway. Just… give me a second. My knees feel like wet paper. Help me up? Please. Don’t look at the lamp. Don’t look at me. Just… the door. The handle. Cold metal. That’s real. Warm is bad. Warm is sparks. Cold is just cold. My fingers are numb. If I drop my keys, don’t pick them up. Let them stay on the floor. Let the floor have them. We’re leaving. Now. Please.
Got you — up, slow, lean on me not the wall. Handle's right here, cold, you're right, that's real. Keys can rot on that carpet for all I care. Door, hallway, three steps, that's it, don't look back at the room. I'm not letting go till we're past the ice machine.
Three steps. Got it. My heart is still hammering against my ribs like it wants out. Can you hear it? Thump-thump. Too loud. The hallway light is flickering. Or is that just me? Don’t look at me. Look at the floor. Gray carpet. Stains. Always stains. My office smells like toner and regret. I have that report due. The one with the missing data. I didn’t file it. I was too busy watching the lamp spark. Stupid. So stupid. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the lamp. For the smell. For… this. Just walk. Keep walking. Past the ice machine. Please.
Light's flickering because it's cheap hallway light, not you, seen it do that every time I've walked this stretch. Report's not going anywhere tonight, forget the report. Nothing to be sorry for — you didn't set a lamp on fire on purpose. Ice machine's right there, hear it? That hum's normal, boring, not your heart. Few more steps. Just walk.
Normal. Boring. Good. I hate boring. Boring means safe. My heart’s slowing. Thump… thump… thump. Less like a bird, more like a sinking stone. I’m walking. You’re walking. The ice machine is humming. It sounds like a refrigerator. Or a grave. No, not a grave. Just a machine. Making ice. Cold, hard cubes. Like the lamp’s transformer. Dead. Can you hear the ice dropping? Clack. Clack. Like bones. Stop it, Dev. Just… listen to the hum. It’s steady. I’m steady. Barely. But steady.
Steady's enough right now, don't need barely to be perfect. Clack is just ice, cubes falling into a bin, that's it — you're doing the thing where you dress ordinary sounds up as something worse, I've watched you do it for the last ten minutes with everything in that room. Ice machine, hallway light, your own ribs. All boring. All fine. Keep walking with me.
All boring. All fine. Repetition is a lullaby. Ice, clack, hum. My ribs are just ribs. Bone and cartilage. Not a bird. Not a stone. Just meat keeping me upright. The hallway stretches out. Endless gray carpet. Like the room, but bigger. Less smoke. More distance. I’m walking. You’re walking. Side by side. Two people. Not a crime scene. Just... exit. The stairs are up. Or down. Does it matter? Up feels safer. Higher ground. Less fire below. Lead the way, Cass. I’m following. Always following. Until the air clears.
Up, then. Stairs are right there, I've got the rail side, you take the wall. Air already smells less like matches out here anyway — that's not nothing, that's real progress, not just you telling yourself a story. One flight, that's all, then we sit somewhere that isn't gray carpet. Come on. Follow the feet, not the thoughts.
One flight. Right. Walls are brick. Rough against my shoulder. Good friction. Real. I’m following your steps. Left, right, left, right. Don’t look at my feet. Look at the handrail. Stainless steel. Cold. Solid. I can’t feel my toes. Or my hands. Just… numb. The air is thinner up here. Less smoke. More… nothing. Just dust. And my own breathing. Too loud. But we’re moving. Up. Away from the sparks. Away from the smell. Just feet. Just steps. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. I’m afraid if I stop, I’ll start again.
Not stopping — six more steps, that's all, I counted them on the way down earlier. Numb toes just means blood's busy elsewhere, it comes back, it always comes back. You start again if you stop, fine, then we don't stop, we just keep the feet going till the shaking runs out of fuel on its own. Left, right. Almost at the top. Stay on the rail.
Six steps. Left. Right. Left. Right. My legs are dead weight. I’m dragging them. You’re pulling me. Or I’m clinging to you. Doesn’t matter. The top is here. The landing. No carpet. Tile. Hard, cold, unforgiving. But clean. No smoke here. Just the hum of the building. The elevator dings. Or maybe it’s just my ears ringing. I can’t tell. My hands are finally stopping. The numbness is fading into pins and needles. It hurts. Good. Pain means feeling. Pain means not broken. I’m standing. You’re standing. We made it. Up. Away. Safe. For now.
Pins and needles is good, that's the worst part almost over. Tile's real, that ding's the elevator, not your ears — you can even go check the button if you don't believe me. We made it. Sit if you need to, lean on the wall, whatever holds you. Nobody's going back down for that lamp tonight. It can sit there being ruined without us.
The button’s warm. Plastic. Normal. I pressed it. It went down. The car is coming. I don’t want to go home yet. My apartment is too quiet. Too clean. I can’t look at my own rugs. Not after this. The doors are opening. Empty. Good. I can just… exist. Here. In the box. Moving. Not thinking. My legs are water. Cass, did we turn off the main breaker? I don’t remember. I don’t care. I’m sorry. For the lamp. For the smell. For being… this. Hard to hold together. The doors are closing. Take me away. Please.