Crushed By The Man I Saved

When I got back to my rundown apartment in Brooklyn, an iron chain was padlocked across the door.

I leaned against the cold wall and slowly slid to the floor in the dim hallway.

I took out my phone and opened the encrypted photo album, my eyes falling on the single picture inside.

Against the fiery backdrop of the California wildfire, I was carrying an unconscious Jasper on my back. My face was blackened with soot, my clothes torn to shreds by grasping branches.

The photo was taken by a passing park ranger on his phone. He’d offered, "Miss, let me get you some help."

I told him not to, that I could handle it.

The truth was, I was at my absolute limit.

My ears were bleeding, my throat felt like it was being seared with hot coals, and the dead weight on my back threatened to crush me with every agonizing step.

But I didn't let go.

Because the man on my back was my entire world.

Later, the ranger sent me the photo with a message: "Your boyfriend is a very lucky man."

He didn't know that this photo had become my only solace.

Proof that I hadn't abandoned him.

Proof that I had carried him for miles, until I saw the glorious headlights of the ranger's truck.

But when I finally stumbled into the community hospital in Red Creek Town, I saw Camilla—my so-called friend—throwing herself into the arms of a newly awakened Jasper, crying pitifully.

"Jasper, you scared me to death! When I rushed back into the fire to save you, I thought we were going to die together..."

Jasper stroked her hair, his voice weak but impossibly gentle.

"Camilla, thank you. I'll take care of you for the rest of my life."

I couldn't hear what they said after that.

A sedative was pushed into my veins, and my world dissolved into darkness.

When I woke up, I was in an observation room in the emergency department.

The doctor explained that I had inhaled too much smoke. It had caused permanent damage to my vocal cords, and I might never speak again.

He also mentioned that the auditory nerves in both my ears were damaged and recommended a hearing aid.

Finally, he told me the second-degree burns on my face would require expensive skin grafts.

I asked the doctor where Jasper was.

The doctor paused. "You mean the man brought in with you? He was moved to a private room yesterday. His fiancée is with him."

Fiancée.

The word was a needle to the heart.

I ripped out my IV line and, dragging a leg that was still bleeding, shuffled step by step to Jasper's room.

The door was ajar.

I saw Camilla gently feeding him soup.

I heard her say, "It's a good thing I got there in time... I can't believe Aurora. Running off on her own is one thing, but to not even call for help?"

Jasper was silent for a moment before his voice came, cold and distant. "Don't mention her name."

"Okay, okay, I won't," Camilla said, dabbing at the corner of her eye. "I'll take care of you from now on. When you're better, we'll start over, okay?"

Jasper didn't speak.

But his hand reached out and took hers.

I stood frozen outside the room as the admissions paperwork in my hand fluttered to the floor.

A passing nurse paused beside me. "Are you a family member of the patient?"

I opened my mouth, but only a dry, rasping sound came out.

The nurse frowned. "If you're not family, please don't block the doorway."

I turned and walked away.

And I stayed away for five years.

Before my phone screen went dark, I deleted the photo.

Keeping it was pointless now.

Some truths were destined to be buried with me.

Just as he would never know that the unique scar on his wrist wasn't from the fire. It was from me, from the shard of glass I’d used to cut him free from tangled barbed wire while carrying him down the mountain.