Kayla

“You’re done drinking tonight, Anna.” I shook my head and waved off the bartender as my friend tried to get her empty glass refilled.

“You never let me have any fun!” She folded her arms across her chest and started to pout.

“I let you have a lot of fun tonight. I’m trying to find the delicate balance between having fun and dragging you to our Uber by your ankles.” I leaned against the bar and grimaced.

“I haven’t fallen down in weeks.” She glared at me and then turned back to the bartender. “Just one more, Mike.”

“Mike’s trying to help other people.” I waved him off again.

“He’s a fucking jerk. You hear me—you’re a fucking jerk!” Anna tried to flip him off, but it looked more like a broken finger gun.

“Ugh, seriously?” I sat down on the stool and sighed. “I’m the one you should be mad at, not him. Fine, get another drink.”

“You’re the best!” Her anger was gone in an instant and her face lit up with a smile.

Anna and I had a difficult friendship at times. I often felt like a babysitter instead of her friend. It was fun to go out together when we first met, but the glamour had definitely worn off. She started her downward spiral shortly after she caught the man she was going to marry in bed with another girl, but I didn’t think the spiral had many more spins before she hit rock bottom. I missed the weekends when we just went out and had fun—mutual fun. I liked to have a few drinks, dance like a fool, and sleep it off the next morning. Those days were on pause as long as Anna nursed her broken heart, and it seemed like I was doomed to be her caretaker until she figured out how to numb the pain with something besides alcohol. Mike handed her another drink, and she took a large gulp that didn’t put much of a dent in it.

“Come on, bottoms up. Let’s go home.” I tapped the edge of her glass and tried to wait patiently.

“Hold on, I want to dance.” She sloshed her drink and didn’t even seem to notice when it spilled on her dress.

“No, you’ve got a good streak going. If you try to dance, you’ll end up making a fool of yourself and you’ll probably end up on YouTube.” I held her arm when she tried to stand.

“You used to be so much fun.” She finished what was left of her drink and pouted.

Anna was always apologetic when the alcohol wore off and the hangover began, but I was tired of regret filled morning apologies that prefaced another night of drunken disasters. I just wanted to go home, have a couple of drinks in peace, and go to bed. I never imagined that I would look forward to drinking alone but going drink-for-drink with Anna was out of the question. I liked a nice buzz. She liked to drink until she kissed the floor. I finally guided Anna towards the door, kept her from falling over her heels, and by some miracle, we made it outside. It felt like my own personal version of victory. I pulled out my phone to request an Uber through the app and held onto Anna’s arm like a mother trying to keep a child from wandering off.

“Hey, can I get a cigarette?” Anna pulled away from me while I was trying to secure our ride and started stumbling towards a group of guys standing outside the bar.

“No, come on, Anna.” I caught up and grabbed her arm. “You don’t do that anymore.”

“I quit? Fuck.” She stared at the pavement for a moment. “No, I’m not a quitter!”

“Anna—oh my fucking god.” I followed her towards the crowd after she escaped my grasp again.

One of the guys offered her a cigarette and tried to light it, but I grabbed it out of her mouth before she let it touch the open flame. I tried to hand it back to him, but Anna stumbled, so I dropped it into my purse with my cell phone as I reached out to grab her. When the Uber arrived, I managed to aim Anna towards the waiting car. Once she started walking, it was fairly easy for the most part. I got her into the backseat and gave her address to the driver.

Thirty minutes later, she was safely inside her apartment and sprawled out on the couch. It was the best I could so, I walked back outside and requested another ride. A huge weight was lifted off my shoulders once I knew she was safe. My babysitting gig was done, and I swore I wouldn’t do it again, but the chances of actually abandoning her were slim. I did care about her, even if she did grind my nerves when she took things too far.

Okay, now it’s time for me to enjoy my favorite part of the weekend—alone time.

I walked into my apartment, tossed my purse on the kitchen counter, and started removing my dress. I left a trail of clothes as I walked to the bathroom, changed into pajamas, and put my amber-colored hair in a ponytail. My eyes were a little dry, so I took out the tinted prescription contacts that made my eyes look blue and stared at my natural honey-colored orbs in the mirror. They were redder than normal after wearing contacts all day, so I dripped some eye drops in them and then headed to the kitchen. My favorite drink was the martini, but I settled for some gin with a couple of ice cubes because I was simply too lazy to add vermouth. I walked into the living room and found a stupid late-night movie on television before taking a seat with my drink in hand.

This really shouldn’t be my favorite part of a Friday night.

It had been a long time since I had a boyfriend. My twenties were definitely not as exciting as I expected them to be when I left my small town behind and moved to Chicago. The big city promised adventure and wild weekends like I saw women my age experience in the movies. Instead, I worked sixty hours a week and had very little to show for it except for a couple of gray hairs that came way too early. I might have been more worried about them if I didn’t visit the salon regularly to keep them in check.

The drink in my hand didn’t last long and neither did the second one. I had a nice buzz going and no worries in the world when the ice cubes grazed my lips for the third time. The movie was done and I wasn’t ready for bed, so I started another movie before walking to the kitchen for more gin.

I guess I should check my phone and make sure Anna didn’t wake up and start texting me in confusion to figure out how she got home.

I opened my purse and pulled out my phone. After confirming I had no missed calls, I laid it on the counter and saw the cigarette laying on top of my cosmetics. I pulled it out of my purse and turned towards the trash can to toss it, but I hesitated once it was in my hand. Even though it had been six or seven years since I lit my last one, the call was still fairly strong. The buzz definitely didn’t help. I paused with it over the trash can and then took a step back. I certainly didn’t want to get pulled back into that addiction again, but my buzz tried to convince me that one cigarette wasn’t going to hurt anything. I did manage to convince myself to leave it on the counter instead of hunting down a match, but the allure was still there when I walked back into the living room.

It would be a shame to waste it.

I finished another drink and watched some of the second movie. I definitely didn’t need another refill, but I was past the point of good decisions. I walked back to the kitchen, filled my glass again, and reached for the cigarette. It only took me a few seconds to locate a book of matches, and I quickly ignited one. The smoke was harsh in my throat and made my lungs hurt, but I didn’t cough. It wasn’t as pleasant as I remembered, especially after not smoking for so long, but the nicotine rush was familiar. I walked back into the living room, plopped down on the couch and pulled more poison into my lungs. I used an empty soda can as an ashtray as I took a few more puffs. My eyes were heavy, and the last thing I saw before they forced themselves closed was the haze floating above my eyes as I exhaled.

“Oh fuck, what’s going on?” I blinked in surprise and sat up on my couch as a siren pulled me out of my drunken slumber.

My eyes struggled to focus, and I immediately started to cough as smoke filled my lungs. It was thick and tasted sour. I heard a crackling sound and felt an intense heat near my arm. I turned to see a raging inferno near my television that was spreading towards my curtains. A trail of burn marks on the carpet led to the blaze where the cigarette had apparently rolled before it started to burn out of control.

That woke me up completely as I realized my apartment was on fire. I jumped up from the couch, slammed my leg into the coffee table, and stumbled towards the blaze. I managed to catch myself before the flames touched my skin, but I went down to one knee. It was hard to breathe, and my head was spinning. I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the carbon dioxide, but I knew I was in danger. I tried to get to my feet, but my knee was weak from hitting it against the coffee table. Adrenaline pushed me forward for a moment, and then I felt my world going black.

“There’s someone in here!” A loud voice echoed in my ears and I felt strong arms lifting me off the carpet.

It took me some time to realize what was going on exactly. I was vaguely aware that I was being carried out of my apartment by someone, and there were a lot of voices around me. It was only a momentary consciousness before I started to pass out again. When my eyes opened, I was laying on a stretcher and there was an oxygen mask on my face. There were lights and sirens all around me. I looked up towards the night sky, I saw billowing smoke and an orange glow coming from my apartment building. My thoughts began to process the sight as I looked around to see a lot of people in pajamas and night gowns on the sidewalk. Some of them looked at me with angry stares etched on their faces.

“Oh god, my apartment!” I sat up on the stretcher and pulled at the oxygen mask, but then someone put their hand on my shoulder.

“It’s okay, you’re safe.” The voice was calm, and I turned to see a man in a reflective yellow jacket sitting next to me. “The fire will be out soon.”

He adjusted the mask so that it was back in position across my nose and I felt my head spinning again. I lay back on the stretcher, but I didn’t pass out. I looked over at the man who was sitting next to me. He had soot around his eyes and a few speckles in his sandy colored hair. If I wasn’t struggling to breathe after speaking, I would have asked him what his name was. His attire, and the helmet on the ground next to him, suggested that he was a firefighter. The events of the evening began to pierce through the fog of alcohol and carbon dioxide swirling in my head. I set my apartment on fire. The last thing I remembered was holding the lit cigarette in my hand while I stared at the ceiling.

Oh god, what have I done?