My body scathes over the asphalt, tearing the edges of my clothes. I thrash back and forth, making the pain even worse. I can feel the stones scraping my skin. I let out a loud cry, begging for someone to help. I shove at the door, trying to get it off my leg, but it won't budge.

"Help!" I sob. "I need help!"

I scream into the street, hoping someone will hear me, but I know they can't. The sound of the fire is too loud. The flames engulf the cars, filling up the air with grey smoke. All I can see is orange and darkness.

I sit up, putting all my energy into freeing my leg. But it's no use. I need to get the fucking door off my leg! There's blood all over the ground, and there's nowhere it could've come from besides my leg. There are glass shards all over the place, but the smoke it too thick for me to see through.

"Sarah!" I hear.

"Mum?!" I respond.

"Sarah! I'm here!"

"Where are you?" I cry. "Mum, I need you!"

"Its okay, darling. You're going to be okay."

"Where are you?!"

"I'm here!"

"I can't see you!"

I spot a dark figure crawling through the smoke. I can barely make them out, but I know it has to be her. I reach out to her, but the metal of the door has gotten too hot. It burns my skin, making me cry out in pain.

"I'm coming!" mum calls, but she doesn't make it. As soon as the words leave her mouth, a loud bang sounds, spreading the fire even further than before. The force pushes me back down. I cry out in pain, feeling the heat. I shut my eyes, trying to clear my vision.

It's too hot. It's way too hot.

"Mum!" I sob. "Help!"

The sound of sirens makes me open my eyes, but I wish I hadn't. I scream so loud, I choke on my own spit. Inches away from me, lays my mothers head.

My body is jolted awake, my eyes opening in the process. I sit up straight, my heart thumping in my chest. I eye my surroundings. I'm in my room in Owens apartment. I can feel my eyes watering, but I ignore it. I'm already going to be extra anxious for the next few days, and I don't want to cry about it.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. It was just a nightmare. Just a nightmare. I look around my bed, searching for my phone. My headphones must've fallen out of my ears.

I need to visit my mum soon. It's been too long.

I step out of bed, sliding into my slippers in the process. I check on Lena, but she's still fast asleep. The last thing I need is to bother her even more. She already does so much for me.

As soon as I step into the hallway, I'm met with the sound of voices. I hesitate, noticing the tone of the conversation. I peek around the corner. Tyler is sitting on the kitchen floor, leaning against the wall. There's blood pooled over the tiles, coming out of his leg. He's holding a bottle of Jagermeister.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do?" he grumbles into his phone. "I don't give a fuck! I'll fucking kill that son of a bitch!"

I take a quick moment to take him in. He's shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of basketball shorts. There's a bunch of red marks over his skin, and a giant bruise around his waist, reaching down to his hip. To my disappointment, I can't make out any of his tattoos. His bruises from the other day have been replaced by new ones. His lip is bleeding, too.

"Tyler?" I ask, taking a step into the room. He looks me up and down, keeping the scowl on his face.

"Shit," he grumbles. "I gotta go."

He pulls his phone from his ear, placing it on the tile floor. He brings the bottle to his lips, taking a swing.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he asks.

"I was just..." I hesitate, thinking of an excuse. "I couldn't sleep."

"Try again."

There's no way I can fall asleep now. Every time I blink, all I can see is the sight of my mum's face. As soon as I go back to bed, I know I'll break down. I'll curl up in a ball and sob until I run out of tears. If I'm going to want to sleep, it has to be on the couch, with the music up.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Tyler asks. "Are you deaf?"

"What?" I scowl. "No, no. I just..."

"Just what?" he urges.

"I can't leave you here like this," I blurt.

"Like what? Like the fucking pussy that I am?"

His words surprise me. There's emotion behind his voice. Actual emotion. More than just anger. I don't know what happened to him, but he's far more vulnerable right now than I've ever seen him before.

"Are you alright?" I ask him.

"That's not really any of your business, is it?"

I purse my lips. I shouldn't have expected a proper answer. But I don't let him turn me off. I crouch down, taking a seat opposite him. I make sure to keep my distance, though. His cut is still bleeding. It's the same cut as the one he stitched up a few days ago.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he asks.

"Making sure you're okay."

"Why do you even care?"

"Because I'm a decent person."

"Unlike me, right?" He scoffs, taking another swing from the bottle.

"Yeah," I admit. "That's exactly right."

"Great. Can you fuck off now?"

"I can't. I can tell you're hurting, and I-"

"And you what? You want to help me? Fucking forget it, because it's not going to happen."

"Tyler, you're bleeding."

"You don't think I know that?"

"Is your wound infected?"

"That's really none of your fucking business."

"You need to go to the hospital."

"I don't need to do shit!"

"I'm just trying to help you."

"Well, I don't need your fucking help."

"You're going to bleed out if you don't do anything!"

"Then let me fucking die! DO you think I fucking care? Because I fucking don't!"

"Tyler-"

"No! You can save your bullshit for someone who actually needs it! You're fucking pathetic, Sarah! You walk around like your Americas fucking sweetheart, when really you're just as bad as everyone else! You're fucking ridiculous."

My heart sinks. His words hurt. Is that how he really sees me? Part of me wants to dive back into bed and cry my guts out, but I don't want him to know how he affects me.

"Just because you're hurt, doesn't mean you can be a dick to me," I whisper.

"Then fucking leave!"

I nod. "I will."

At least I tried to help him. He just makes it impossible.

I climb back onto my feet, walking out of the kitchen. I instinctively head towards my room, but then I remember I can sleep there. So, I turn back towards the living room. I sit down on the couch, unfolding the blanket Lena left here from before. I can still see Tyler from here, but he's just glaring at me.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He asks.

"Going to sleep."

"Wow, you're blind, too? This isn't your bedroom."

"I, uh, I cant' sleep in there."

"Why not?"

"I just... can't."

"What? You're afraid of the dark?" He scoffs.

I shake my head at him, but don't bother responding. It's no use.

I cuddle up beneath the blanket, but don't lay down just yet. It's too soon to sleep. I can still see the scene before me, and with Tyler bleeding just a few feet away, I'm bound to dream the same thing again.

"Are you just going to sit there?" I ask him.

"Yeah," he shrugs.

"Does your leg hurt that bad?"

He scoffs. "What do you think?"

"Look, I know you don't want to hear it, but you need to go to the hospital."

"What the fuck are they gonna do that I can't do myself?"

"Stitch you up nearly so it heals properly, gives you prescription medication to ease the pain."

"Sounds like a waste of time."

"Well, I don't exactly want to spend my time there either, but it's for the best."

"Wait," he squints his eyes. "You'd come with me?"

"Yeah... I guess," I nod. "I just assumed..."

"Why would you?"

"I couldn't just let you go alone."

"Why not?"

"Because... that's wrong."

He snickers. "You really are pathetic."

Oh, you have got to be kidding me.

"Fine," I grumble. "Figure it out yourself.'

"I will."

"Great. Now, I've had a really crappy night, so if you don't mind, I'm going to sleep."

"Fine."

"Perfect."

"No, I mean, fine. I'll go to the hospital."

"What?" I frown, surprised by his words.

"Take me to the hospital."

"Why? What changed?"

"My leg just went numb."

I head back towards the kitchen, crouching beside him. he's left the bottle of Jager on the floor, and is now solely focused on his wound. I grab a bunch of tissues, wiping away some of the blood.

"What the fuck does this mean?" he asks, concern evident on his voice.

"I don't know," I say. "Do you feel dizzy?"

"Yeah, but I had a fuck tonne of alcohol."

"How much have you had?"

"Too much."

"Have you eaten? Are you nauseous?"

"Yeah, I could use some weed."

"How's your breathing?"

"Fine," he shrugs. I grab his wrist, checking his pulse. Sure enough, his heart is racing.

"Have you peed today?"

"What the fuck?" he scowls.

"Just tell me."

"I don't remember. Why? What do you think is wrong with me?"

"Nothing," I lie. I think he has sepsis, but having him worry is not going to help.

"Don't fucking lie to me! I can't lose my leg!"

"You're not going to."

"Just take me to the fucking hospital"

"I will, I will, I just-"

"You what?"

"I can't."

"What the fuck do you mean you can't?"

"I need Owen."

"Then get Owen and get me to a ducking hospital! I need my fucking leg, Sarah!"