Free Torch (Take It Off) by Cambria Hebert

enough for me—saving my life and giving me somewhere to stay my first night out of the hospital.
     
    I told myself the reason I kept thinking about him was because he saved me. He literally walked through fire to carry me to safety. If it hadn’t been for him, I wouldn’t be here at all. I was somehow bonded to him. I felt like he was literally my lifeline. I supposed it was natural and would fade over time, hopefully sooner rather than later. I kept looking at the phone, like I wanted to call him to hear his voice, but I knew I shouldn’t.
     
    I settled for taking a quick shower instead—skipping washing my hair (too much wrist involvement)—and then changing my bandages. The burns didn’t seem as bad as before—they still hurt; it was just more bearable.
     
    After showering, I pulled on a pair of sleep shorts and a tank top from one of the shopping bags and dressed carefully. My muscles felt a lot better today, as well as the bruise on my shoulder, finally a fading yellow color.
     
     Everything was going to be okay. My body was healing. I still had a job. I would get the insurance money, and I could buy a new house. Soon, everything would be back to normal.
     
    I watched reruns of Friends on the TV until my eyes wouldn’t stay open anymore, and I shut it off and snuggled down in the covers, falling asleep quickly.
     
    But I didn’t stay asleep very long.
     
    I was awakened by the sound of shattering glass.
     
    As my eyes sprang open, I heard a hard thud on the floor a few feet from the bed. I jolted up immediately, trying to focus my sleep-heavy eyes.
     
    Something orange caught my eye, and then a familiar scent wafted into my nose.
     
    Pure panic burst inside me. It was so strong that I felt dizzy, and I sat there battling it, trying to take control. I leapt to my feet and stared across the room at the bottle that had been thrown through the window.
     
    It was on fire.
     
    I took a single step closer, peering down at the glass.
     
    It was a jar of some kind. It had a rag stuffed halfway into it. The exposed ends were blazing, catching the floor around it on fire as well. I grabbed a pillow off the bed, thinking I could smother it, and stepped closer, trying to shut down the panic that was still trying to take control of my body and mind.
     
    When I was a few feet from jar, it exploded. It made a sharp pop and then glass flew everywhere. I screamed, shielding myself with the pillow, and jumped back, hitting the corner of the bed and falling backward. My head bounced off the floor, and the pillow landed on top of my face.
     
    I lay there sprawled out, trying to catch my breath. The telltale whoosh had me scurrying off the floor and tossing the pillow aside. The curtains were on fire. In fact, most of that side of the room was on fire. The jar must have been filled with some kind of gasoline. When it exploded, fire burst everywhere.
     
    Knowing I couldn’t put out the fire, I ran toward the door, fumbling with the chain and then yanking the handle.
     
    The door wouldn’t budge.
     
    I tried again.
     
    Nothing.
     
    There was something blocking the exit.
     
    I rushed toward the window beside the door and yanked open the curtains, trying to see what was in the way.
     
    The window was blocked too.
     
    I glanced back at the raging fire. It consumed that side of the room like a hungry wolf, and I knew soon it would be spreading toward me.
     
    Smoke was beginning to cloud the room, making it harder to breathe. I rushed to the nightstand and dialed 9-1-1.
     
     I waited anxiously for the operator to come onto the line.
     
    There was no ringing. No operator.
     
    There was no dial tone.
     
    No help.
     
    Someone cut the phone line.
     
    With an anguished cry, I dropped the receiver and looked around wildly for something—anything that would help me.
     
    I ended up throwing myself against the door, banging on the wood and screaming for help. Surely someone in another room would hear me. Surely