In that moment, time had never moved so slowly.

For a moment, I swear I knew what it felt like to be Colton. The way he moved at super-speed. His body moved at the right time, but the world around him slowed. In the space of one second, I had time to reflect on everything.

Sam's groan in the next room. The flicker of the match in Nathaniel's hand. The stench of gasoline doused on the floor. The sound of horns and sirens in the distance. The stars above me. Colton's feet beside me as he stood looking at Nathaniel.

And finally, me. It was as if I was in my body and out of it at the same time—like astral projection, almost. I saw me as if from above, lying there. My face covered in sweat and grime and blood from a cut in my forehead. An inch-long cut along the side of my throat, clotted with dark blood. My body lay in an odd position, my head lulled to the side and an empty look in my eyes.

My fingers crept along the soft fabric of my shirt and then reached a thick, wet stain. Another lash of pain ricocheted through me, but it was as if I couldn't even scream in pain. As if my voice box had closed. My fingers dipped into the gash. It was long. Long and deep. There was too much blood. I was no doctor—but I'd read books and TV shows. I recognised the pain and the fuzzy feeling in my head.

There was simply too much blood.

It was cathartic, I supposed. Almost Shakespearean. I would die to save the life of a boy who spent his saving others. It wasn't a bad way to die. If I were to elect a way to die, it would be this way.

I lifted my hands up with the leftover strength I had. My entire hand was covered in thick, red blood. My wrists were encircled by pale blood and peeling skin. I was no pretty sight, but neither was death.

I saw it happen. As if in slow-motion.

I watched the match fall from Nathaniel's hand and drop, flipping end-to-end as it fell. And then it hit the ground. It immediately lit up. Thin lines of gasoline snaked through the warehouse floor, and they lit up like a maze of fire.

And I knew it then. I knew it like I knew the sky was blue and the grass was green. I knew it the way I knew I loved Colton. I knew it deep in my bones; doubtlessly.

I was going to die.

It's an odd feeling, knowing that. Everyone worries they're going to die, but what happens when you're suddenly faced with the reality? The room was on fire, I had been stabbed, and a thick pool of blood was beginning to surround me like a grotesque snow angel.

But the pain was lessening with each millisecond. The agony had become a distant throbbing. My eyes were heavy, as if weighed down with lead weights. My body was completely limp. Everything felt better.

The fire was so bright, I had to squint. But it was so, so beautiful. It was like when my parents used to drive me around the neighborhood at Christmastime. I would stare at the twinkling fairy lights in wonder. They were so bright and so beautiful.

I could no longer see the broken wall that Sam had been thrown through. I couldn't even see Nathaniel. I heard a distant crash—a door, perhaps. The fire roared—I didn't know fire sounded like anything, but it sounded like a deafening gust of wind blowing through the warehouse.

Colton was by my side, his arms slipping around me. He moved me slightly, and I felt my body ricochet with pain. My body convulsed as if being remotely controlled.

"Don't," I whispered. My voice rasped like someone had run sandpaper along my vocal chords. My throat was dry and the air was so hot, I could feel sweat mixing with blood. "Colton, don't."

"Violet, I have to get you out," he said. "Don't move, okay? I'll get you help."

In the middle of this madness, his voice was like a beautiful symphony. He sounded so strong and so sure. I felt like I was crumbling into ashes, but there he was—strong and steady. Unstoppable.

"No, you won't," I whispered. "You have to stop them. They're getting away. Go."

"I'm not leaving you—"

He reached for me, and I latched onto his arm and pulled him close. "Nathaniel. You have to get him. Colton, go."

He shook his head. My vision was blurred, but I swear I could see his eyes shining with tears. "No," he whispered. "I'm not leaving without you."

He tried to lift me up, but even with his superhuman strength, I almost fell out of his arms. I couldn't help him. I was completely limp. I felt like I'd lost movement in my body.

Once again, pain lashed through me, and I winced. I didn't want help. I wanted to lie there, exactly where I was. To close my eyes and drift off. I couldn't think of anything I wanted more. It was like being exhausted and lying in bed. Moving was out of the question.

"Let me go," I whispered. "Colt, please. Just let me go."

"I need to get you out of here and then I can heal you. I can save you, Violet."

"You told me you couldn't save someone who was too far gone," I replied. I could feel tears welling in my eyes, but I wasn't scared. I wasn't scared of death, or the pain. I was scared of losing him, of losing my parents, of losing Chloe and all of my friends. "I'm too far gone, Colton. I-I'm dying. I can feel it."

"You're gonna be fine, V," he promised me, but his voice was shaking. I could tell he was lying—I was in a bad place. There was no happy ending for us.

I didn't want him there any longer. I couldn't bear the thought of him seeing me die. I didn't want him to see me like this—weak and helpless. I wasn't a damsel in distress.

"You have to go."

"I'm never leaving you," he told me, and lifted me again. This time, I didn't feel anything. I was numb, dangling from his muscular arms like a ragdoll. I fell against his chest, and he carried me weightlessly. My head lulled against his chest, and I could feel his heartbeat—strong and steady. He looked around, and I found my eyes following. Everything was blurry, but I could see we were completely surrounded by a wall of flames. Smoke filled the air, and I found myself coughing. Harsh coughs rasped through my throat as if I'd smoked a pack of cigarettes a day for thirty years. I could hardly breathe through the stifling gas.

"Do you trust me?" Colton asked. I could hardly hear his gentle voice through the crackling of the flames.

"Always," I whispered.

He suddenly turned around, and I felt his muscles tighten as he ran backwards. I felt a sudden burning heat, and was sure I'd caught on fire.

But when I opened my eyes, I saw that he had ran through a thick column of flames. We suddenly faced a window. We were much further up than I would have anticipated. It explained how I'd seen the stars so clearly. We were at least sixty storeys up.

"I love you, Violet," he whispered.

And then he turned around and fell through the window.

I'd had no desire to fly until that moment. But suddenly, it seemed the most incredible feeling in the world. The wind whipped past us as we fell. Above us, a sound louder than anything I'd heard erupted, and I looked up to see the building explode in a mass of flames and shattered glass.

Colton cradled me to his chest as we fell, and I watched slivers of glass brush off his skin as if they were plastic. Suddenly, our descent slowed, and we hit the ground gently. He immediately crouched beside me, his hands pressing into the wound. Cold air enveloped me, but I could still feel hot smoke in my lungs. It was like a fire had erupted inside my own body.

The pain was gone. I could no longer feel the cut on my throat or the wound in my stomach. I couldn't feel anything—the concrete on the ground or Colton's hand on me. I was completely numb.

I was reminded then of summers at the town pool with Chloe. When the humidity of late July made our hair frizzy and we ran between taxi cabs in our bikinis to get to the solace of the pool. We would sit cross-legged on the floor on the shallow end and see who could stay underwater the longest. It was always Chloe—I had no lung control. But sounds came to me distorted—I heard sirens, doors slam, screams from beside me. But it was as if they were there and not there at the same time. I was lying bleeding on a cold street and also underwater, staring into Chloe's green eyes as her red hair drifted in a halo around her head. She was so beautiful—like a mermaid or an angel.

But Colton was there—standing above me. His face was covered in sweat, and he had streaks of blood and grime smeared across his features. It wasn't his blood—Colton didn't bleed. It was mine.

"It's not working," he whispered. I'd never heard him sound so panicky before. Why wasn't he relaxing? "V, it's not working."

I could see my parents now. I remembered all the picnics in Central Park, sipping lemonade as my mother dished out roast chicken and potato salad. I could see little girls on the path blowing bubbles into the air, the soft bark of a dog as their owner jogged through in athletic wear. A young couple snuggled together on the bench looking at sunlight through the trees. The air smelled crisp, the trees were thick and green. My mother looked beautiful, and my father happy as his eyes crinkled when he laughed.

Colton's face appeared above me as if through a cloud. He was breathing heavily, and his cold fingers pressed against my face.

I could see his lips moving—could make out the shape of my name, but I felt as if I were drifting further and further towards the darkness of a bottomless pool. My hands drifted up towards the sunlight filtering to me through the ripples of the water. My fingers brushed his cheek.

"It's okay," I whispered. And it was. I felt completely serene—no pain, no fear, just warmth and comfort and serenity. It was heaven. "It doesn't hurt. I feel... free."

It was summer at the pool. I swam with Chloe and knew I had a dinner with my mom and dad to go home to. That night, I would sit on my balcony with Colton and look at the sunset as it painted streaks of gold and pink across the sky. We would kiss as the night turned black and the city came to life. It was bliss.

"Baby, no," he whispered, pushing lanks of hair from my face. I watched as tears streaked through the dirt on his face and his lips trembled. Beautiful. He was absolutely beautiful. "Please."

I closed my eyes and felt the waves of the pool rush over me. His hand left mine and was replaced by cold hands. Someone spoke in a fast and clinical voice. It didn't matter. I was here and I was safe and I was free. My best friend. My boyfriend. My parents. Summer in New York City. Endless bliss. What could be better?

In that moment, I glimpsed something unseen. I saw beauty; happiness; acceptance; grace. I sat with eyes closed in the therapist's chair of life and pictured my happy place. I felt glee in its most extreme forms.

I felt... heaven.