Squinting, I looked up at ceiling, seeing the little rays of sunlight that had managed to peek through the curtains. I pulled myself up into a sitting position, scanning the room around me. Adam was nowhere to be found, and the house was quiet. Too quiet.

Reckless, and too tired to care, I called out in a hushed whisper. "Adam? Adam!"

No answer.

I quickly pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a ratty tshirt that Adam had laid out on the arm of the sofa. As quietly as possible, I grabbed my ray gun off of the coffee table and held it close. I edged my way towards the kitchen, trying not to make so much as a sound.

Crossing the threshold of the kitchen, I saw that there was no one there. The house was still eerily silent, and I felt as if I was being watched. I took another step, and a board creaked under me.

"Shit." I muttered under my breath.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Silent as the grave.

Then, I noticed something was out of place. On the refrigerator, there was a note written in the untidy scrawl that could only be Adam's. I knew it was for me.

Grabbing the note, I scanned it once. Twice. Three times to digest the words written on the wrinkled piece of paper.

---

Hey babe,

I went to check out a couple of things, look for some supplies, and see what was up with all of Draqs in Zone Four. I'll probably be back later tonight, tomorrow at the latest. Don't worry about me, I'll be okay. Stay safe, and don't let them take you alive.

I love you so much.
-Neon Fiend

P.S.- Try not to disappear while I'm gone.

---

I let a sigh of relief after I read the note for the final time. Adam was okay... in a sense. I would not know if he would get ghosted out there, or worse- taken to BL/I. However, in my mind, I liked to think that he was safe and sound.

I let my guard down as a grabbed a box of matches from the drawer by the refrigerator. With a flick of my wrist, one single matched was struck against the box, and I watched the little flame slowly devour the little stick of wood. I watched it burn down until it was a nothing more than an ember in my hand, burning the flesh between my fingers.

I didn't feel it.

Lighting another one, I watched the light reflect off of the clean surface of the counter... and I never let go. I was preoccupied by the light it gave off, and the heat that radiated from this small flame. Again, I let the flame burn all the way down the match, and I still didn't feel anything.

I grabbed another one, and lit it, watching it burn down to my fingers. Nothing... and something. There was something there, but my already blistering fingers didn't hurt- it was the memories pierced into my mind. There was pain. And fire. And death.

I jumped back, dropping the remains of the match into the sink with the others. With the tears running down my eyes, I carefully put Adam's note on top of the charred wooden sticks. It was be best if no one else knew what he was up to.

I lit one final match, but this time, I could feel the heat licking my fingers, and I dropped it with haste. The flames quickly devoured the piece of paper, and I watched it burn through my sad, crying eyes.

I resisted the temptation to throw the rest of the matches into fire. Instead, I kept a death grip on them, as if I was clinging to life itself.

The smell of smoke reached my nostrils, and I started to feel sick. It lingered there, and I wanted to be rid of it. I turned on the faucet, rinsing away the charred remains of wood and paper down the drain. I stared down at the empty sink, feeling a pit growing in my stomach.

Despite being raised not to feel, I relived my worst fears everyday. I had to hold back the anger. The loneliness. The pain. I was not gone yet. I was alive, and I could feel.