Searing white. My skin is fire. A lava field of magma pours over me. I am a vampire, burning to death in the sun. I cannot open my eyes. They are dry kindling, combustible. There is a buzzing in my ears. Is that my skin sizzling? Broiling? I almost moan, afraid, but can’t make a sound.

“Viola!” I hear from both far, far away and much, much too close.

I cringe.

“Viola.” My name, three notes of panic.

A hand presses into my forehead. I frown from the pain, shrink from the touch. A moan escapes me, no light, come-hither sound. Even I’m alarmed by what I hear: injured animal trapped in biting metal.

A billion layers of heaviness are cast over me. Another moan. No skin contact, no contact, no. But I can’t speak, and the cool fabric buries me. And I remember where I am: inside Josh’s truck, watching the meteors, kissing each other. We must have fallen asleep. Sunlight presses against my eyelids. How long have we been here, out in the open? I am sinking through the leather seat, the metal frame of the truck, the dirty snow, the pitted asphalt below.

Josh, I can hear him struggling with the broken sunroof, trying, trying, trying to slide it closed inside. He grunts, but even his Thor muscles cannot fix this brokenness. The driver’s side door opens and then slams shut. My parents are here. But no, I’m alone in Josh’s truck, light surrounding me like I’m standing at the doorsteps of heaven. Or before the inferno of hell.

So much light, it is hard to tell.

I want the black of my bedroom. The blinds. The blackout shades.

My wish is granted. The interior of the truck dims. Blessed, blessed dark.

The car door opens again, and I welcome the cold to soothe my hot-fire skin. I know I am covered in welts.

“Mom,” I whisper, wanting her so badly. She’ll know exactly what to do. Then Dad will make it happen.

“We’re getting you home soon, Ultra,” Josh says confidently, even if he can’t fulfill that promise. “The highway’s going to reopen before long.” He sighs. “I’m going to find a phone. Get help. Just hang tight. I’m sorry. So sorry.”

“Me, too,” I whisper to him. I’m sorry for coming up with this idea, sorry for leaving the safety of home, sorry to drag him down with me.

Pain and guilt, we burn in different ways.