Fandom: Chicago Fire and One Chicago

Title: Girl On Fire

Chapter 1: The Club

P O V: Sylvie Brett

A/N: The usual I own only the plot; I do not own the characters of the One Chicago franchise; they belong to NBC and Wolf Entertainment. Happy Holidays to Everyone; if anyone has any requests for anything they would like to see in this fic, hit me up here or on social media. I am Mileycfan4eva on Twitter and I.G.

December 13th, 2020

Residence of Sylvie Brett

The Tides at Lakeshore East

360 E. South Water Street

Chicago, IL 60601

"No way, Stella, I am not going to the club!"

"Why not Sylvie? It's Friday night; it'll be lit! People are still staying inside because of covid. Will have plenty of room to dance without bumping into every sweaty body in the city. There won't be so much noise so we can talk without shouting. Babe, we need to let loose it's been months since we've gone out."

"Because there's a deadly pandemic out there, Stella!"

"Yes, I know we've been in the thick of things since it started. So, we will take precautions, Brett; we won't dance with anyone we don't know will shield each other and wear masks. I need to get out uh I am dying being copped up, tell me you aren't Sylvie."

I have been going crazy sitting alone in my apartment when I am off shift; the only escape I get is Molly's when I am working behind the bar. It's a horrible feeling not being able to go out, and it is quite frightening being by yourself all the time. At first, it didn't bother me. I read books I had been behind in; I watched all the shows I had saved on my Netflix watch list. My apartment has never been so damn clean as it is now; the floors sparkle and twinkle. When that got old, I decorated for Christmas; I covered my mantle in tinsel and stockings. Snowflakes and snowmen line the walls; lanterns hang wrapped in mistletoe. Christmas lights line the windows, and a five-foot tree fully decorated sits in the corner. I baked cookies and brownies.

Five months into the pandemic, after having no spin-class; no interactions with friends or family outside of work. The novelty of all those activities have worn off, and I'm a very active person. I do a lot of cycling and about 15,000 steps a day, so it's frustrating just being around the house all day. Still a part of me worries it's stupid to go out, unlike Stella who has perfect health. I have a condition called Cystic Fibrosis which puts me at a higher risk category. Seeing the look in Stella's eyes though makes me miss hanging with her, she hasn't forgotten about my illness she's swearing will take precautions and what's living if you can't truly live?

"Stop yanking on my arm, and I will consider it, Stella. Uh, you're worse than Tuesday when she wants food."

My best friend, Stella Kidd, laughs as she drops to her knees, begging me with her beautiful pools of caramel eyes, which are laced with desperation and aspiration, imploring me to say yes. Throughout these past two years of complete hell, Stella has been there for me, including the loss of my partner and best friend, Gabriela Dawson. Discovering that I am in love with her ex-husband Matt Casey, juggling my feelings for him makes me feel like I am a Yo-Yo, breaking in a new partner Emily who tried to undermine my authority first few months.

My biological mother's death being separated from my newborn sister, thanks to COVID, an illness that added a new pace of complete hell for paramedics in one of the most dangerous and violent cities in the USA—losing my new partner Emily Foster. When she went back to college Finally getting to kiss the man Matt who I have been pinning over three weeks ago, only to have him unable to commit to me when I asked him a straightforward question, would he choose me if Gabby came back?

Every night I have come home and cried myself to sleep; the nights I can get to sleep, the nights I can't, I end up calling Stella and crying.

Stella has never judged me; Stella is always emotionally supportive no matter what I have to say. She's the type of best friend that refrains from unnecessarily criticizing or being judgmental. She listens to me; she accepts what I have to say without reacting to my words even if she thinks how I feel or what I am saying is total B.S. Best friends go out of their way for the people they care about, and it feels good to have someone as amazing as her by my side. I can tell who my real friends are when I need help with a move or a ride to the airport. Thoughtfulness is a quality that deepens and strengthens any friendship. Seeing someone else needs—and to do what you can to fulfill those needs, Stella is always giving to me; she's put up with my craziness for so long.

The least I can do is give back a little. "Okay, Stella, you have me, let's go to the club. I am going a little insane; my indoor bike is the only thing keeping me slightly sane."

"Consider this to be my Christmas present; you don't need to get me anything else. Just your company will wear our masks. I promise."

Uh, I have nothing to wear."

"Girl, please don't bitch you have me, hello I am Dolce & Gabbana. Let Ol' Stella see that closet. I will hook you up, Girl. Matthew Casey will drool over you when he sees the pictures I am taking tonight. Show me that closet; I'll walk and talk as I call Shay to meet us there."

Rolling my eyes as I head to my closet, so much for it to just be the two of us. She's barely paying attention to me now, Shay answered because she's rapidly talking; Opening my closet, I groan as I look at all the different pieces inside my closet, not fancy enough to compete in Matt's eyes against someone as sexy as Gabby. This piece is too old and frumpy; Gabby is fire; she is bold and passionate; she has a sick, twisted sense of humor that sparkles inside her eyes when she is laughing. Even being on a budget, Gabby somehow takes the simplest outfits and make them look straight out of a magazine.

What do my outfits say? Oh, yeah, this one says too old, which is better than this one that says straight farm girl, these haven't fit in years, but I have been too lazy to throw them out. So many pieces of clothing, yet I can't find anything to wear.

"Sylvie, stop stressing here; give me this thing and watch me work my magic. Shay will meet us there."

"No guys tonight, right, Stella, just us ladies? Please, I can't face Matt outside the firehouse." "Girl, relax. I got you. I know how you are tripping; believe me, ain't none of us trying to watch the Matt trips over his stupidity show followed by the classic virgin Sylvie loses herself in her lust for the captain show any more than we have to." My mouth opens in awe as Stella snips, trims, sews, and talks, all in a very high-speed fashion. Minutes later, my face is flushed in embarrassment, leaving me unable to even gush over the beautiful dress Stella has someone produced within minutes of taking a few pieces of my garments.

"I am not a virgin, Stella."

"You are with Matt, but no worries, babe, my Christmas present to you shall solve that; wait and see. Tonight is just a little intro will dance, drink and I promise you'll get laid tonight."

"I am not looking to get laid!"

"Just get undressed and hurry up, Sylvie; the night is wasting away, and there are so many guys waiting to get laid that I want you to meet."

Groaning, I roll my eyes as I slip out of my P.J.'s; suddenly, I regret agreeing to go with Stella to the club. I can be the life of any party anywhere, even though I'm not too fond of clubs, I can make it look like I am having the time of my life. Especially when I get drunk, and after a few rounds of tequila, I am usually the one on top of the tables screaming at the top of my lungs, pulling my friends up to dance with me. Tonight I could use the chance to get wasted, and there are so many reasons to celebrate. Shay came home after being away for five years; we're off tomorrow, so I don't have to worry about the hangover I know I will get tonight.

So why can't I get excited?

Because I know what will happen halfway through the night, Stella gets hammered and drunk dials Kelly Severide, her boyfriend. Shay will get plastered and start grinding against any desirable woman who winks at her. I'll end up alone again, getting drunk and miserable as I reflect on my life choices. I'm always the one who ends up alone among us, which gets lonely. I don't have a boyfriend to talk to or make out with; I mean, yes, I know I am beautiful, I guess. I can hook up with any guy I want to; I've had many meaningless one-night stands, and the sex is a high, no question about it; it ain't worth the stress the next morning though worrying about protection or STD's. I don't want to hear the rumors or feel the stares; I don't need the feeling of being cheap and worthless that comes with the dawn's sobering.

I want genuine love, the one that lasts forever. I want a man to hold me as if we are one as we lay together. I want to hear the whispers of I love you; I commit to you; I want a man who means it for all time, not just a one-night stand. I want a man like Matt Casey, no fuck it. I want Matt Casey himself. I know I am in love with him; as much as I deny it, as hard as I try to smile and pretend I am okay on the outside, I am not okay on the inside. I sweep my emotions under the rug because no one cares if the homecoming queen cries, we're supposed to look pretty 24/7. I'm the paramedic in charge; now people look at me to be a leader; I can't cry when something doesn't go right for me. I have to suck it up and plaster on a smile.

Tempest Revelations

Nightclub and Lounge

56 W Illinois St · In the Boyce Building

December 13th, 2020 11:30 pm

"Yo, Severide! You gotta come down to see the action; it's lit! Yeah, I am drunk! Get your ass down here, boy!"

Eleven-Thirty that's how long she lasted before she started drunk dialing Severide mid-dance. Rolling my eyes, I take my hands of Stella's waist and make my way to the bar; she was right; the club is nearly empty, so it's easy to get from the mid-dance floor to the bar; most people are good about keeping a six-feet distance. Ordering six more shots, I signal Shay sitting in the lounge with Hailey Upton and Kim Burgess; she blows a kiss my way.

Sweat drips down my body as I make my way from the bar to the lounge section where they are. For a moment, I pause, watching them; Shay's left arm draped over Hailey's shoulders as Hailey's head is bent back laughing.

Shay is looking scrumptious in a cherry backless, strapless silky dress that stops above her knees, and the long platinum blond hair flows past her waistline. The two of them had been dancing for hours and had just sat to take a break. "Yo hot thang wanna slide on my pickle? I'll cool you off!"

I shudder as some loser yells to me quickly. I turn away and hurry down the aisle; this mask is making me hotter than expected, I can barely catch my breath; a few men whistle as I hasten, trying not to spill my beverages; this walk has never felt so long or painful. The club has never been my scene. I'm much more relaxed riding a horse or climbing a rocky trail, but tonight is supposed to be about Stella. So here I am rather I like it or not. So for I am leaning towards not enjoying it one- damn bit.

"Hey, baby, do I need a library card to check you out? Cause I am feeling a genuine connection between our pages. Give me five minutes, baby, and I'll cum to an end of our book."

"Gross, like any self-respecting female, will ever fall for that? Get a damn life, creep."

I shove my way up the steps feeling sickened, and dizzy my body aches as I climb the last few steps collapsing into the booth beside Shay. "Uh, men are such pigs!" slamming the glasses down. I startle all three. Shay looks up from phone; "Shit, Brett, you just ruined my selfie." "Blow me, Shay, so not in the mood right now." licking the salt off my hand, I squeeze the lime and swallow my shot, which burns badly as it hits my throat, making my nose run slightly. Hailey laughs, sliding her glass to me. "you look like you need this more than I do; how many pervs hit you up just now?" Hailey's fingers brush back my hair as I swallow her shot glass as well.

"Too damn many."

"Just tell them you're gay; it works for me every-time I'll toast to blowing off horny pigs, cheers bitches!" Shay raises her glass and swallows it in seconds, not even fazed. "girl, chill the night is young; we are hot." "Kim, I am not young; I am hot, horny, and growing old waiting for the perfect bitch to come along."

Hailey and Kim's laughter echos off the glass walls; they raise their glasses as Hailey makes a toast. "well, we could all use a little loving in our lives." Grumbling, I roll my eyes, which draws my attention from Kim. "Don't you, Sylvie? I mean, it's been years; you've got to be getting itchy, or is it so dry you can't even get wet enough to get horny?"

"Whoa, I don't think any of us wanted to hear that!" Looking up, I see Jay Halstead, Kelly Severide, and Matt Casey approaching the table with drinks in their hands. My face burns as I notice Matt's eyes directly on me, his cheeks red as his teeth bite his lower lip to keep from laughing out loud. Mortified by Kim's comment, I spring up feeling tears burn behind my eyelids. "Brett!" I don't stop even hearing Matt's voice; there's no way I can face him right now. Pushing past the guys as they slide into the seats, I see Jay wrap his arm around Hailey's shoulders as he sits down a drink by her. "Aw thanks babe." Turning her head, she winks at Jay, who grins back, brushing some of Hail's hair out of her face.

I am blinded by my rage of emotions tears well up inside of my eyes as I try to make my way out of the damn club; my face is on fire, I am dizzy and feel sickened between the heat, the mask, nausea, and the amount of alcohol I in-took. There's a strange buzzing sound inside my ears as I push my way through the crowd. The floor beneath me shakes not just from the pounding music but the sheer fact that my vision has become a complex twisted array of dancing shadows; nothing takes shapes or forms; everything is only shadows and figures blending. I can feel my breathing becoming a labored act of thought; breathing should not require thinking or try yet; right now, every breath is work, and it's getting harder to process. Sweat beads drop to my shoulders, rolling down my arms in a sticky reminder of how heated the room is; there is no air working, so the temperature feels as if it is well over a hundred degrees. My legs are weak. I feel myself stumbling, hands push me, angry voices yell at me, but I can't understand the words. I've been a paramedic for over ten years. I know the symptoms of what I am feeling. I am on the verge of passing out; I need air.

Fast

Hands grab me. I feel my body lifted, and I hear a soft voice whispering in my ear. "I got you, Brett; I am here. Just relax, lean against me." I can't respond; my vision is swaying; my voice is suddenly useless. I can't pick my head up; the prick of something sharp hits my head as it falls against something, only for a second, though, then I feel the softness.

Gasoline fills my nostrils intense it's the first smell I recognize when I feel myself coming back around. The sharpness of it makes me cough hard; the spasm takes over my chest, making my lungs squeeze and cry out for air. "I'm here, Sylvie, I'm here just keep trying, you're okay." for a minute, I can't smell anything else, but after a few agonizing moments of coughing and gasping, I can smell the fresh air, well as fresh as any air in a city can ever be genuine. I suck in the air's magic, needing it; the smell mixes with other city smells, freshly popped popcorn, hot dogs from vendors, stale cigarettes, pizza, perfumes of all types. Water with a mist of coolness towards it, I feel it brush across my face carried by Chicago's winds.

"Sylvie." Stella's voice calls softly to me, "Is she okay, Stella?" Matt's voice is soft; his palm caresses my cheek. "I know you're not feeling so well, sweetie, but I am here. Focus on me, honey." Christmas carols blast over the loudspeakers from the area stores. People scurry in and out of the stores carrying shop bags, laughing as they joke with family and friends. The city isn't half as filled as it usually is for this time of the year, but there are still enough people to fill the streets and sidewalks. My vision has come back fully, even though I am dizzy. I can make out the Christmas decorations on street lights, which glow red, green, silver colors, candy canes, stockings, tinsels, and fake presents all line windows and corner poles.

"Try to drink some water, hon," Matt says; the way he says hon curls every nerve inside my body, my heart speeds up, lighting up every nerve inside of me like Christmas lights leaving them tingling. My body shakes not because it's chilly out here or because it's snowing so hard that it is now covering the streets, parked cars, and the sidewalk making it slippery. No, I am shivering because Matthew Casey is sitting so close to me, holding my check and elbow calling me hon.

"Lean forward Sylvie, I got you." My body is sore, and it's hard to move, but I follow Matt's advice and lean forward to sit behind me, which he does quickly. "Lean back, Sylvie, put your head on my chest. Just focus on breathing."

Matt's scent of cinnamon and wood and cologne hit me hard; it's a feeling of coming home to me when I inhale his scent. I love hard-working men who aren't afraid to use their hands become one with nature; growing up in the country, my dad, my uncles, my brothers, and I all worked hard on the family farm; we built barns; we harvested the crops, tended to the fields, milked cows, rounded up the eggs. Chopped our firewood and Christmas tresses, put our fencing up and repaired it as needed, pruned our orchards. We planted our crops, weeded them, watered them, feed the animals, picked the fruits and vegetables as they grew, jarred our own jams, relishes, and food.

Every night after a long day of school and farming, we would make a bonfire in the front yard; my granddad would hold me in his lap as he swung on the front porch swing reading the bible. My uncles would make the fire; my aunts played the guitars and fiddle, my grandma's who all lived close, came over with their homemade sweet tea or lemonade. Mom brought out the marshmallows, hot dogs, graham crackers, and chocolate. My male cousins would run barefoot in the field chasing butterflies and catching fireflies; the only girl cousin I have is ten years younger than I am; her name is Kara Blaine-Brett. We call her Blaine; she would always sing so sweetly; no matter what song was requested, she knew the lyrics to them; she is a genius at making up her lyrics, so even if the radio was on the fritz, we always had music.

My granddad taught me all about the stars; he would tell me all about his days of youth, his dad, and his grandfather. I loved hearing his stories, burying my head into his arms, and inhaling his scent. When he grew tired, Daddy would take my hands, and we would dance across the porch; even when I stepped on his feet, he would laugh and tell me to keep practicing baby-girl, you'll get it. My dad is a fantastic dancer, so patient, so understanding, and encouraging. Daddy always smelled like wood, vinegar, and cigars; as a kid, I used to wrinkle my nose to it, but those scents became home as I grew. They represent love and hard work, a man willing to sacrifice for his family.

Matt's scent takes me back to those days of my youth; the gentle nature of his hand as he encourages me to drink reminds me of dancing on daddy's feet. The cool liquid refreshes me, helping to relax my tense throat muscles. "God, I can't believe I nearly passed out; how embarrassing." "Don't sweat it, Sylvie; it happens to all of us at some point. In our lives, maybe you need some food, babe. The last shift was crazy hectic; you missed all three meals. Did you eat when you got home?" I shake my head slowly, feeling his hand brush away my bangs, which are sticking to my sweat-soaked head. "Why don't we grab some food?" I don't want to move; that means feeling Matt unwrap his arms from my shoulders and waist, letting go of his warmth, parting means I won't feel the outline of his hardness against my backside; it feels wrong to think of Matt in this way. Still, I can't help it; he's a handsome, funny man, and I am a normal healthy woman with a sexual appetite. Matt is looking so rugged tonight in his washed-out blue jeans, empathizing his meat's bulge and the flannel shirt captivates his muscles.

My face is flushed. I can't think of him in this way; he made his feelings very clear Matt is still in love with Gabby, which serves me right for falling for a man who is so obviously bent on getting his heart torn into pieces. Matt's a genuinely amazing man most men couldn't care less about calling their parents. Matt isn't that type of man even though he and his mom have had their issues; he always visited her in prison, he gave her a place to live when she was released. Matt calls her on Sundays; they have dinner at least twice a month; Matt makes sure she stays on her probation; Matt helps her out financially; Matt watches out for his sister and niece. Matt is steady, always ready to help someone he cares for; Matt has direction for his life; he works hard, he's brilliant and funny. Yes, he's proud but not cocky.

Matt is a find your prince once in a lifetime type of man, and damn it; I want him to be mine so bad it hurts. "I'd rather just go home; thanks for the offer, Matt. I'm not into the club scene tonight." City lights blind me; this damn city is so noisy it gives me a headache; cars honk angrily, neon marquees flash, making me feel sicker, doors bang, and people shout so much for Holiday cheer.

I miss home.

I miss the stars that shine so bright that the city lights would weep in jealously, kind of like my broken heart is right now. I have prayed for this moment being in Matt's arm, maybe without the intoxication part, now that it's happened. I can't enjoy it because I know Matt's heart lies within Gabby's heart. I don't want to be a cheap thrill; I want to be his forever Girl.

I've never been someone's forever Girl, I thought I would be Harrison's, but he ran so fast I got whiplash from his exit. The talk of my hometown to this day bastards can't let a day go by without that story slipping past their lips, nearly seven years later. Antonio could never put me; first, it was always his ex Laura or his kids, or the job. I was nothing more than a good ride in the backseat of his car.

The sex was great, but I want more; I won't repeat that heartache; it's why I left Fowlerton to begin with because I would never find a guy out there who understood my need for excitement and adventure. I needed to excel at my job and rise, but that would never happen being stuck in a small town. So I went West and moved here to Chicago. I am still looking for that feeling of being loved and wanted; I got freedom from my parent's money, which feels fantastic. I am accomplished and rising in the CFD, but sometimes I get lonely without the ones who know me inside and out; talking on the phone isn't cutting it anymore. I want to go home to feel their arms around me, but I can't take the chance with COVID; my parents are in the late fifties, my grandparents in their late eighties and early nineties.

Kyle was a roadblock, a way to stall my broken heart from shattering after Otis died, I wanted to reach out to Matt, but I couldn't with Gabby's shadow hanging over me. I used Kyle for a while, but it became clear he was just like Harrison. He wanted a woman to breed his babies and be his preacher wife. That ain't never gonna be me ever, so I broke free and came back to Chicago, figured I could nurse my feelings for Matt. If I closed my eyes long enough held my breath, those feelings would die like burning amber, slow and painful, but eventually, they would extinguish.

I was wrong; they haven't died; they've only had the fuels stroked by the gasoline of hope; when he kissed me, I thought we could finally be together, but he just can't let go of his ex. Some days, God I want to be like Miranda Lambert and take a canister of gasoline and set fire to everything in my path of love. Say fuck it and move on, but I can't. It's just not in my nature, I am a romantic, and I fall in love with falling in love. I feel the tears burn, blinding as hot amber. My throat is tight, damn it, I curse silently, feeling my lungs welling up for a coughing spasm I have tried so damn hard to keep my coughing under control tonight. I know drinking that damn tequila would come back to bite me, but I thought it wouldn't happen for a few more hours. I do not want to have a goddamn attack in front of Matt; he knows I have C.F.

He's never seen me have an actual attack; I've always been able to control myself around most of the firehouse, the only ones who have ever seen me genuinely sick are Gabby and Stella. I can't lose it in front of him, not after he's already heard Kim's goddamn bullshit joke. I can't even take a deep breath. My lungs feel as if I am paused mid-breath; they want to exhale but have forgotten how to, so now they are trying to reset by taking a deep breath, but can't because they never exhaled to allow the air out. I did my Chest Physical Therapy before Stella came over, but my lungs are burning as if I haven't done it for days; I feel my cheeks flushing a deep pink. I need to cough, but I do not want to have a fit in front of Matt. It's uncomfortable to hold it inside; my stomach aches, my head is pounding. My lungs are rattling. I can hear them. It's almost a gurgling sound; I can feel my damn lungs screaming for air, relief.

No one can understand what this is like to live with a disease such as C.F. unless they've experienced it. Who else has to think about their damn lungs continually? How many people can say they feel their body parts? I don't feel any of my other body parts my legs don't scream at me every damn day only when I push them too hard when I run like a marathon, and even then, they only hurt for a few minutes till they rest; my lungs never stop hurting, even when I am going to sleep I feel them, hear them.

My fists close up as I feel my nails dig inside my inner thigh; fear grips my entire body; I know what will happen if I don't start coughing soon. The familiar dizziness has already crept over my entire body, hot flashes mix with cold, shivering spells, bright yellow stars swirl in pools of pure raven clawed blackness. Thick pasty bile clings to the back of my throat the after morning tequila regret crashed the party early. I can't speak about my emotions. I am already too embarrassed. My last drift effort to save my dignity is to glance at Stella, who, thank God, gets it somehow by some miracle. We're not even in New York or anywhere near 34th Street.

"Matt, why don't you go inside? I got Sylvie; this is on me. I dragged her out here tonight."

"Are you sure, Stella? I don't mind helping her." "Yeah, I'm sure Matt, we need some girl's time, just the two of us."

Stella's arm wraps around my waist, lifting me. "Positive captain go chill with my man; keep him from doing anything he'll regret when I find out, cause I will find out." "You're sure, Stella?" "Yes, Casey, I got Brett; go inside now, please. Let us girls talk."

"Okay, but if she needs anything." "I'll make sure she gets it, boy, now go." Leaning against Stella's chest, I feel all my energy drain. My chest feels like the Chicago Cubs have been using the inside of my chest for ball practice between the home runs and the strikes my lungs have taken every blow imaginable. "He's gone, girl; you can breathe."

Yeah, if only she knew how loaded that such statement sounds to someone living with Cystic Fibrosis. If we could just fucking breathe, wouldn't we simply do that? I know she means well, but some days statements such as you can breathe now really irate me. My knees give out as I fall to the ground gagging, the stars and blackness swim faster, coughing not once or even three times; once I cough, I can't stop, my face heats more quickly than a naked human body in a five-alarm blaze. Stella's hands massage my back, holding back my hair as the coughing spasm continues to take a ravaged hold on my body, seizing my chest, sending it into a spastic seizure. Leaving me gasping, gagging till I am spitting up the bile that's been clogging my throat.

Gross, right? I know welcome to the life of a person with Cystic Fibrosis. Few friends know I start every vomiting at two am. I never bother to go back to sleep; instead, I start my morning workout with a six-mile run through my choice of parks in Chicago. By the time I get back home, I am racing to the bathroom for another vomit sesh at five am. Stella and Gabby always wondered why I never needed coffee, or an alarm clock vomiting is a clockwork, about six times each day. The taste forever coats the roof of my mouth, sticking to the back of my throat, which should make it easy to puke this all up, except my stomach is plain tired of vomiting, so it twists and flips, the muscles scream. My throat is so raw it's not sore as in sick; it's raw as in sick and tired of puking up this disgusting bile.

"How can I help, honey?" At least she didn't ask how I am doing, God, I hate that damn question; I mean, obviously, I am not doing well; her hands continue to massage my back and hold my hair back until I am done for this round at least. When I can finally lean back, Stella grabs tissues from her purse and wipes my mouth, handing me the water bottle which I can't drink form yet; I can't even grasp it; the attack has tightened my hands; they are so stiff at this moment they hurt and shake. When I was little, and this happened, it scared the hell out of me; now, it just pisses me off.

Stella cradles the water bottle to my lips, giving me a moment to calm my body down; the water tastes refreshing and cold; I needed this desperately. Gulping the water down, I close my eyes and lean back when I am filled. Every breath hurts; it's worse than trying to breathe through a broken and bent straw; my lungs are so worn out they feel as if two bombs have gone off inside my chest wall cavity and permanently blown away any escape route for the oxygen to vent in or out of.

Slowly the dizziness stops, and the burning subsides. I feel Stella slide down beside my body, her arm wrapped around my shoulders. "Girl, I am so damn sorry. I know I shouldn't have pushed you to come out tonight. You aren't ready; you're strung up on Matt, tighter than those damn Christmas lights." Stella points to a pair of multi-colored lights hanging above our heads. "I don't want to be Stella; believe me, I got the message loud and clear, Matt's not over Gabby, I need to check myself and move on. I don't have time to waste, so I shouldn't be wasting it on Matt."

"Well, what do you say we grab some pizza or Chinese and go back to my place and watch some Netflix?"

"Sounds amazing; just give me a minute; I need to rest." "Take all the minutes you need, honey; I am right here by your side."

Leaning my head against Stella's shoulder, I keep my eyes closed, focusing on breathing in and out until it becomes a monotone theme, one that lures me into an almost sleep state. "More water?" I nod, grateful Stella holds it to my lips without making a fuss over it. "This cold can't be good for you either." "No, breathing in the cold air hurts my lungs and makes me cough more frequently, leading to more coughing fits, and causes me to become winded very quickly."

"Let's do something about that, babe; I don't need my best girl becoming a human fossilized frosty." I try hard not to laugh, but it's an epic fail. I giggle as Stella wraps her arm under my armpits lifting me slow and steady. "What sounds good for dinner?" "Pizza, Stella always pizza." "Pizza it is then, love let's go, I know the perfect little shop."

My body is exhausted, not just in the physical I haven't slept well in years sense, but the mental I can't believe I am still alive sense. I cannot pick my head up off Stella's shoulder even if it's too damn bony. "Talk to me Brett, I know there's more you're holding inside; it's not just about Matt, but I know he's there as well; I am your best damn friend; if girlfriends aren't here to share your feelings with, than what are we here for, babe?"

"I don't even know where to start Stella, I mean, yes, I am single, not by choice, though; it's not as if I am ashamed of being single; I know it makes me a freak most women can't stand the thought about being single. When did this word become such a damn disease that everyone is fighting so damn hard to find a cure for, as if being single is some evil curse that should always bring shame to a person? I feel as if I can't even lift my eyes to meet someone else cause they will shiver away as if I am contagious. Some days being single is worse than having C.F., at least people understand I didn't choose C.F., but they act as if I am choosing to be alone."

"I'm more likely to get a double lung transplant and find a cure for C.F. in my lifetime than I am to find a guy who likes me and wants to commit to me, and only me." "Bitch shut-your-pie-hole, I will let no one talk about my best friend in that regard, especially my best friend."

"You listen to me, Sylvie Cadence Devereaux Brett. You are a beautiful light. There is a radiance to you, honey, that blinds me; you are incredibly charismatic, a loving, wonderful woman. A friend to everyone, you never judge people; Sylvie you see the good in all of us until we prove you wrong; even then, you try to justify why the person is evil. You are a rare, exceptional positive member of our community. Even with C.F. you still took on a dangerous job in the CFD, one that can significantly shorten your life. Because you genuinely care about people honey. A risk like that takes balls, it isn't the absence of fear, it's the knowledge that there are more important things out here."

"Do me a favor Sylvie, take some time for yourself, let Matt get his shit together, do not chase the boy; no man is worth it; he needs to see how amazing you are for himself. If Matt can't see this for himself, he is a damn fool."

"When people show you who they are, believe them the first time." "If someone is showing you, they would rather not date you, believe them. Shrug your shoulders and move on. It's their loss, not yours. No, really—Sylvie, it is Matt's loss. I know it seems hard to believe, but it is, trust me. You are already a beautiful, completely amazing woman, and you don't need to change who you are for Matt or any guy. I can't know how C.F. makes you feel. I know it affects you, though. Is this why you feel so strongly about dating Matt?"

"No, I don't think so Stella, I learned a long time ago to juggle my feelings about having C.F. and dating realistically. When I was a child, it was rough especially growing up in a small rural town; the kids couldn't accept I was different; it wasn't so bad for my brothers; they were younger and had each other. Their C.F. was milder than mine is, anyway. Most kids refused to go near me, afraid they would catch it from me, I guess. I can't lie and say it didn't hurt cause it did, but I learned to laugh about it; after all, if I laughed in their faces, it took their power away; truthfully, some of their names were so ridiculous it was hard to take it seriously. Salt-top-lous I mean seriously? Salt-vie, Scavie, I mean really?"

"Okay, I get the first two, but scarvie?" "C.F. hasn't just affected my lungs; it's affected my digestive system, my bowels, liver; I've had to have surgery fifty times throughout my life; each one has left a special scar I use to be so ashamed to change for gym."

"That's awful!"

"Yeah, well, kids are cruel, at least in elementary and middle school. I learned how to be alone, I put myself into studying, working on the farm, learning how to play guitar, and I spent loads of time in church and their choir. Things got a lot better in high school kids matured and understood I am not my disease; they saw me for who I am inside; it helped that I have been taking dance for years, so I auditioned for the cheer squad; I made it easily. I dated boys who got to know me for me and saw past the disease. I had a lot of friends, went to the parties, got voted homecoming queen and class president."

"My self-esteem issues came back after Harrison dumped me at the alter. He claimed it was because he wasn't ready to settle down, but I wonder if he got scared because of the gravity of my illness, most men can't handle the responsibility."

"I wondered, will I be alone forever? Will I be an old maid? Where should I go to meet people? I knew I needed to get out of Folweton, so I did, but it changed nothing at first. I was as healthy as I have ever been, as healthy as anyone with C.F. can be; Gabby took me to the hottest clubs, introduced me to some friends and her brother. I dated some pretty amazing men, but they all had excuses why we couldn't work; deep down, I questioned myself am I the reason? If they can see past the C.F. is there something I am not seeing? Am I not pretty enough, smart enough? Bold enough? Good enough? Maybe I am just not lovable."

We reach the pizza place and head inside. I feel Stella's eyes on me, judging me; I know she's about to explode at my self-criticism, but she asked how I think. I think she's regretting that now. "I want love Stella, more than anything except my health. I have tried to make every relationship work so badly. I put aside my own needs for everyone else. I guess I am just not worth it to anyone ever to be their first; I know I will never be the diamond; I'm more like the dust left behind the sparkle when it fades. Maybe my scars shine too brightly. I love Matt, Stella. I have tried so hard not to feel this way I've pushed aside my feelings to be considerate of Gabby's feelings and Matt's. I keep smiling and playing this fucking game of I am okay. I can smile through the pain. I can convince everyone it doesn't matter. I can be just friends or just co-workers. It's in my best interest to stop communication with Matt since he can't commit, I know it's never going to get any easier for me, and now Shay's back, she'll tell Gabby right away, I don't want to hurt her either. But I don't want to leave 51. You guys are my home; this sucks."

My chest burns again, not from C.F. a one-in-a-million reality facing a future without Matt. I have been holding onto hope for so long feels like a cliff has collapsed on top of me. Burying me under the avalanche of rocks, sand, snow, and every other damn thing nature can throw at me. Stella orders quickly, never taking her arm from around my shoulders. Her warmth keeps me feeling sustained. Comforted, I feel as if she's hearing me and not just listening but truly caring to hear how I feel. No one has taken the time to do this in years except Matt.

"Sylvie, the more you try to push away these feelings, the more they dig in and pull you back. To move on, you must not try to create artificial closure. You need to give Matt time, honey. He went through something dramatic; divorce is fucking brutal on your soul and mind; I don't think he's ever accepted the fact Gabby is gone, he keeps clinging to hope, and it ain't happening. I am going to ask Kelly to talk with him; men are stupid. And they need guidance. I believe Matt is in love with you, Sylvie but Gabby hurt him, and sometimes that hurt takes overall rationality. Matt could be afraid to open himself up to being hurt, and he may fine with risking losing you to keep his heart protected."

"So no matter what I do, I am screwed. He's damaged."

"Damaged no, honey hurt yes, maybe Matt is feeling how you are feeling. Matt gave Gabby his heart, soul, and mind, and she shredded him without a care in the world. How would you country folks say it? Oh, yeah, she drove the damn tractor over that field and plowed the shit out of it. Trying to love someone without self-worth is like trying to row a leaking boat across the sea. When you realize your own worth, you'll naturally stop wanting to chase after people who don't love you back. I'm not saying it's easy, but it's possible. Matt might need to hear he's worth sticking around for. It's not just us ladies who feel pain or face self-esteem issues. We're just a little more willing to put our hearts out on our sleeves."

"Your pretty good at this conversation stuff Stella." She bumps my hip with hers winking at me. "I love my man, but there is nothing like a conversation with a woman that understands you. I grow so much from these conversations. It's my job to help my younger sista's out when I can."

"You know I am three years older, Stella."

"Ah, age ain't' Nuthin but a number girlfriend. It's a simple fact Sylvie women think differently, act differently, solve problems differently, and are more emotionally driven than logically driven. Every mile we move in this journey of life, we learn a new lesson. It's our job to pass these lessons on to each other cause women have to stick together."

"As women Sylvie, we understand each other, and we validate each other, we give love and breakup advice to each other, we share some of the deepest darkest secrets with each other. We share the truth; we share intimate family details, we share beauty products, we tell each other when we have food in our teeth you better tell me if I have food in my teeth damn it, girl, or I will murder you before C.F. can we share lasting memories." I cringe at how easily she talks about C.F. killing me as if I needed a reminder of how sick I am; I can feel it, slowly killing me a little more each day. She doesn't notice my flinch; why would she? To her, it's a funny joke, a cute way to make a pun. To me, it's my reality.

C.F. kills

I know this. I've experienced this more times than I care to think about. It's not something I usually talk about if you don't have C.F. or any disease that sets you apart; if you've never seen friends die before they have time to grow old, then you will, in plain English, never understand. Speak up Stella's advice all night. Speak up no one can know how someone is feeling on the inside if they don't share. I hardly ever speak up, afraid of losing people if they feel I am too sensitive but don't I have that right? To be sensitive, it's my damn life.

"Please don't make jokes about me dying Stella, it's not funny, and you have no right to be so carefree with my reality."

Stella doesn't blink an eye. She shrugs, pulling me closer, kissing my head. "Sorry, babe, I didn't think it was insensitive. I have a pretty fucked up sense of humor; it's what got me through life on the streets and seeing all my friends die from addiction. You're right. I have no right to joke about something I have no experience with; I am sorry. You know I love you, and I can't even think about you dying without choking up, so I have to joke. I won't anymore, I promise."

Shit, that worked. Speaking up, getting my voice heard, got results. "You never talk about those years, Stella; I sometimes forget."

"It's in my past, Sylvie, no reason too; my life is amazing now, I survived, and I see no reason to bring it up; all it does is make people uncomfortable, or pity me, God, I hate pity!"

"Girl. I feel you believe me as soon as people hear me cough or find out I have C.F.; I get the blank stares, the backup dance, and a bunch of stuttering. Or worse, I get that sad look like someone kicked a puppy; I don't need pity, I don't want you to feel bad. I have an amazing life as well, with parents who love me unconditionally. I grew up in a town where everyone knew my name, not always a fun fact as a teen trying to sneak out and be rebellious, but as an adult. I appreciate the closeness, the traditions that built my hometown. I have outstanding brothers, even if they get on my nerves more times than they don't. I had pretty grand friends as a teen and phenomenal friends now, I've outlived the doctor's expectations, and I do a job I love and am damn good at; I've earned my way into the PIC position with hard work, blood, sweat, and tears."

"Yeah, you have girl, you kicked ass, see this is what I am talking about. You are amazing, and Matt will see that; just don't rush it, Sylvie, he's on his own journey, and you need to give him time."

"Yeah, time the one thing I don't have, Stella."

"Hey, I thought joking about your death was out of context!"

"For you bitch, yeah, not me; I can joke about my death cause it's mine. Laughter is the best medicine. Life with C.F. is too serious. Loosen up. I wish my mucus took this damn advice."

"Girl, you are fucked in the head; you ain't right." Stella laughs, wrestling with me as I lose my balance and crash into the table, throwing my hands out to steady myself. People are watching, of course, but neither of us seems to care; I squeal as her icy hands try to tickle me under my shirt. "No! Don't you dare bitch, no way! I'll kill you!"

"Gotta catch me first wheezy." I glare at her, huffing as she races out back into the cold. She is not getting away with that, wheezy please; I am more like chichi, I am trendy and impressive, I make wheezing cool, yeah, I inspired Kayne, he just doesn't want to give a farm girl from rural Indiana credit. I'll show Stella wheezy. Spotting a discarded cup of soda, I grab it tearing it out after her; I catch her within seconds, gripping her tightly. "Girl, get off me, or you won't A.H..!" Stella squeals jumping up and down as I pour the cup down her shirt. "Cold! A.H.! Evil! Ah!" grabbing her shirt, she tries to take it off and shake the ice out, giving me death glares the entire time. "Girl, don't mess with a farm girl. I grew up on backwoods, dirt bikes, surrounded by boys, I was head-cheerleader, I know all the dirty tricks."

"You like tricks so much there's a corner, go perform them. I hear they get top dollar now for natural blonds. You know, cause they don't expect too much from them."

"Oh, you are so funny, Stella. I forgot to laugh; such a shame cause laughter helps me to cough."

"How about I pound the shit out of you? I'll gladly take a sledge hammer to your back, that should clear those old clogged up evil lungs; maybe all the evil will seep out."

"Please, you are just jealous cause you know my sweet ass would get way more $$ than your curl haired ass on any corner." "Oh, you think so? Wanna bet?' Stella steps closer, still shaking and trying to take off her shirt, which is drawing some unwanted attention from some men who have had more than they should have to drink. Quickly I grab her dragging her away, holding her shirt in place; perhaps Stella has had too many as well. "we're only leaving cause you know I would win. I know what men like Sylvie, which is why I know you need to listen to my advice."

"Yes, Stella, dear, I shall keep that in mind." "You better bitch cause I am going home to bang the shit outta my man, and then I will make sure he bangs some sense into Captain Matthew Casey's head." Groaning, I shake my head. "Don't let Matt figure it out on his own. I love that you want to help, but you might be right. Matt needs time. I can give him some time. Matt seems so put together on the outside it's easy to forget that not all scars are visible. You can put the pieces back together, look intact, but you are never quite the same as you were before the fall; people forget that to have the joy of love, one must also endure the price of grief when love fails."

"If you say so, Sylvie, but if that boy doesn't get his shit together soon if I see your ass crying over him for any reason, I am going to unleash a city ass whooping on his behind."

"I won't stop you, Stella; I'll get your bail money ready."

"Good cause I'm going to…

"Get off me!" Stella and I both whip our heads around, hearing the scream of a young girl to our left. Our eyes lock on the young woman at the same moment. Quicken our pace; we are inches away from the young girl who looks to be in her mid-twenties. She's arguing with a man around her age who is gripping her arm, his face scowling.

"You're insane bitch. They're my kids too. You can't keep them from me!"

"I can, and I will, you useless asshole unless you start paying! I have needs, and I can't provide everything for three kids, pay rent, and keep food on the table, not to mention the medical bills. You ain't paid a damn dime in years!"

His hand smacks across her face as Stella and I race up. I quickly pull out my cell phone and call 911 as we get right up into their faces. Stella instantly jumps in front of the guy growling into his face. "Get your ass out of here right now, or I promise you will be in jail when the police get here."

"Bitch get the hell out of my business." The guy moves closer, pushing Stella back. She stumbles but never falls. "hell, No." She mumbles before turning around and punching the kid right in his face. I grab the shaking, crying young woman and hustle her away, hoping Stella didn't just get herself in trouble with this kid. There's no telling nowadays who is packing a gun.

"Honey, my name is Sylvie Brett. I am with the CFD, I am a paramedic, can you tell me your name?" a quick assessment tells me no visible injuries are needing immediate attention. I worry about internal injuries if he hit her once. There's reason to worry there have been other times before this instant. "I'm fine, ma'am; it was just a misunderstanding. No need to get the police involved; Kent was just mad, he trips sometimes, but he would never hurt me." "Honey, he hit you that's hurting you; we can get you help."

"What like some shelter? No way they're nasty. My kids deserve better. I'm fine, I've been fine for years; please just butt out."

The girl tries to push me away, but I am not one to take no for an answer in caring for my patients. "Can you tell me your name or age?" "I'm legal, okay, now I said butt out." the girl shoves me of hard, I have to grab the vehicle to keep my balance. Taking off, she flies back into the house. The guy is long gone. Shaking my head, I join Stella on the sidewalk again. She's pissed, rubbing her fist, eyes glued to the scumbag flying down the street. "men are garbage, man. I swear to God if Kelly ever hit me, he'd be picking the pieces of his shredded balls up long into old age." Laughing, I take her hand, examining it already its swelling. It's looking bruised. "Damn, how hard did you hit him?" "Cracked his jaw, felt pretty good." "How about now?" She winces, groaning slightly. "not so much now; think I need some ice."

"Yeah, yeah you do; let's go get some, and some beer."

"Are you suppose to drink with C.F.?"

"Are you supposed to go around hitting random strangers? Pretty sure that's still illegal." "Fair point, Brett."

"Ma'am?" We look up to see a young man in his late teens come down the apartment building steps next door to where our victim ran into. "Yes?" "What's going to happen to Kent?" "You know the young man who hit that girl?"

Looking around, he shoves his hands into his pockets. Sighing, he nods. "Yeah, his name is Kent Marquez. He's my brother, my older brother. He's not a bad guy honestly, when he's off the smack, he's just been struggling ever since Loretta had their third child three years ago, she's been fooling around, and I know it ain't no excuse for him to hit her. Kent's been trying to provide for his family, but she won't stay loyal; she keeps sleeping around, using him for his money, and refusing to commit to her. Kent lost his job when COVID shut down his work in March, he's been looking for work, but he ain't got no high school diploma or GED; it's hard to get a good job."

"Loretta keeps tearing him down, saying he ain't a man, he's a pathetic excuse for a human, she's the one who got him hooked to smack, and she's using it over him. She's a functional alcoholic and user; people are fooled by that pretty smile, the fact she shows up for work on time. Kent he doesn't deal so well with the drugs. He gets messed up and can't function. He wants to go to rehab, but he can't afford it; he's afraid she'll use it against him for custody."

Stella and I exchange looks. Is this kid playing with us, or is he telling us the truth? There's something in his eyes that are screaming at me that he's on the upright, but Stella's words come back from earlier. I see the best in everyone until they prove me wrong. If I am wrong and he's playing us, I could put this girl and her kids in that much more dangerous; if I am right, though, and we do nothing, this young man could be looking at a jail sentence, loss of his kids, future. In the end, the real victims are the kids. If a woman could do this to a man she fathered kids with, what type of example is she setting for them? How long till she crashes and those kids pay the price?

"Will you be willing to come with us to meet with the police?" He looks around nervously, not wanting to be seen as a snitch. "We can do it discretely." "Yeah, can you promise me Kent will get the help he needs?" "We will do our best, but we can't do it without you."

"Okay, I'm in what time? Where?" Stella holds her hand out for his cell. He gives it to her hesitantly. "This is my number; I'm putting it under my name, Stella; I just texted myself so that I will add you to my contacts; I'll text you tomorrow. Show up, man, or I will have my friends issue a warrant for your brother's arrest."

Stella's eyes show she ain't playing; the kids backs away nervously before racing back into the apartment. "Let's get outta here Brett, I ain't liking the vibe in this neighborhood, and it's late." Random garbage litters the streets and sidewalks, thick graffiti line the walls, and groups of idle teenagers are everywhere. I can spot the drug deals going on, and they aren't even trying to hide it. Women are walking the sidewalks, leaning over the cars of rolled down windows. Gruff looking men are watching them from afar, many flashing their pieces at the ladies. Many of the apartments, buildings are abounded, beaten down, many with windows broken, smoke, stale urine penetrate the air. There are more bars on this side of town than apartments, they all have drunk people hanging out, smoking, and it ain't cigarettes. My lungs are already repelling against the smell, so I hurry to follow Stella to the subway.

"I'll call Hailey in the morning Sylvie, just keep your head held high, I promise you Matt will get his shit sorted, and he'll come around to call on you, be ready when your man finally comes to his senses. Start thinking about where you want that first date to be."

The first date with Matt Casey sounds like a dream; could it honestly come true? One glance at Stella, who has placed her arm across my shoulders, I see the sparkle in her eyes; she's going to make this happen. This girl is on fire tonight, and there ain't no stopping a fire once it gains fuel. As scary as the flames may get, all you can do is stand aside and watch it burn in all its wonder and beauty. Or throw yourself into the fire and hope for a quick death. The most potent weapon on earth is the human soul on fire.

I'm not ready to die, yet I have just started to live, and I want to experience the magic and beauty of loving another human being. Bob Marley said it best only once in your life. I truly believe you find someone who can reverse your world around you. You tell them things that you've never shared with another soul, and they absorb everything you say and want to hear more. You share hopes for the future, dreams that will never come true, goals that were never achieved, and the many disappointments life has thrown at you. When something extraordinary happens, you can't wait to tell them about it, knowing they will share in your excitement. They are not embarrassed to cry with you when you are hurting or laugh with you when you make a fool of yourself. Never do they hurt your feelings or make you feel like you are not good enough, but instead, they build you up and show you the things about yourself that make you unique and even beautiful. There is never any pressure, jealousy, or competition but only a quiet calmness when they are around. You can be yourself and not worry about what they will think of you because they love you for who you are. The things that seem insignificant to most people, such as a note, song, or walk, become invaluable treasures kept safe in your heart to cherish forever. Memories of your childhood come back and are so clear and vivid. It's like being young again. Colors seem brighter and more brilliant. Laughter seems part of daily life where before it was infrequent or didn't exist at all.

A phone call or two during the day helps to get you through a long day's work and always brings a smile to your face. In their presence, there's no need for continuous conversation, but you find you're quite content in just having them nearby. Things that never interested you before become fascinating because you know they are essential to this person who is so unique to you. You think of this person on every occasion and in everything you do. Simple things bring them to mind like a pale blue sky, gentle wind, or even a storm cloud on the horizon. You open your heart knowing that there's a chance it may be broken one day, and in opening your heart, you experience a love and joy that you never dreamed possible. You find that being vulnerable is the only way to allow your heart to feel true pleasure that's so real it scares you. You find strength in knowing you have a true friend and possibly a soul mate who will remain loyal to the end. Life seems completely different, exciting, and worthwhile. Your only hope and security are in knowing that they are a part of your life."

Matt is the one who is always there when anything significant has happened in my life for the best two years; he is the one who I want to run to, hold me, and kiss me. I can wait because he is worth the wait. I am so thankful I have Stella to talk to.