Fuse (end)

I grab a fistful of blunts in my hand, lighter in the other, and hop off the table. I’m feeling so good, so much and for the first time, her presence is something of a buzzkill.
I slump down next to the door and pass a few blunts under when I hear her do the same. We smoke in silence for twenty seconds before I break it,
“You know you’re stuck in here, right?”
Maybe she’s trying to make her last few minutes special. Or maybe she really didn’t know she’s be stuck here and wants to make the most of it.
  “I love you.”
Either way, in my last moments, I will not go out a liar. I will leave this world with the sweet, foreign taste of honesty on my lips.
“I don’t love you, Ari. Why the hell are you here?”
  “You know I wouldn’tve made it to tomorrow night if I’d read about this in the morning.” I consider what she says for a second, it is true. I’d do the same thing no matter what my feelings were.
  So I was right, it’s not love that brought her here to die with me, but opportunity.
  Five seconds pass and the glass in the cabinets rattles as the first floor blows out. From the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of fingertips reaching out from underneath the door.
I won’t die a liar, but I’m not so determined to die alone that I’ll reject this. This is the first time I’ve registered fear in Aria, and I can’t even look for it in her face.
We get a minute of calm as the temperature rises steadily with the burning next door, in front, underneath us. As the first floor explosions come to and end and the second begin, my fingertips are ripped from hers and I’m tossed towards the teacher’s desk. I’ve managed to hold onto my blunt and smile with every inhale as textbooks and beakers and microscopes and scales explode with a musical flourish as they hit the floor, then each other. I think I hear her scream, but it could just be a siren outside.
The side directly underneath me has definitely gone off—the tile in the lab is dipped at a severe angle to the left. I’m up against one of the lab tables, securely bolted to the weakening floor, avoiding debris, the remnants of a classroom.
The other side of the third floor is alive, being propelled towards the sky. I’m sweating, falling constantly, there is no solid plastic or metal to hold onto and I can hear her sobbing now.
For the first time that I can remember, I do not want to die. I want to stop this moment and save it, thrive in it for years to come.
The last thing I see is the flashing lights of the firetrucks bouncing through the room before the ground folds in beneath me.