Chapter 10 #3
I was struck silent, realizing that some part of me, deep down, expected him to laugh. Expected my methods and this weakness would be met with mockery and maybe a little disgust.
Ford just seemed…thoughtful?
“And when we Cross? What then?”
“I—I don’t know.” I would be surprised if he could hear me, my voice cracked in so many places.
Ford’s answering hum confirmed something I’d always suspected. Crossing, for most people, was a little weird and disorienting—launching yourself through a rip in the fabric of space and time and all.
For me, it had always felt like I was dying. Like my skin was pulling away from my body, each of my ribs separating. My very life force sucked out of me.
I often popped out on the other side of the Bridge with a sheen of sweat coating the back of my neck, needing a few minutes to gather myself. Peter’s warning to the newbies not to throw up was borne of an unfortunate incident where I cast up my accounts on his new boots.
I’d always suspected that Ford felt the same, going a little more silent than usual. That hard joint at the top of his jaw popping out, his normally warm skin going a pale for a few moments.
We’d never talked about it. It had always been just another fact of our broken Bond.
I could never quite figure out who it was worse for. It was hard to measure pain at that severity.
With a Cross tomorrow, we were going to be subject to that very pain again. A twisted part of me looked forward to it, needing an outlet for the anguish wracking my mind.
Something in that knowledge had me falling silent, had Ford doing the same. Had us staying that way while we hung up Sky and Shadow’s saddles and cleaned them up.
We swapped halfway through so Ford could wrestle down an extra bag of treats off a high shelf, knowing Sky would try to nip at it himself if he wasn’t hand fed. So that I could brush out Shadow’s hair and braid it, even though Ford often did, having learned from his niece.
We walked back to our tent together, Sky and Shadow trailing us—they could tell we were about to leave and we trying their level best not to pout.
It wasn’t until we both made it to the bank of the river, towels in hand, that I realized that I’d just spent several comfortable minutes in Ford’s presence.
An unwanted reminder that this routine companionship had become the norm. Something those pills had allowed to develop, seeing as I couldn’t really stand to be in Ford’s presence for that long beforehand.
“You go first,” Ford said, his first words in a while. His voice sounded scratchier. I felt it like a physical touch.
The dip in the river was fast, only enough to wash my hair and hide under the surface for a little. Ford’s back was turned the entire time, not moving an inch until I walked back around him fully dressed.
I stood guard for him, even though I knew he was likely in his boxers. I’d seen him like that before, but didn’t have the strength to handle it now.
Not when I was feeling a little more settled and was just tired enough to let it happen instead of trying to resist. The Cross tomorrow would remind me what was wrong.
For now, I just let myself fall into a haze, fall asleep in a tent with Ford, fall back into this routine with him.
When I woke up the next morning, scraping up my resolve, I opened my eyes to a stack of my clothing in the corner of the tent.
My gear for the Cross, with the long sleeved shirt Ford slept in folded neatly on top.
I could already feel my grip on my anger slipping.
As we stood by the Bridge, preparing to Cross, Ford’s eyes were a heavy brand on the side of my face, on the collar of his shirt peaking out under my jacket.
Anticipation thrummed in my stomach, knowing that time was pushing closer and closer to that moment when we needed to join hands.
A hand that perfectly fits yours, the Bond chimed in haughtily, annoyed that the concept of touching Ford was registering with anything less than joy.
How did I explain to such a simple entity that joy was what hurt the most, knowing it wasn’t returned?
I kept my gaze trained forward, tracking over the rocks we needed to climb down.
It only made sense that our first Cross with the Bond back would have to be technically challenging on top of everything else, rather than a simple stride across.
As was typical with fear, that fateful moment where you had to face it anyway came far faster than I wanted, brought on by Peter’s nod of permission.
Ford and I began the slow climb down the rocks, careful only to make sure that one of us didn’t accidentally step into the Bridge prematurely. I snuck a look at Ford, noticing the tension in his muscles immediately.
Surely in part from stress, but also from restraint. Though he masked it well, I knew how much of that little boy who loved adventure with abandon still lived inside him. How much he wanted to scale mountains without fear, but actively restrained himself under the weight of his responsibilities.
In turn, I’d always had the urge to make his life a little easier so he could give into those impulses. There were few ways I could do so secretly, but I’d tried anyway.
What I should have been doing was focusing on not tripping, rather than reliving old memories. A well timed thought, seeing as a rock I’d placed my weight on dislodged a second later, sending me off balance.
A feeling that only got worse, as I was dragged against a chest hard as stone and went tumbling through the Bridge.