Eighteen Steps
Dolly Beckett
I don’t think. Not about myself or the baby. I only think about Preston as I throw myself at him.
Our bodies hit the roof, and I spread my arms and legs as wide as they’ll go, as wide as Preston did that night he bound me to the bed and fucked me like his life depended on it.
Maybe it did, because there’s no way I’m losing the father of my child yet.
I dig my fingers in, gripping the slippery shingles as we begin to slide.
“Preston,” I scream, clinging to the wet surface under us.
He’s grasping for purchase, too. He digs his foot into the rain gutter, and we come to a slow, precarious halt.
I’m on top of him, my feet hanging off the edge of the roof, my arms extended to either side, fingers pressed into the rough tiles.
I’m not letting go for anything, even though my palms are rubbed raw from sliding over the textured shingles, and I’m sure my hands are torn to bits.
“Crawl up the roof,” Preston says, his hand falling on my hip. “You can get back to the window.”
“I’m not leaving you,” I say, choking out the words. “Never again.”
“How bad am I hit?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I admit, a sob catching in my throat. “You’re bleeding a lot.”
“I don’t feel it,” he says, but his good eye is glassy in the rain.
“Don’t you die on me,” I cry, grabbing his chin in one hand. “Don’t you leave me with this baby, Preston Darling.”
A hint of a smile ghosts over his lips. “I told you, Doll. Didn’t I say it would be worth it if I was with you when the end came?”
His voice is fading already, and I can’t hold back the next sob. “You don’t have to keep proving your point. You can stop now. You won. I’m yours.”
He reaches for my hand. “Tell me it was worth it.”
“Please,” I beg. “You can’t do this to me. Not now. We’re having a baby. Please, Preston. Stay for me. I love you.”
“I told you I’d never ask for that,” he says, that weird smile still on his lips.
“I don’t care,” I sob. “I came back. That should prove to you that I do. Right? You let me go, and I came back.”
“I didn’t ask you to come back.”
“You can’t always choose what other people do, Preston. You can only choose what you do.”
“You chose what you wanted.”
“I want you,” I say, shaking his chin when his eyes start to drift closed. “How can I prove that to you? That I love you?”
His voice is so weak, I have to read his lips again. “Watch the storm with me, Doll. The lightning is spectacular up here.”
“I said I’d marry you,” I remind him, a strangled laugh escaping me. “Now you just have to stay alive long enough for our wedding. Please, Preston. I can’t lose you again.”
“Then do one more thing for me,” he says, his eyes falling closed. “Tell me what it looks like up there. The lightning. Isn’t it magnificent?”
“I’m going to get you some help,” I promise, leaning down to kiss his slack lips. “I’m going to get you to a hospital. Just stay right here. Don’t move.”
I sit up and turn to the police below. There are four cars parked behind the garage, their lights blinking but sirens silent.
The garden is crawling with uniformed officers, some holding guns, others on radios.
The garden beds are churned up and muddy under their boots, and I see the pink and purple plants that look like flowers being crushed as they walk over them.
I wave my arms and shake my head, yelling down for them not to shoot and hoping they hear me.
Then I carefully begin crawling back up the roof, my feet slipping every few feet and adrenaline shooting into my chest. At last, I make it to the peak on the roof and inch along to the wall. Only then do I let myself look back.
Preston’s sprawled where I left him, one foot in the rain gutter.
His face is stark white in the gathering twilight.
His shirt is stained pink by the blood, and I’m glad I can’t see what’s under him, that the rain is washing it away.
I turn and slide down to the window. Inside, I can hear Peanut whining for me.
I brace my hands on the sill and lower one leg in.
I’m still perched there when I hear a grinding crack.
My gaze flies to Preston just in time to see a long section of gutter swinging away from the roof.
As if in slow motion, Preston begins to slide.
I scream, diving out the window again. By the time my knees hit the shingles, he’s disappeared over the edge.