Chapter 24 The Present #2
I lowered myself onto the branch’s edge, calves pressed against its rough surface.
The wind whipped past my face, whipping stray hairs into my eyes.
My fingers found the bark’s ridges, hard and splintered.
I pushed off, sliding down inch by inch.
My heart hammered as panic curled around my ribs. Every centimeter felt like miles.
“You’re doing great,” Caiden’s voice came from above, flat but piercing through my terror.
I gritted my teeth, teeth chattering against the cold. My last full meal was hours ago, and with every movement, my muscles trembled. The bark ground against my palms, skin tearing, blood warm and sticky on my fingers.
Then, my grip failed. My right hand slipped on a patch of moss. My palm scraped along the trunk, skin shredding against the unforgiving grooves. A gasp tore from my throat.
“Caiden!” I screamed, fingers slipping free, body tilting dangerously toward open air.
“Hold on!” His voice cracked. I heard the scuffle of boots against wood as he began ascending toward me.
I closed my eyes, panic flaring hotter than the midday sun. “Please don’t let me die,” I sobbed, voice barely above a whisper.
“I’m not going to let you die,” he assured me, and there was something raw and honest in his tone.
I felt rough, calloused palms wrap around my waist, gripping me like a vise. His arms were awkward at first, half hugging me, half wrestling to find purchase. Warmth radiated from his body, coursing through my chilled bones.
For a moment, the world stilled. No wind, no roaring abyss, just the beat of his heart and the press of his chest against my back.
The heat faded as his arms slipped, the urgency snapping me awake. I dug my fingers into the bark above my head, muscles screaming in protest, and slowly, painstakingly, hauled myself upright.
Caiden exhaled relief that feathered against my neck.
Was he truly relieved? Happy I was still alive? I shoved the thought aside. There would be time later for questions.
He resumed his descent, and I followed, each movement mirroring his. My breaths came in sharp gasps: inhale, exhale, inhale.
I needed to have faith.
But, I lost it long ago. Sometime in my preteen years, when every harsh word from my mother and every cruel taunt from Caiden chipped away at my spirit.
I had become a hollow shell, a cracked house rusting in the rain, haunted by midnight demons.
At last, with trembling relief, I landed on solid ground beside him. He gave me a hand to steady myself; his touch was gentle despite the tremor in his grip.
The tiny alcove at the base of the tree pressed us so close my back was against his chest, our breaths mingling. My heart thundered with exhaustion.
My legs shook, every fiber of me depleted. All I craved was firm earth beneath my feet. We were two battered souls, forged in darkness and anger, forced together by survival.
“I hope you’ve got a little energy left,” Caiden said, voice low and hoarse, “because you’re going to have to climb.”
His gaze drifted to the overhanging branches above the ravine wall. I felt guilt prick at my chest for nearly falling, for putting him through those frantic moments.
“We’ll see what happens,” I said, my voice quiet but determined. My body trembled, but I lifted my chin. I would push forward. I would prove, most of all to myself, that I was stronger than I ever believed.
Caiden’s fingers closed around the lowest rung of the twisted vine first.
Above us, the canopy quivered in sunlight, dappling the bark with liquid gold. I measured the climb in heartbeats—thirty seconds, maybe a minute—yet every fiber of me trembled at the thought.
My arms felt as hollow as the trees’ knotted hollows, my shoulders screaming after hours on the trail.
Caiden moved as though the rock face were made of silk. His muscles flexed under sweating skin, each vein a pulsing river of effort.
He planted his boots on narrow ledges, then thrust upward, momentum carrying him like a diver launched into open sky. The rock offered him purchase; his body answered without hesitation.
I reached for the same vine and froze. The rough fibers scraped my palm, but my arms refused to bear my weight. I watched Caiden’s effortless ascent, disbelief knotting in my chest.
“Grip the branch,” he called, voice warm and distant through the leaves. “Push with your feet, then shift your hands, one after the other.”
My lungs burned. “I—I’m weaker,” I panted, the words scraping against my throat. “You’re built for this.”
“Don’t talk yourself down,” he snapped, steady as a cliff face. “Just believe you can do it. Stop whining and climb.”
His insistence sliced through my doubt. I couldn’t let him win by watching me falter. So, I wedged a foot into a rocky crevice, fingers trembling as I clenched the vine.
My grip felt tenuous, but I hauled upward. Each upward push was agony: muscles ignited, nerves ablaze. My breath came in hollow gasps, each exhale a rattling confession of weakness.
When resignation curled at my mind, a rough hand seized my forearm.
Startled, I looked up into Caiden’s face. His jaw shadowed by the faint stubble of yesterday’s shave, eyes bright with determination. “Pull,” he urged, voice low. “I’ve got you.”
With his strength anchoring me, I found one last reserve. I heaved my body above the ledge, shoulders scrabbling for earth, then toppled backward onto mossy ground.
My back hit the loam, and I lay staring at fractured sky, the blue shards promising something beyond sheer survival.
“We did it,” I whispered, heart pounding like a war drum.
Caiden landed beside me with a thud. The forest around us hushed, bearing witness to our small victory. We lay shoulder to shoulder, bodies quaking, breaths mingling in the cool air.
Between our chests, an ember glowed. A fierce, wordless bond ignited by shared peril. It felt less like comfort and more like wildfire, scorching outward from our bones.
But, this was Caiden and me. There was no beauty lingering in the shadows between us, only a scorching inferno that penetrated so deeply into our flesh, leaving a tormented mark on our souls.