8. Sara
8
SARA
I ’m sliding down the cliffside, my front dragging over every sharp, pointy thing protruding from the slope. I plunge my hands into the foliage and force my nails to claw into the jagged sides of branches and rough-limbed vines. My feet dangle beneath me before my brain forces my legs to scramble for something to wedge my feet into. I cling to the side, my heart beating like it might rupture from my chest at any moment.
“Hold on.” I hear Jack call from above. I watch him climb over the edge, lowering himself by gripping branches and using rocks as footholds. He travels effortlessly, even with the huge backpack still attached.
“Don’t move,” he orders as he climbs past me.
My breathing is rapid and my throat’s swollen from severe gasping. I can’t even find the words to tell him that remaining still and glued to the side of the mountain is my only plan.
A thud sounds below, like boots connecting with gravel.
“You can let go,” Jack calls. I can’t tell the tone from up here, but if I were to hazard a guess, I’d say it was…boredom .
“What?” I shriek, tightening my grip.
He calls again, and this time I’m sure I hear boredom. “Are you waiting for sunset, or are you coming down here?”
I attempt to twist my head, but the small movement causes one of the branches in my grip to tear from its roots. A cry leaps from my lungs as I make a grab for another section, clinging tighter to the spot. “I…can’t,” I manage to choke out.
“It’s not that far, you either climb down or let go,” Jack says, the boredom quickly morphing into frustration.
I squeeze my eyes shut, grind my teeth, and take several deep breaths. I keep my body rigid as I carefully twist my head to the side, daring to look down.
Jack’s standing a few feet beneath me, close enough to reach out and touch me, both hands on his hips, backpack cast aside, jackass expression stamped on his face.
He’s on a ledge, a very wide ledge with trees and bushes lining the edges. Admittedly, there’s plenty of room to fall without fear of sliding farther down the mountain.
The only problem is that my limbs are completely frozen.
“I can’t.”
“Sure you can. Come on, just let go.” He says it like I’m holding up a line at Starbucks and not dangling for dear life.
“No,” I whine.
“Fine, I’ll catch you.” I can practically feel his growl vibrate through the brittle branches next to my head.
“You won’t. Everything’s a game to you,” I hiss as I recall that traumatic moment seventeen years ago when he and his siblings sent me tumbling into the swamp.
“Jesus Sara, I’m not twelve anymore. I said I’ll catch you,” he replies, voice like grit .
“I don’t believe y—” My protests fall short when I feel a slinking sensation on the back of my hand. I turn my head to see a chubby, centipede-like creature crawling across my knuckles.
And I’m screaming again.
I release my hand from the branch, shaking my wrist violently to get rid of the horrid crawly thing. In the process, my body falls back too far, my flailing knocking me off balance. The branches aren’t going to hold. They begin to snap and tear from their roots as I twist in the air and make a leap for the unknown.
The next thing I feel are Jack’s arms catching me to break my fall. He wraps muscled limbs around my waist as we stumble into the jagged wall of the mountain. He plants a hand next to my head, jamming it into the foliage to stop himself crushing into me. His body is flush with mine, his thigh between my legs, his masculine leathery scent engulfing me. I have no idea why I shut my eyes and inhale deeply.
Then, I realize my fingers are twisted into the material of his T-shirt, my hands making fists at his chest. We catch our balance, panting against each other, until…
“Ew, get off me.” I shove him away. “I didn’t need your help.”
His eyes widen. “Are you kidding? You were one fall away from another concussion.”
I brush stray specs of dirt and branches from my leggings as I shake my head. “I can handle myself. I will handle myself, without your help.”
Jack tugs on his bag. “Great, then why don’t you start by looking where you’re going before you have a third accident.” He’s about to say more, but his eyes dip to where my hand massages my ankle. I notice him draw in a reluctant breath. “What?”
I frown at the pain.
“My ankle hurts.”
Jack’s brows pull together before he strides off in the opposite direction.
Just as I’m about to remark on his complete lack of sympathy or compassion, he turns on his radio.
I watch as he makes attempt after attempt to call for help, my heart sinking each time he’s unsuccessful.
He looks at me, his bright eyes flashing concern for the first time. “You need a doctor. Who knows what other injuries you sustained when you crashed.”
I want to roll my eyes. I want to tell him that yes, that was usually the protocol after you pull someone from a car wreck. Instead, I glare into the distance, picturing the boy who tortured me all those years ago, and wondering how the hell our paths have managed to cross out here.
“Can you at least walk a little?” he asks.
I give it a try, chewing on my bottom lip as I assess the pain. “I’ll manage.”
“Then we should move. It’s getting too quiet around here,” he says as he looks up at the trees. He’s right, the branches have stopped swaying, and the birds have stopped singing. The whole forest seems to have fallen under a hushed enchantment.
“Is that a problem?” I ask, even though I can already tell by his grave expression it can’t mean anything good.
His eyes flash to the sky, and his gaze appears to cast beyond the canopy of trees overhead. “ That’s a problem.”
I look up to witness the sky swirl into a dome of deep purples and grays. The clouds are heavy, swelling like they might burst and flood everything in their wake .
“Could be a storm. I’m serious, we have to move.” He motions for me to follow him, and even though a torrential downpour is very high on my list of things I’m not equipped to deal with out here, I don’t move.
“I’m not coming with you. I told you before, I don’t want to be anywhere near you. I’ll find my own way back.”
Am I being irrationally stubborn? Perhaps.
Is Jack the driving force behind such needless tenacity? Absolutely.
At that precise moment, a stray leaf blows across my feet, causing me to flinch and yelp at the intrusion before attempting to collect myself.
He laughs but oh, there’s no humor in his cold eyes.
“As much as I want to oblige your request to be alone, I’m afraid I just don’t want to deal with the aftermath of explaining how I let a vulnerable woman die in the wilderness.”
“I’m not vulnerable,” I cry, my voice reaching undiscovered notes.
“Then prove me wrong,” he says. “Go five minutes without falling from heights or screaming at foliage.”
He marches off, muttering inaudibly.
I glare at him from the boulder I’m contemplating remaining on until someone comes to rescue me.
I watch as he hikes into the distance, very aware of how effortlessly the forest swallows him up after only a few strides. And that’s when I realize there’s no way I can go five minutes without falling over or shrieking at leaves. I can’t be out here alone. The depressing conclusion finally dawns on me, I need this terrible man after all.
I curse myself as I kick off the side of the boulder and shuffle after him.
This was not the plan. This is the opposite of the plan. The plan was to be adventurous and daring. And now here I am, clinging to the first available resource to get me out of this mess.
At least Jack is decent enough not to pass comment when I join him again.
Instead, he rummages in the side compartment of his bag before producing an item. “This should make things easier.”
I take my missing shoe from him and jam it on my foot like it’s treasure. “How?”
“Found it when you were swinging from the vines.”
After a few minutes of silence because no, I did not thank him, I clear my throat. “Hey, I thought you said you didn’t remember me?”
“What?” He makes a half attempt to look back, his eyes not quite reaching my face.
“When I told you my name, you said maybe you recognized me.”
He shrugs. “Yeah, so?”
“Well, back there you spoke about the swamp…and then I said I didn’t believe you were going to catch me, and you said you weren’t twelve anymore.” I pause, waiting for him to catch on.
He glances over his shoulder, finally looking at me.
I shrug. “That was the last time we saw each other. I was eight, you were twelve. Sounds like you remember pretty clearly after all.”