Page 17 of Reckless
I know if I stop now, I’ll never start again. Dehydration, fatigue, and the many injuries still scattering my body have finally caught up to me. If I lie down, it will be on my deathbed.
Would that be so bad?
That little voice in my head, the only one I’ve heard for days besides my own, has grown rather convincing.
What am I living for? Why am I putting myself through this agony?
Every inch of me aches. Every inch of me begs for the mercy that is giving up.
“N-no,” I stutter. “No, I can’t.” Talking to myself has never been a good sign, but it’s the only thing that will keep my eyelids from shutting out the world and my body from shutting down. “I’ve…” Another ragged breath. “I’ve survived too much to die by desert.”
I press a calloused palm to the stubborn beat of my heart, proof that broken things can still serve a purpose. My fingers trail up to the familiar letter carved there, teasing me with the reminder of just how fragile I am.
Ofor Ordinary.
“Ofor ‘on the brink of death.’?” My attempt at a joking tone sounds scarily similar to a dying whisper. “This is not the way I imagined my end. I’m…” A fit of dry coughs has me slumping. “I’m embarrassed to not die in a more dramatic manner.”
I really thought it would be him who did the honor. Him whoshoved my beloved dagger through my chest. Or maybe my neck, simply for the sickening symmetry.
He’ll be so disappointed to learn he was robbed of his revenge, that it was the desert where death finally caught up to me.
My vision is blurry as it sweeps over the city so close, catching something shifting in the distance. Squinting, I struggle to make out what seems to be a figure. I blink. Is this my mind playing tricks on me? Teasing me one last time?
My knees are suddenly sinking into the sand once again, my palms sliding out before me.
I guess I’ll never know.
My temple meets warm sand, and I hum at the feel of it.
Why was the desert never this comfy before?
My fingers clutch the crumpled seam of my vest, pulling the promise around me.
I wore it every day, A. To my very last.
“I’m just… I’m just closing… my…”
My eyes flutter closed; the world shut out by a single blink.
And for the first time in days, I don’t dread the sleep that awaits me.
A heartbeat thuds beneath my ear.
I stir in the strong arms surrounding me, my senses sluggish.
Strong arms. I’m being carried.
My eyes fly open.
I’m smothered by darkness, swaddled in a blanket of blackness that the sky has thrown atop us. With eyes made utterly useless at the moment, I focus on the feel of a rough hand beneath my knee, its twin encircling my shoulders.
It’s him. He found me.
I jostle with each uneven step, trying desperately to calm my hammering heart and force my foggy head to formulate a plan. But he’s too close, toosolid, as though he’s walked straight out of my nightmares and into the very real night before me.
I suddenly can’t remember how to breathe.
He found me. He found me. He found me.
