Page 4 of A Fine Line

My why.

My who.

I freeze on the edge of the ledge, my arms circling, pinwheeling frantically, though it feels as if I’m swimming through sludge rather than air as I try to force myself backwards. It doesn’t work; momentum and gravity have me in their clutches, so I try to use force to jump in order to propel myself backwards, but it’s no use. As I flounder on the cusp of the fall, I gasp, “Flora.”

Shouting breaks through, and then, suddenly, I’m jarred violently, a force hitting me so hard from behind that my breath is forced from my lungs, and steel bands tighten around my torso. There’s a gruff cursing in my ear as everything drops from beneath me, and I’m falling.

Falling.

Falling.

I don’t scream, cry, or question; I allow my arms to fly and wait for the end, only to have cold snap me out of it. And when I attempt to pull in a long overdue inhalation, icy fire infiltrates my lungs.

Water.

I try to swim, attempting to kick my feet and move my hands through the water, but my limbs are lead, completely unmoving, and a small part of me laughs because I’m the only person that can jump from a building and then die of drowning.

I remain suspended, my eyes growing heavy, but then my arm is yanked, and those steel bands are beneath me, yanking, pulling, and pushing me, rolling me free of my crystalline tomb.

But I still can’t breathe.

My lungs are so full of water that I’m incapable of spitting it out, meaning I can’t breathe in until I manage to breathe it out.

There’s that shouting again, incoherent due to the ringing in my ears, and I open my eyes to light and shadows. I try to swallow, but my tongue feels too big in my mouth, and then I’m being rolled onto my front, and there’s a pounding on my back and more cursing as I choke out a dribble of water, but it’s not enough.

I’m rolled onto my back again, there’s a pinch on my nose, water dripping on my face, and I blink against the sting in my eyes as cold envelops my mouth, forcing an excruciating pressure into my chest once—twice. The third time is more vicious than the rest, and I’m immediately rolled onto my front, and the pounding hits harder as I choke and choke and choke, coughing and vomiting until there’s nothing but an empty burning.

I hiccup a tiny breath, then another and another, until I’m pulling in air through my wide-open mouth for what feels like eons, but I know it’s only seconds. I lie there on my front, my cheek pressed against scratchy, wet concrete, and blink until my vision clears, and the ringing in my ear dissipates.

I hear the cursing coming from the body lying beside me. “You goddamn fucking crazy-ass women. Throwing yourselves off fucking buildings as if you’ve got nine fucking lives. What in the ever-loving fuck is wrong with you? I’m too old to deal with this fucking shit.”

I blink, my lips curving up as I watch Tony lying half on his back half of his side, his eyes looking in my direction as he curses a blue streak, still gasping for air, and I choke on a laugh.

His eyes meet mine, and he glares at me, shaking his head, but he says nothing. I’m certain he’d like nothing more than actually throttle me right now, and I can’t say I blame him.

He continues to mutter to himself until I ask, “Am I really not the first?” I pause and take a shuddering breath then manage to whisper, “The first woman you’ve known to jump off a building?”

His lips press together, and he shakes his head, making a frustrated sound in his throat as he mutters, “No, and you better be the fucking last.”

“Did you save the other woman?” I ask quietly, still lying there, completely incapable of moving.

His laugh lacks humor as he replies, “Dumb fucking luck saved her. And I’m certain a third time wouldn’t be the charm.”

“Probably not.”

We lie there for a few more minutes, staring at each other, not speaking, until slowly, I start to get feeling back into my body. My lungs are still on fire, but my arms and legs are functioning, so I slowly push myself up onto my hands and knees.

I get a foot beneath me, wobbling a bit as I attempt to stand, and Tony rolls to his feet in one motion, moving beside me and putting his hands on my waist to steady me as I attempt to rise.

He’s staring down at me with such an odd look that I suddenly feel uncomfortable, foolish even, so I open my mouth and say, “I’m so—“

“Don’t you dare apologize, sweetheart,” he interrupts harshly. “I wanted to hurt you, not realizing how damaged you already are. In my mind, there’s no excuse for what you did, but that’s also no excuse for what I said that pushed you off that building.”

“Well, if you truly wanted me dead, that would’ve taken care of the can’t-kill-me clause,” I reply rather flippantly.

“That’s not how I operate. If I want someone dead, then I kill them. I don’t use psychological warfare to get them to do the dirty work for me. If I want you dead, I’ll be looking you in the eyes when the life drains from them.”

He’s not kidding. The look in his eyes tells me his words are true, and I shiver, not just from the cool night air on my wet skin.

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