Page 59 of Catching Camila

John

Friday 12:01 a.m.

As soon as she went limp in his arms, he knew what he'd done.

“No, Camila!” he shouted into the wind as her arms slipped from his neck. Her head hung over his arm, her eyes closed.

Was she breathing?

He dropped like a stone, descending far faster than he ever had, his heart tearing around his chest. Why had he gone so high? Why?

He hit the ground, burying both legs up to his knees in dirt. Pain rocketed up his ankles and, for a second, he thought he'd broken them, but his thoughts were locked on Camila. He set her limp body on the ground and leaned his cheek over her mouth.

Please be breathing, he thought. Please!

Slowly, softly, a breath pulsed on his cheek. He leaned back, digging his hand in his hair. She was alive.

Thank God. But then the guilt hit like a punch. He'd almost killed her.

He staggered back, resting a hand on a nearby sapling. His body pumped with anger. Didn't he know better? He'd risked her life for a joy ride. Stupid. Stupid.

He grabbed the sapling, tore it from the ground, and chucked the sheared tree a half a mile.

“John?”

He ran over and there she was, sitting up, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Camila, are you okay? I'm sorry. I didn't think.” He reached for her hand. His own was trembling.

She blinked and rubbed at her eyes. “I must've…passed out.”

He shook his head, hovering over her like a fret-less mother. “All my fault. I went too high.”

“I told you to,” she said, drawing herself to her feet. She pressed her palm to her head. She looked skyward. “I wanted to see what it felt like to be free.”

He looked at her, confused.

She shook her head. “What time is it?”

“Late.”

She pulled her cellphone out of her pocket. John watched over her shoulder as the screen reluctantly flickered to life. Two missed calls from Travis. Ten missed calls from Fer and a text. She opened it.

Get back NOW! Cops in your house with your MOM.

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