“Please don’t go. Please don’t go. Please don’t go…” Daniel chants under his breath over and over again. “Please don’t go.”
I don’t know how many times he repeats those three words. I don’t know how many times they’re uttered in gentle whispers next to my ear. But they sound more like a prayer than a chant now. A plea to whoever is listening.
To you. He’s pleading with you!a voice in my head screams.
I blink out of my stupor, feeling oddly conflicted, and something weird cracks in my chest.
“Please don’t go,” he delivers incessantly, vigorously, but delicately. “Please, please,pleasedon’t go.” He doesn’t just hold me; he embraces me. His chest is firmly pressed against my back, and I realize then that the loud drumming isn’t coming from the water. It’s coming from him. It’s his heart that’s racing at a dangerous speed, all too rapidly, all too thunderous against me. “Please don’t go.”
2
DANIEL
I have a mixed,complicated relationship with this time of the year.
It gets dark sooner, a little chillier at night, drags by excruciatingly slow, and reminds me of my brother.
He loved Christmas. It was his favorite time of the year.
Growing up, our parents didn’t let us believe in Santa Claus. It’s not because they didn’t want us to believe in him, but they couldn’t afford to let us believe. At the time, their business wasn’t doing well, so money was tight. Instead of letting us wake up disappointed, they were honest and told us why we weren’t getting gifts.
It sucked, but somehow despite knowing what my siblings and I knew, my brother Adrian, who was a year younger than me, decided to keep believing he was real. I don’t know why, but my parents went with the flow. Eventually, their business grew and money started coming in and so did the presents.
“I told you Santa wouldn’t fail us,”Adrian would always say.
Even when he was old enough to know he didn’t exist, he’d jokingly still say it.
What I’d do to hear it again.
This time of the year is a reminder that he’s not here and Mom and Dad will never get their baby back. It’s also a reminder that I’m the reason why.
Dad hardly speaks to me, and Mom thinks I don’t see it, but I’ll catch her crying when she thinks no one is looking. And Penelope, my sister and Adrian’s twin, tries hard to look happy, but I can see right through her.
Which is why I left our family’s Christmas party early. I don’t belong there. I don’t deserve to be there.
I faked a smile, told everyone I was hanging out with friends, left my hometown, Yuba City, and drove almost four hours to Carmel-by-the-Sea.
No one stopped me; they never do.
I didn’t want to be at the house, the one I share with my four other teammates. They aren’t home, but the house is decorated and it’s not something I want to see right now.
That’s how I found myself parked at one of the trails and veering off its course. You’re not supposed to. They have ropes along the trail for a reason. Stepping away could be deadly, but I’d done it so many times, I wasn’t afraid of accidentally falling off the cliff.
I needed to clear my head and stop the dark thoughts consuming me. But they didn’t stop and then self-loathing came. They’re a destructive and deadly combination. They choked and submerged me under the murky water, until I was practically drowning.
But I stopped drowning once I saw her.
She was standing on the edge of the cliff, head hung low, arms limp by her side, and feet shifting in front of her.
I felt every morsel of my body shrink and run cold. I felt fear for the girl I didn’t know, who was ready to end it all.
I try to get the conversation going, but I’m grasping at straws. I’m internally panicking because she’s dead set on doing this.Even when I stand next to her on the edge, despite how petrified I am for my own reasons, I have no clue what to do.
I’d never touch a girl without consent, but I’m sure this is the only time anyone would ever approve. Quickly, I wrap my arms around her and step back. I almost trip over my feet and the rocks because of how fast I move us from the edge, but I don’t stop until we’re far enough away.
She’s either zoned out or hasn’t acknowledged what’s happened because the heels of her shoes scrape against the ground and her body hangs limply against my arms.
The realization at how defeated her body feels, makes my eyes sting.
