Go, go, go.My breathing turns ragged as I walk as quickly as I can towards the middle of the bridge. I know it’s where the water is the deepest. I’ve barely looked around, so caught up in my memories. I take a moment to stop and look at my surroundings, making sure no one’s around, that no one will see me do this. It’s still so early in the morning; the sun isn’t even up yet and there’s no one else here. Light commuter traffic drives by, blissfully unaware of what I’m about to do.Good, don’t look. Keep going, keep going, keep going.
Ella, you’d be happier living with your parents.
You should go.
You.
Should.
Go.
My feet fumble mid-step, and I’m jolted out of my memories, only to realize I’ve reached my destination. I look back at the roadway, and surprisingly find a lull in cars. There’s one biker on the walkway on the opposite side of the bridge, but they’re facing the other direction and already passed me. Good, I’m alone. I’ll need to be quick. Quick is better. Quick leaves no time for thoughts, no time forchoices.I look at the railing, preparing myselfto climb over, taking a sharp inhale at what’s before me. I’m not alone at all.
Not.
Alone.
At.
All.
Chapter 2
Standing on the otherside of the railing is a man.A huge man.I’m suddenly in a state of shock. My feet feel cemented to the ground as I stare at his back. He’s facing the water, his hands on the railing on either side of him. I can’t really make out his features or his age, but I can tell he’s tall, much taller than me, but I’m only 5′3, so that’s not saying much.
His hair is black and hangs in loose waves down to his shoulders, blowing gently to the side in the breeze. I can see his muscular back and biceps through his long-sleeved black shirt. Looking closer, I spot tattoos creeping out from below his sleeves, circling his wrists. I look to either side of the walkway and find that there’s still no one else. It’s just me and him.
I look at the man and find his back heaving, his breaths coming out in what I’m assumed are pants. He’s scared. I’m genuinely unsure of what to do. He’s on the opposite side of the railing, staring down at the bay, so I know why he’s here. He’s here for the same thing I am. He’s still heaving enough that I can see his back shaking, his hands practically vibrating with what I assume are nerves.
In the midst ofa choice, he’s wavering on the side of not jumping. He’s holding onto life the way he’s holding onto that railing, hard enough for white knuckles and shaking. He’s making the choice tostay,the choice I’ve made so many times before. I wonder if he knows that his intense hesitation means he wants to stay. Maybe he just needs someone to tell him he doesn’t have to make this choice at all.
Ironic, isn’t it?
I hesitantly take a step forward. I don’t want to scare him, but I really don’t think anyone who hesitates like that should be doing what he’s contemplating. No, he has something to live for, that’s why he’s holding on. Maybe saving him is my final task, something to clear some of my very dirty slate before I go. God, I really don’t want to accidentally freak him out, make him fall off this damn bridge.
“Umm excuse me?” I call out quietly.
He doesn’t hear me over the wind.
“Umm, sir, hello?” I call a bit louder.
He jumps lightly, telling me he heard me this time.Oh shit. I take another step forward, closer to him, just in case. He turns his head to the side, looking down at me, and our eyes connect.
Holy Jesus, crap balls. He’s hot. Not the time for these thoughts, Ella.
He’s young. He couldn’t be much older than me, maybe in his early twenties. His eyes are black pools of night sky, and I swear to God they twinkle with stars as he stares down at me. I feel like I’m drowning in them, in their intensity, inhim.
I’m not even sure what he looks like at this point. No, I’m too caught up in sinking deeper and deeper into the pits of whoever this man is. I could fall into them and lose myself, sink into those eyes and never climb back out, and strangely, I don’t want to.
Distantly, I hear a horn blaring, and it jars us both out of whatever staring contest we’d been stuck in. I blink rapidly while he shakes his head quickly, breaking the spell we were both seemingly under, and I take a second to really look at his face while he stares back at me.
His thick black hair lays in loose waves around his face. It has an easy going, unkempt vibe that looks effortlessly beautiful. His skin is a golden tan, like he gets way more sun than San Fran affords us in the cooler months. His lips are so perfectly full and kissable with the slightest hint of natural pink to them, like the wind and cold were just slightly getting to them.
His strong jawline is covered in stubble, and the darkness of his short beard makes his eyes look darker black, if that’s even possible. Those tattoos not only peak out across his wrists under his slightly pulled up sleeves -- I can make out one on the side of his neck, too. I find myself wanting to know if they cover his whole chest and arms.I bet they do.
He’s built. He’s wide, strong, and beautiful, so fucking beautiful.
I really should be afraid of him. I know a man doesn’t have to be huge to be scary, but he’s got both size and looks in spades. Tormentors come in all shapes and sizes. I should be nervous, but I’m not. Not at all.
