Maybe this is all I am, all I’ll ever be.
My hand is gripping the throttle so hard tremors begin to shake my entire body. The sound of the idling engineroars in my ears. Movement outside the aircraft screams at my instincts to make a move, now, before it’s too late.
I’m paralyzed.
I refocus my eyes on the runway, trying to calm the frenzy of my heart in order to make the right decision.
The right decision.
I look back at the destroyed chocolate bar.
I can’t solve this equation fast enough.
I hear the thrum of rolling wheels before I see the ladder, then the soldiers. The body of the plane vibrates as metal slams against metal; boots thudding across the wing. Handrails suddenly appear in the side window. I can just make out the shadow of him charging up the steps and still, I do nothing.
My body has betrayed me.
Heat pricks dangerously at my eyes; my head fogs with steam, clouding my mind. When he comes into view, chest heaving, rain lashing the blood off his body, I see his face as if through panes of time, when he and I lived out an inverse of this day.
James had stolen an aircraft; I’d climbed into the passenger seat.
That was the day he drove an ice pick into my heart, delivering the first of a series of cracks that would lead me here, to this moment of devastation, his voice haunting me forever—
Where’d they take your sister?
The asylum, right?
But, like, how do we get there?
“Rosabelle,” he cries. “Turn off the engines!”
But, like, how do we get there?
He yanks open the door with his left arm, the action counterintuitive, and nearly loses his footing before catching himself against the handrails, then clambering up into the cabin. He moves without hesitation, reaching across me to shut off the throttle, and the chocolate bar flies across the interface before hitting the floor with a dull thud. The engines begin to slow, the roar diminishing.
It occurs to me to do something.
My body hasn’t stopped trembling, but I can’t seem to lift a finger. I’ve gone numb.
When the engines stop he hits the master switch, shutting down all electrical systems, and the quiet is suddenly excruciating.
My ears ring so badly I want to scream.
I feel like I’ve been struck with a tuning fork, the sounds beyond my head suddenly incomprehensible. A strange paralysis has overtaken my limbs; shock and pain and fever inhaling me.
James is here.
He’s here and now my heart is beating harder, my head is pounding, my pain devouring. His mere presence is tearing away the veils that keep me apart from sensation, and suddenly I feel everything all at once, and the deluge is more than I can bear—
A desperate, gasping sound leaves my body.
My ankle is broken. My ribs are cracked. My head is bleeding. My bones are shaking. I think, at some point, I might’ve been shot.
I can’t breathe. I’m hyperventilating.
“Hey,” he says, reaching for me, taking my bleeding face in his left hand. He’s soaking wet. His palm is rough. The sound of his voice travels lightyears to reach me. “You’re okay,” he says. “You’re okay. Look at me—”
Clara.
