But until then, I need to keep my shit together.
I glance up and down the fence line, the moon illuminating the area around me as I formulate a plan.
Or at the least the beginning of a plan.
I have no chance of scaling the wall unassisted, that much I know for sure. But there’s an overgrown tree on my left with a branch that hangs over the edge.
If I can climb the tree, I can shimmy across the branch and over the wall.
The drop off the other side of the ten-foot monstrosity is going to hurt my already broken body like a motherfucker, but that’s a problem for future me to solve.
Present me needs to get my ass up the tree before the guards and dogs find me.
From the base of the tree, I take stock of my body, finally allowing myself to admit how injured I am. I’ve been running on pure adrenaline up to this point, but my body has limitations, and realistically, I only have one shot at this given how close the dogs are getting.
I know for a fact my thumb and wrist are both more than likely broken. I used a trick Damon taught me for if I was ever kidnapped with my arms tied behind my back, and to say I was surprised when it actually worked would be an understatement.
Snapping your own bone is something that shouldn’t be possible, but I’m grateful I had the knowledge regardless.
Apart from that, I’m covered in cuts and bruises, but I don’t think anything else is broken.
I reach up with my good hand and grasp a branch, using all the strength I can muster to drag myself up, despite how many times my tennis shoes slip on the damp bark.
It wouldn’t be August in Florida if it weren’t humid as hell.
Once I’m stable, I reach for the next branch and repeat the process, not allowing myself to look down as the ground gets further away.
I wouldn’t say I’m afraid of heights. In fact, I’d almost go as far as to say I like them. As a child, I thrived off danger, but maybe that’s because my two best friends were mafia kings in the making, never afraid of anything, and that made me brave.
But in my condition, there’s no way I’ll be able to get back up if I fall from this height, and I suppose that’s what people truly fear.
The fall rather the height itself.
I’ve just never been afraid of falling before because I always had someone to catch me.
The painful thought almost makes me miss the shouts coming from behind me. I’m high enough now that they probably won’t see me, but the dogs will scent me, meaning I need to hurry the fuck up if I want any chance of escape.
The branch that will take me over the wall beckons me forward, but the thought of the drop has a fresh wave of nausea rolling over me.
Why is it that as we get older, the fear of falling creeps in?
When you’re a kid, you’re fearless. Not afraid of failure when you crash your bike. Not afraid of falling from trees or getting sick. You’re genuinely brave.
And then somewhere along the way, fear begins to creep in, to seep into the things you once enjoyed, until you can barely remember a time that thing didn’t scare you.
I swallow heavily and take a few deep breaths.
Five feet to the fence.
Ignoring the fact that’s pretty much one whole me, it sounds doable.
“You can do this,” I whisper to myself. “You can do hard things. You can survive. You can do this.”
I repeat the mantra over and over again as I carefully shimmy myself along the branch, ignoring the way the bark cuts into my bare thighs and the fact anyone that stands beneath me will be able to see up my nightgown.
None of it matters as long as I can escape.
It’s not until my whole body is above the fence that I finally relinquish my death grip on the branch and transfer to the solid concrete.
