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He reaches for me, stretching his arm out, extending his hand. I lift my own, trying to grasp his. Our fingertips touch, but when I close my hand, they slip away, and I grasp around nothing as I fall backward into the empty space.30JulianI’ve been alive for twenty-eight years. Almost three decades, and I can count on one hand the number of times I was scared, truly scared.
Struck with a fear so intense that you can’t breathe, that your heart stops beating in your chest, and an ache forms in your gut that is so deep you think it’s going to kill you.
Last time I felt anything remotely close to that was the day I lost my mother. I wasn’t scared of dying, but I was scared of living a life without her. I was scared of living in a world where no one loved me unconditionally. That was five years ago, and I didn’t think I would ever feel this frightened, would ever feel that kind of loss and dread again.
I had no idea how wrong I was.
I feel it now, feel it in my soul.
The moment my elbow connects with her chest, my heart stops beating. Everything happens in slow motion from that moment on. Turning, I reach out for her. Every fiber in my body tells me one thing: save her. I have to save her.
My hand extends, my fingers stretch into the air, and I lunge for her, but it’s too late. Her beautiful face is riddled with horror.
Her green gaze widens, and her soft pouty mouth opens on a gasp as she falls backward. The organ in my chest thunders to life, beating so fast I swear it’s going to escape my chest.
Do something! I scream inwardly.
Forcing myself to move faster, be quicker, stronger, I lunge forward, but it’s futile. Fingers grasp onto nothing, and I have never felt so powerless in my life. Not even when my father died. Not even when I found my mother.
Helplessly, I watch with a deep ache as her back hits the stairs, and she tumbles down them. Every step she hits, every limb that twists, and every bump her head takes, I feel it. Feel her pain so deep in my bones, I fear they may crack.
My body moves on its own, and I find myself running down the staircase after her while still watching her fall into the abyss like a ragdoll.
When she hits the bottom step, her body becomes motionless, and I fear the worst. She is so still, too still. My feet make little noise as I rush to her aide.
Only when I get closer, do I see her chest moving. Rising and falling with each breath she takes. A sense of relief washes over me, but it’s not strong enough to calm the tsunami of fear. She could still be in danger. Mentally, my brain goes into protective mode. She could have a number of internal injuries, bleeding in her brain, broken bones, or an injured spine… the list goes on, and with each thought, I get more frantic. Just because I don’t see blood, doesn’t mean there isn’t something wrong.
Terror rips at my flesh, tearing me apart from the inside out. All I can think about is how I could lose her, the one person who has the power to make me good, who sees good in me when no one else does, and all because of her father. A man that once already took so much from me.
The coppery tang of blood explodes against my tongue as I grit my teeth.
Kneeling beside Elena, I lift a hesitant hand to touch her, but I’m scared to do even that. What if doing so hurts her more? She needs a doctor, a hospital, not my gentle caress.
Lifting my gaze from her still body, I peer around for my guards and find the hallway desolate. Glancing up the stairway, I realize it is empty as well.
Red hot rage burns through me. Fucking Romero left. He left his daughter. Left her to die on the steps inside of our home.
My hands tremble as I reach for my phone and retrieve it from my pocket. I don’t think, I just act as I dial nine-one-one. As soon as someone answers, I tell them my address and yell at them to hurry. I drop the phone onto the marble floor and look down at Elena’s pale face. I did this to her. I wanted to hurt her, and now that she’s hurt, I can’t bear it. It kills me to see her like this. Clenching my hand into a fist, I feel the need to destroy and rip the life from someone’s body. Romero will pay.
Footsteps approach from behind me, and a moment later, a handful of guards show up. Their normally emotionless faces are filled with nothing short of fear and regret.
