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There’s no railing, no barrier, and my body sways toward the water. I’m off-balance with my hands tied like this. My mind scrambles. It’s like stepping onto one of those glass floors in a skyscraper. My stomach revolts. I can’t get back.
I can’t get back.
I tip my body backward with everything I have. Gravity seems stronger here. It’s as if the ocean is trying to pull me into itself.
It’s death. That’s what it is. A high, steep cliff. So much higher than the retaining wall at Emerson’s. As high as the Palisades. Angry waves bite at the rocks.
I stumble back one step, then two.
My legs shake. My body shakes. I ran toward safety, but it isn’t here. It’s just a long, hard fall into the water. My body would break on the rocks below. The water would claim me. I can’t swim with my hands tied.
It’s done.
It’s over.
The ocean whispers that I should fall. I should stop fighting the inevitable, stop struggling for balance, and go to the waves. I don’t want to die. I really don’t. I want to live more than anything.
But I’m afraid.
There’s nowhere else to run. No matter what I do, the woods end at the cliffside. I’ve only delayed my death, or my capture. I don’t want to run back into their arms, either. I can’t force myself to do it.
“I’m not going to fall,” I say, and back up another step.
I was so close to falling. I almost went over. There was no one to save me. My best efforts came to nothing.
A ragged, ugly sob escapes between my teeth. I go back to the trees and huddle close to one. I can’t make the tears stop. It hurts to shiver. It hurts to stand. Everything hurts, but especially my heart.
It’s cracked. Bleeding. I’ll never talk to Leo again, or Eva, or anyone else in my family. I’ll never paint Emerson again. I’ll never get to tell him that I love him.
This isn’t how I want to die. If it has to happen, then I want it to be in the arms of someone I love. Someone who loves me. I’d rather die looking into Emerson’s eyes. I squeeze mine shut and picture them.
“Daphne.”
“No.”
The voice is getting closer. My name is more distinct. Fear has a dry, bitter taste. I don’t know who’s coming to find me. My pulse clamors at my ears, stuffing them full of every heartbeat. They’re counting down. What will it be like when it stops?
Paintings float into my mind, and feelings. Emerson dancing with me at the canvas. A paintbrush as an extension of my hand. Being carried up the stairs as a child. Being small. Being safe.
All I have left is the sound of the ocean.
I cling to it with everything I have. It’s the only silver lining. The ocean was with me and Emerson when we were together, and it’ll be with me when I die.
I wish I could write him a note.
Even if I had paper, it would be tough with bound hands. What I want to say wouldn’t fit on one sheet. Writing has never been my thing, but there’s no canvas, either. There’s no time.
I have so much to say.
“Daphne.”
My heart sinks. The voice sounds familiar, but it can’t be Emerson. It would be too much for him to come after me. I’m just imagining it because I’d give anything to hear him talk to me. I’d give anything to stand next to him in complete silence.
I loved dancing with you, I think into the night. I know he can’t hear me, but I don’t know what else to do. I don’t want to open my eyes and memorize the trees or the cliffside. I don’t want the last thing in my head to be the place I’m going to die. I didn’t get to paint everything I wanted for you. I’d have given you galleries and museums. As many as you wanted. And if you kept them all, I wouldn’t care. I didn’t need to be famous. I just needed you.
And to Leo—
Please don’t look.
