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My momentary triumph fades as I realize that the top of the fence looms a whole foot above my head. A flourishing tangle of rose bush vines cascade over the side of the barred fence, and I take a deep, cleansing breath.
Positioning myself atop the headstone a few feet away from the tall rose bush, I swallow audibly.
I close my eyes.
You can do this, Lara. Darian believed you could do it.
Taking another deep breath, I exhale slowly, and position myself at the back of the headstone, putting some distance between me and the intimidating fence.
Leap of faith, Lara. Just do it.
I hurl myself forward, my final step off the tombstone hurtling me into the air toward the rose bush. I collide with the thorny vines, sending crimson petals falling to the ground while countless sharp barbs pierce my skin as I grip the vines like my life depends on it.
Despite the excruciating pain in my limbs, I muster every ounce of strength to grasp onto another bunch of vines higher up. The thorns dig deeper into my skin, drawing fresh blood, but I cling on tightly, dragging myself toward the top of the fence.
By sheer force of will, I shove the pain from my mind and repeat the action, dragging myself upward. My palms become slick with blood and sweat as I haul myself over the top of the tall fence, before dangling my body on the other side.
Just a little bit further.
The initial adrenaline that once fueled my actions starts to fade with the finish line in sight, leaving me with a tightness in my chest and a growing awareness of the injuries to my body.
Each section of vines send renewed pain shooting through my hands, while rogue thorns scrape the rest of my body as I carefully ease myself down. My teeth grit together as I force my limbs to continue to work amidst the constant pain.
When my feet finally touch solid earth, I nearly sob with relief and clutch my injured hands to my chest.
Wandering along a deserted, dimly lit street, my gaze fixates on the gas station we had passed earlier, and hope surges through me as I head that direction.
My hands still covered in blood, and I’m sure I look like a mess as I tug my jacket off, wincing with every movement in my arms and drape it over them, before making my way inside.
I need to clean myself up.
My mind focused on that as I enter the gas station, heading straight for the back where the restroom is located.
The musty smell and flickering light does nothing to ease my mind as I secure the door behind me before turning to face the sink.
My skin is flushed and with splatters of blood and numerous scrapes scattered across my arms.
It’s my hands and forearms that bear the brunt of the damage.
The cuts and gashes vary in severity, with some shallow and superficial, while others still continue to bleed and deep enough to require stitches to heal properly.
After rinsing away the blood and fighting off waves of nausea, I create makeshift bandages by tearing the sleeves from my jacket to wrap around my injured hands. Retrieving my phone from my back pocket, I call for a cab, praying the exhaustion holds off long enough for me to get to the apartment.
I enter the apartment with a weariness that permeates to my very core. With a click, I lock the door behind me, my movements unsteady as I stagger to the bathroom to retrieve the first aid kit.
Or rather I hope there is one.
During the ride home, crimson had begun seeping through the makeshift sleeves, and I knew the blood loss I faced was significant.
Every minute feels like an eternity in a constant battle to maintain consciousness.
The clatter of Val’s nails against the tiled floor catches my attention, as he rushes into the bathroom. His concerned gaze meets mine before my strength wanes, my knees buckle beneath me and I to collapse onto the floor.
Shit.
I’m losing my grip, and I know it.
I’ve been on death’s door before and made it out alive, but it’s not a fear of dying that’s keeping me clinging to consciousness.
