But I don’t fall far.
I land in a heap on the ground, crumpled at Garrett’s feet. Inches behind me I can feel the ravine yawning wide. My heart roars in my ears, adrenaline singing in my blood. I’m alive. My fingers curl through
the dirt, raw and stinging. My face feels wet, and I realize that I’m crying.
Garrett looms over me, shuddering violently as if the force of his rage might literally tear him apart. Then he turns his face to me, and it’s as red and tear-streaked as my own. He’s crying, too.
I stare up at him, suddenly unable to move, my heart aching. We stay like this for a few minutes: me sitting motionless on the brink of the cliff, Garrett standing there, bruised and broken by his own anger.
And in spite of everything that’s happened, I feel sorry for him.
At last he sits in the dirt next to me, his cheeks slick with tears. “I’m sorry.” He reaches out to touch me, but I flinch. He pulls his hand away, looking as wounded as if I’d slapped him.
I wipe at my eyes. The wind makes my tear-streaked cheeks feel raw.
“Were you going to throw me over the edge?” I ask, my voice small in my ears. Garrett gapes at me.
“Sutton, I would never . . .” He trails off. Slowly he holds his hands up in front of his face. Horror dawns in his eyes, and it’s like he’s looking at someone else’s hands, like he’s just now realizing
how strong they are, how beyond his control. How close he had been to hurting me. He looks up at me again, and this time it’s fear that pinches his face. “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he whispers.
I don’t say anything. It doesn’t matter what he wants anymore. Garrett has been too volatile for a long time. The attack on his sister cut something inside of him loose, and he has been out of control ever
since.
The stars gleam bluish-white overhead. Garrett is slow to catch his breath, and even after he does, the occasional sob seizes his lungs. Somewhere nearby I hear twigs breaking—probably a possum or raccoon,
some night creature waddling clumsily through the bushes.
“Garrett, I need to know. Did you . . . steal my car and chase . . . me?” I ask, not wanting to say Thayer’s name for fear of setting him off once more.
Garrett’s jaw drops, and I can already see the answer in his shocked face. “Someone stole your car and chased you?”
My head swims with the mysteries of this never-ending night. “Yeah . . . kind of.”
Garrett looks sickened. “Do you really think I’d do something like that?”
Our eyes meet. I force myself not to look away. “I don’t know anymore, Garrett.”
He bites his lip so hard a drop of blood wells up. Then, slowly, he crawls close to the edge of the ravine, until his feet are dangling over the side. His body sways slightly with the alcohol still clouding
his brain.
“Be careful, Garrett,” I say, an edge creeping into my voice. “This is a really sharp drop.”
He looks up at me, and in the dark his eyes look like fathomless pits. His face writhes in torment, a frantic, miserable expression shifting over him. My heart is suddenly in my throat, and I’m not sure why.
“Wouldn’t it be easier if the only person I hurt was myself?” he whispers. Another shiver passes through him. His hair sticks up like a blond halo around his head, bright against the wide darkness beyond
him.
“Garrett.” I’m kneeling now, my bare legs aching beneath me. The scrapes on my knees burn against the stony outcropping. “Things will be better. I promise. But you have to back up for me.”
He shakes his head. “Things won’t be better,” he says softly. “Not for me.” He leans forward, his eyes wide and staring into the abyss. “Maybe I could make them better for everyone else, though.”
The fear from a moment ago is back, but now it’s different—now I’m not afraid for myself. I inch closer to him.
“Do you really think Louisa would feel that way? Or your mom?” The wind swirls up from the ravine, cutting right through my hoodie, so sharp I can feel it in my bones. “How do you think they’d feel if
they lost you?” I swallow hard. “How do you think I’d feel?”
I can hear the faint echo of my own voice dancing through the chasm below. How would I feel? I know I don’t love Garrett. But I do care about him. When we first got together, I thought I could help him get
over the things that had hurt him. I thought if I were pretty enough, charming enough, fun enough, if I could distract him enough, he’d just get better.
Now that seems insanely narcissistic, even for me.
“Please, Garrett,” I say, my voice shaking. I hold out my hand to him. “Come off the ledge, okay? Please.”
He stares at my hand, his face strange and distant. His eyes seem to have a hard time focusing, his head wobbling on his neck. For a moment we’re frozen in place, and I can’t breathe.