Robin Wasserman - Frozen

I looked over the edge, just as Quinn and Ani jumped, their arms around each other’s waists. Way down at the bottom, I could see the water churning, but not much else. It was too dark to pick out any individual features, like bobbing swimmers. If any had survived.

“You can’t actually be thinking about doing this,” Auden said. “It’s crazy.”

“Crazy for you ,” Jude snapped. “You’re not like her.”

“And she’s not like you,” Auden said.

“Don’t hold her back just because you can’t move forward.”

“Better I should let her jump off a fucking cliff?”

That was enough. “No one lets me do anything!”

Auden rubbed the rim of his glasses. “Lia, I’m just saying—”

“If I were an uninvited guest,” Jude said. “I’d keep my mouth shut.”

“Would you both shut up!” I shouted. “I need to think.” They opened their mouths, but I walked away before either of them could start arguing again.

There was no one left on the edge of the falls. There was just me and the rushing water.

I’d never been much of a swimmer.

It was crazy. Jude was crazy. But what he’d said about the rush, about the pain… It made sense. Sascha had said the same thing about strong sensations flooding the system, fooling it into accepting them as real. Maybe it wouldn’t matter that I had no goose bumps, no heartbeat—not when I was plunging over a forty-foot drop with eighty thousand gallons of water slamming me into the rocks. There wouldn’t be time to notice what was missing. There would only be the body, the water, the fall. The fear.

To feel something again, to really feel…

I peered down, trying to imagine launching myself off the solid ground. I would bend my knees. Flex my ankles. Shut my eyes. Then in one fluid motion thrust myself up on my toes, off the edge, into the air, arms stretched up and out, and for a long moment, maybe, it would feel like flying.

Then I would smash into the water. And together, the water and I, we would crash to the bottom.

I can’t die, I whispered to myself, testing the words on my tongue. They still didn’t seem real. I can do this.

I wanted to do it.

A hand wrapped around mine. “We can go together,” Jude said. “On three. You won’t be sorry.”

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t move.

“One… two…”

I ripped my hand away. And then I jumped—the wrong way. Into the shallow pool trapped behind a ridge of rocks, just before the falls. The water was nearly still, and I let myself sink to the bottom, settling into the packed mud. Everything was a murky black. And silent.

It was the first time I’d been underwater since the accident. I could stay there forever, I realized, hiding out. Because I didn’t need to breathe.

I had never felt more free.

I had never felt less human.

I launched myself off the bottom and exploded out of the water, scrambling onto dry land, soaking. Auden tore off his coat and wrapped it around my shoulders. I let him, although I wasn’t cold. And he was still shivering. I grabbed his hand without thinking and squeezed tight. It was so warm, so human. I didn’t want to let go.

Jude watched, disgusted.

“We’re leaving,” I told him.

“This is a mistake.”

“This was a mistake,” I said. “I’m fixing it.”

Jude came closer, close enough that I could see his eyes flashing, his silvery hair glinting in the dim moonlight. “You don’t belong with him. With them. You’re strong, they’re weak. He’s weak.”

“You’re wrong,” I said.

“Tell yourself that if it helps.”

“What do you even care?” I asked. Auden squeezed my hand.

“I don’t. But I can’t stand waste.” Without warning Jude’s hand shot out and gripped our wrists, tight enough that I couldn’t pull away. “And you’re wasting your time, pretending that the two of you are the same.” Something flashed in his other hand. The gray metal of a knife. “Don’t believe me?” Jude’s grasp tightened. He dragged the edge of the blade across my palm, then Auden’s.

Auden gasped. Blood beaded up along the narrow cut, then dripped across his skin, thin red rivulets trickling from his hand to mine.

I didn’t bleed. The knife had barely punctured the artificial flesh, and the shallow scratch was already disappearing as the material wove itself back together. Self-healing. Whatever pain there’d been in the moment was already gone.

Jude let go.

A moment later, so did Auden.

“You can pretend all you want,” Jude said, looking only at me, talking only to me. “But you’ll never be the same.”

Auden walked me to my door. We had driven home in silence.

“I’m sorry that was so… I’m sorry I made you go,” he said as we stood on the stoop. I wasn’t ready to go inside.

“No. I’m glad we did.”

“Liar.” We both laughed, which helped, but only a little.

Auden rested his hand on my arm. “Lia, what that guy said, it’s not true.”

“No. I know.” I ducked my head. He rubbed his hand in small circles along my arm, which was still wet. “He’s crazy. They all are.”

“Especially him,” Auden said with a wide-eyed grimace that made me laugh again, harder this time.

“Thanks for coming with me. Really. I’m glad we went. At least now I know. And”—it was the kind of thing I usually hated to admit, but for some reason I didn’t mind admitting it to him—“I couldn’t have done it alone.”

“Like I would have let you.”

I gave his chest a light shove. “Like you could have stopped me.”

“He was right about one thing, you know,” Auden said quietly. “You are strong.”

I didn’t know what to say.

So I hugged him. His arms closed around me. I shut my eyes and pressed my face against his chest, imagining I could hear his heartbeat. Imagining I could hear mine.

“What’s this for?” he asked, his voice muffled. I wasn’t sure if it was because my ear was against his coat or his lips were against my hair.

“For nothing. Everything. I don’t know.” I held on.

But I opened my eyes. And over his shoulder, I raised my hand to where I could see it, still spattered with Auden’s blood.

“Lia, there’s kind of something I’ve been wanting to—”

“I should go inside,” I said, letting go.

He backed away, and locked his hands behind his back. “Right. Well, good night.”

Auden left quickly, but I didn’t go inside, not that night. I’d learned my lesson about taking care of myself, and I’d been following a normal schedule—an org schedule, Jude probably would have said, his lip curling in disgust—shutting down for at least six hours every night. But not that night.

That night I sat outside, leaning against the front door, eyes open, wide awake as the reddish glow of night faded to the pinkish glow of a rising sun, remembering the thunder of the water, wondering what might have happened if I’d had the nerve.

If I had jumped.

“Ihate it,” I told Auden as we walked to class. The hallway was mostly empty, but not empty enough.

“What?”

“The way they all stare at me.”

“No one’s—”

“Spare me,” I said.

“Okay. They’re staring. But at least they notice you,” he said. “Would you rather be invisible?”

I didn’t want to tell him that he wasn’t invisible, that all those people he hated were perfectly aware of his existence. They just chose to ignore it. “Let’s blow this off,” I suggested.