I'm Scared of Heights | ONC 2023 ✔️

18) Wave of Relief

Natalie

To quote the Merriam-Webster dictionary definition of relief, two (a) states "removal or lightening of something oppressive, painful, or distressing".

My brain mulls over the phrase, inspecting it for what seems like the thirty-second time. Either thirty-second or thirty-first, I can't remember. I looked the denotation up while parked outside the fairground, watching Winn shuffle to the entrance from afar.

I blink, refusing to release Winn's hands despite the sweat coating his palms. Nervousness could be the culprit. That, or fear, or both. I can't decipher the guilty party without inspecting each line of Winn's face and the micro twitches of his lips and brows. Which, I am, noting the way his eyebrows jerk up when I speak, startled. Although, his shoulders don't tense in a suggestion of apprehensiveness of my phrase.

The wave of relief still soaks me, followed by a breeze of coherent thoughts, directing my movements. Hesitation had no chance to creep into my life. I didn't avoid traction. Logically, a positive improvement according to multiple medical journals I skimmed over a mere forty minutes ago.

Winn's Adam's apple bobs with the time of his head. "No, I'm not..." Not once has he removed his eyes from mine, and I don't plan to direct my attention elsewhere. I may be an "insensitive and detached" human, but I'm not a horrendous creature that comes to strike those bloodied and bruised from a boxing match with life. "I don't have to know the action 'down' exists if I don't look," he whispers, his voice hoarse and weathered with possible thoughts of impending doom on his mind.

But he doesn't claim to be afraid.

Chuckling, I stretch my legs, feeling the chilled slivers of wind whip against my exposed ankles and alter the resting temp of my jeans. Winn's mouth drops open, his head tilts, and his brows raise to form a rounded curve. The amount of times Winn blinks and the increase of excreted fluid dusting his hands keys my mind into a list of dilemmas. He either (a) is passing through a medically relevant spell or (b) is having a panic attack out of fear of heights.

He pulls his hands away from mine and carefully brushes them against his pants. His hazel orbs meet mine, a soft look, almost smiling like his lips, pupils dilated and eyes open wide. "Can I... kiss you?"

Logically I'm dreaming. Blinking, I find I'm still sitting in the Ferris wheel, staring into Winn's eyes, and crushing his left hand in my best supportive grip.

I. You. Kiss.

The fragmented words circle around my head, turning me into a hypnotic daze. One, I expected Winn to take my newfound feeling kindly. Two, I expected Winn to spill his feelings. However, I didn't have a three. This, this is three. The unpredictable rule of three. Comedians apply the rule regularly.

Accepting. Sharing. Kissing?

"Yes, I suppose so," I mumble the phrase, the last bit far from coherent to any ears formed without superhuman hearing. Yes, I want this.

He leans closer, tentatively grasping my chin. The movement is hesitant, not jerky, but timid, making my heart flutter like the wings of a hummingbird. An earthy scent enters the caps of my olfactory senses, drawing me closer without so much of a protest from my mind. The pads of his fingers are soft, and his grip is light, almost as if he isn't touching me at all. As he cups my face between his palms, I bring mine to his neck, my heart racing to catch up with my mind filling with concerns.

How exactly does this work? Lip on face, bring together, smoosh, release?

Winn's breath is heavy, fanning my neck in similar warmth to his recently heated hands. Taking a shallow breath, he delicately presses his lips against mine. I close my eyes, relishing how the action is feathery and void of the harsh lash of the world, standing like wildflowers in a quiet meadow. Alone, but not alone. Silent, but not silent. Calm, but not calm.

The moment the earthly scent of waterfalls and cedar trees exit and the cocoon of heat leaves, I'm left gaping at Winn, feeling the touch linger on my lips. If I concentrate, I can still smell the fragrance in each inhale. Winn releases a long breath, letting his hands fall to my shoulders. The warmth carries to the surface of my plain dry-fit tee, caressing the area with a newsworthy heat.

I kissed Winn. My heart excites at the thought, increasing my bpm like the insensitive bonehead it is. I kissed Winn. The phrase runs on a neverending track in the penalty box located in the far corner of my mind. I kissed Winn.

Raising my gaze to match his, I watch how he grins, smile forming a lucid iridescence, brighter than the sun could ever shine. "How do you feel?" Winn questions in a hushed rumble, voice budding, adrenaline-fueled.

I reach inside and produce an answer, groping for words but never finding the right ones. "Fantastic." Once the word parts from my mouth, another buzz lays host in my stomach, turning like the whirl of the Ferris wheel. Winn's eyes flick to my eyes, undeterred by the two below our cart gesturing at us with their hands.

"That was amazing," he breathes. A lens removes, forcing the world to come into focus again. The buildings shrink and stretch in dilapidated waves, and the estuary water gleams under the glare of evening light.

I manage to mumble one word, "Yeah." The letters seem like bricks, weighing no less than a ton on the flimsy forklift in my mind. There is no denying that fact as the rate of my heart and the race of my mind would pinpoint the release of that chemical. "Still not scared?' I question, the ride rounding the fifth revolution, no passengers waiting below.

Winn smiles an easy smile, raking his hand over his head, letting his hand grip the back of his neck. Still, he fails to remove his gaze from me. Instead, he stares with an intense mask of confidence. His smile brightens, and his eyelids open wide in an uncanny ecstatic look. Though, his eyes roll into a glass-like state, and his lips twitch when his pupils bob down. And I swear I can feel his heartbeat when I grip his hands tighter.

"I'm not scared of the sky or the Ferris wheel or of a bolt hitting my head." He shakes his head meekly, laughing a little as he relays a nervous smile, obeying the temptation of looking down. "I'm not scared of heights. I'm afraid of falling from them."

There's a reason why the advisory for those with acrophobia is to look to the skies, never giving the ground a chance to whisper irrational ideas into pea-sized brains. Which is completely logical advice. Though, as Winn restrains the urge to peer down at the concrete, maybe the thought isn't completely logical.

Why wouldn't I switch my perspective? Why avoid looking at the ground when I can distract my mind, pulling thoughts into a separate lane that's painted in brighter colors. Rather, switch the perspective from "I will get hurt if I fall" to "If I fall, a lawsuit will most likely ensue". Although, I doubt the latter will bring much comfort. And if I obtained this fear, I highly doubt I would fall for the trick either. No pun intended. If even a trick.

We could also chip into "I won't likely fall" or "I am strong enough to face my fear" like any psychologist may try to subtly beat into one's head.

"If you fall. That means I fall, which in turn means that we are both dead," I state, maintaining eye contact, barely managing to keep the action stable. No, the object of the game isn't difficult. His eyes are nice. Though, simultaneously, the eyes are one of the oddest organs in the human body, both fascinating and infinitely odd.

Winn chuckles, gripping his flannel with his left hand as the ride comes to a slow stop, pausing to release each round of passengers from its hold. "It helps that you're here," he mumbles, voice muted in blundering tones of the wind. "Thank you."

His jacket flaps in the breeze, much like his hair did last November. Never will his hair grow to his fingers' length or his face be cleared of makeup. But always, he'll smile, laugh, and make everyone feel like a friend.

"I want you to know... I'll be standing with you, here, on this ledge." Grasping his hand in a secure embrace, I glance into his hazel eyes that flicker with light.

At this moment, I can curse nothing but time.

__________

A/N
Alright. My first kiss scene (and the part I was dreading from the start)... how was it?