Us on 50

26 | Fusion

fu·sion | \ ˈfyü-zhᵊn \

: a reaction in which two forms combine with the release of energy

"Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies."

- Aristotle

Brad

The world around me felt like it was unraveling as I watched Iris disappear beneath the turbulent water. Time slowed, my breath caught in my throat, and my heart pounded in my chest like a war drum. I was in motion before I could think, diving into the icy grip of the river, desperate to reach her.

The current was stronger than I had anticipated, pulling me under, but I fought against it with everything I had. I couldn't lose her—not like this, not now. The thought of a world without Iris was unbearable, a darkness I couldn't face. My hands searched frantically in the water, feeling the cold, slippery stones, the swirling debris, but no sign of her. Fear clawed at me, sinking its teeth deep in my mind.

And then, by some miracle, my hand brushed against her arm. Relief surged through me like a flood as I grabbed hold of her, pulling her motionless body toward the surface. The fight to reach the shore felt endless, every second a battle against the current that threatened to drag us both down. But somehow, I made it. We made it.

Iris was unconscious, her face pale and lips blue, and for a terrifying moment, I thought she was gone. Panic threatened to overwhelm me, but I forced it down, focusing on what needed to be done. I laid her on the riverbank and began mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, praying, begging for her to come back to me.

"Come on, Iris," I muttered between breaths. "Please, don't leave me."

And then, finally, she coughed, sputtering out water as she gasped for air. Relief so intense it was almost painful washed over me, and I gathered her in my arms, holding her tight as if I could shield her from everything bad in the world. She was alive. She was with me. But the terror of nearly losing her lingered, gnawing at my insides.

As night fell, the cold set in quickly. Iris was shivering uncontrollably, her teeth chattering despite the blanket I had wrapped around her. I knew we had to do something drastic—something that, under any other circumstances, I wouldn't have even considered. But this wasn't just about comfort; it was about survival.

"Iris, you need to get out of those wet clothes," I told her, my voice shaking more from the fear of what could have been than from the cold.

She looked at me with those wide, vulnerable eyes, but didn't resist as I helped her out of the soaked fabric. Her skin was pale, almost translucent in the flickering light of the bonfire I had hastily built. The flames offered warmth, but it wasn't enough.

I hesitated for a moment, the weight of what I was about to do crashing down on me. But there was no other choice. I stripped off my own clothes, feeling the cold bite at my skin. Without saying a word, I pulled Iris close, wrapping the blanket around us both and sliding into the sleeping bag.

The intimacy of the moment wasn't lost on me, but it was overshadowed by the sheer necessity of it. This was about keeping her alive, keeping her safe. Her body trembled against mine, and I could feel her heartbeat, weak but steady, against my chest.

"I'm so cold," she whispered, her voice fragile, almost childlike.

"I know," I murmured back, holding her as close as I could. "I'll keep you warm. I won't let anything happen to you."