You call this fate?

Chapter 39

I groaned as I rolled off Mr. Rodwell's horizontal body. My arms, having slid down to his chest during the shock of freefall, now lay squashed painfully under our combined weight, small pebbles digging into the skin. I slowly released my hold on the opposite wrist and tried to drag them out from under him, the friction causing several long scratches to rip into the flesh. I persisted though, and soon had them out, causing him to flop a little on the ground, and then go still again.

"Alex?" I called softly, cradling my limbs close to my chest for comfort. It seems only natural to use his name.

The only sound from him was a low moan, followed by a faint cough as dust probably tickled his throat.

I laboriously pulled myself up and turned to look at him, lying with his cheek pressed firmly to the ground. In the light from the glaring floodlights on the fence, I could see his dark jeans and white shirt. Slowly I let my gaze travel down his legs to where his left foot lay at a slightly awkward ankle. I immediately everted my eyes and swallowed for strength.

"Alex, come on, get up," I urged, putting a hand lightly under his side and pulling up, as if contriving to flip him over with my own brute strength.

Of course my power did not help much, but after a few seconds of lying still on the ground, he stirred. An explosion of breath escaped his lungs as he placed his arms under him and, inch by inch, pulled himself up. Then he slowly dragged himself to the side, to the wall of the building we were currently present alongside, and let himself collapse against the bricks.

I scooted forward immediately and looked closely at his face.

He was trying very hard, it was as clear as day, but the brightness in his eyes spoke volumes about the pain he was in. His face, always pale, was now the colour of bad milk, and his lips were clamped shut so tight I could have bet he would have groaned a little if he had been alone.

I placed a hand on his cheek and brushed the small pieces of gravel embedded there. "Are you alright?" I asked lamely, scrubbing energetically, almost as if when I got him clean, he would magically get to his feet again.

In a swift moment, he grabbed my hand. I looked at him in concern to find those too-bright aquamarine eyes fixed on me. "Don't."

That got my blood boiling. What exactly did he expect me to do? I was only trying to...but what was I trying to do? I looked at his foot in frustration, and then at the gate that was so deceptively close. If I crawled with all I was worth, along the sides and out of sight, I might just be able to reach it.

But I couldn't leave him, could I? Of course I couldn't, devil take the stupid man! He was in pain, and I knew from experience how bloody painful a broken ankle could be. My leg was a different case here. All I couldn't do with said limb was walk; there wasn't any pain included, not now after so many years. But that wasn't the case with him.

There was another question here, though, wasn't there? Did I want to leave him? It didn't even take me a moment to think about it.

No.

Adrenaline was running crazy in my body, and I didn't want to let it go to waste, so I rounded on him with eyes flashing. "What do you mean 'don't'?" I hissed. "I am trying to help you."

For a moment he just lay there, looking at me. Then he blinked and grimaced, pulling himself up slightly, maybe seeking a more comfortable spot. "Yes, I know," he acknowledged. Then, "I am sorry, I don't know why I am being like that."

I stared at him for a moment, understanding. I felt the same way myself, aggravated, exasperated, and all other synonyms there were to the word. Why did this have to keep happening? Why did everything have to work against us, all the time? I mean, surely the world could spare us a bit of luck? Surely it wasn't too much to ask for?