Lime and Soda ✓

thirteen - vertigo

It's dark. The deep, impenetrable blackness stretches out in front of me, and I feel my way through it, blind, my eyes no use in this crushing darkness. It presses down on me from all sides, on my eyes, ears, face. My feet feel heavy as I push through the air, it feels hot, sticky on my skin, like jelly, my legs ache as I place my feet one after the other, again and again. The only thing I can feel in this unnatural dark is his hand, soft and warm and safe in mine. I can see it, too, a soft glow illuminating it, my hand in his. It's the only thing I can see.

We push through the blackness together, and I don't feel scared anymore. He's with me. I'm safe. We're up on the cliff path, I can tell by the rocky ground beneath my feet, uneven, and by the sea breeze, gentle down on the beach but up here stronger, harsher, unforgiving.

He begins to walk faster, to run, dragging me along behind him. I stumble over small rocks, blind, but he doesn't let me fall. Still we go faster and faster. I can't keep up. Why is he pulling me so hard? It's hurting. I try to wrench my hand free from his, but his grip is now iron, cold and hard, chains. Suddenly I don't feel safe. My breath is coming in gasps, I can't run anymore.

Let me go, I say, or try to, but nothing comes out of my mouth, or else he can't hear me through the wall of thick darkness between us. Still I'm pulled on, until the ground gives way beneath my feet and we hurtle over the edge of the cliff, plunging to the rocks beneath. I feel a soaring sensation in my stomach and wake with a start, drenched in cold sweat, my skin itching. I look for the skylight, desperate to see, but it's not there. Why isn't it there? Where am I?

I'm in the spare room. I moved yesterday. Calm down, Violet, it's just a nightmare. A crack of light from the hallway shines in under the door, and slowly I can make out the silhouettes of the furniture in the room. I stand up unsteadily and, fumblingly, locate the window, open it as wide as it will go. A gust of cool wind blows in and calms me immediately. I can see the outlines of the trees, the cliffs, hear the rush of the sea. I'm safe, and it was just a dream. Jay would never hurt me.

A soft light by my bed turns me around. It's my phone - that must be what woke me from the nightmare. The screen is flashing. Someone texted me.

Jay: you awake?

My stomach lurches. Why does he want to know if I'm awake? I check the time: 1:43am. I perch on the edge of my bed, type a reply. My shirt is sticking to me like a second skin, my fingers shake, I keep pressing the wrong letters.

Me: I am now

Me: why?

Him: look out your window

What?

I stumble to the window, all too aware of the fresh blood on my arms, my bed hair, my sweaty shirt. He's standing there, on the drive, arms folded across his chest. He's ditched Ross' leather jacket in favour of his own blue denim, it suits him better. My breath hitches. Why is he outside my window at nearly two in the morning?

He sees me, framed in the window, ghostly, he waves.

'What are you doing?' I call down, a hiss. Can't wake Bea.

He beckons. 'Can you come down?'

I turn away, rip the curtain across the rail so the window is covered. Why does he want to see me in the middle of the night? Alone? I almost fall over trying to pull on a pair of jeans, shove on a bra and a clean tshirt, lace my shoes up, stumble down the stairs, past Elliot's door. I hear noises. Is he awake too? His bed creaks, once, twice, three times. I hear a girl's voice, soft. Great. First night home and the surfer girls are lining up to spend the night. At least he'll be too preoccupied to hear me creeping down the stairs. I listen for any sound from Bea or Jules - nothing. I shut the door as quietly as I can, holding my breath as it clicks shut. It sounds much louder than usual through the silence blanketing the house, punctuated by the soft moans drifting down the stairs from Elliot's room. Blocking them out before I vomit, I creep down the drive - he's waiting for me by the gate. Before I can speak, he drapes his denim jacket around my shoulders. It's warm, I don't need it, but I appreciate the gesture nonetheless - I don't want his attention drawn to my arms, even in the dark. I didn't have time to wash the blood off before I left.