The Rivals - Dylan Allen Page 0,22

her voice is thick with emotion and pain. “Since it’s your fault this happened, you have to promise to pay to send me home, so I can be buried next to my grandparents and as far away from my father as possible,” she says.

“You’re not going to die. It’s lucky I’m here,” I call down.

“Yeah, in the same way it’s lucky to be mauled by a bear,” she yells. The bark of laughter that springs straight from my gut, surprises me. And she has a sense of humor.

“I don’t know how that’s lucky, but we’ve already learned that you and I don’t share a lot of common perspectives,” I joke back.

“I can’t believe you’re making jokes when I’m about to die!” she screams, and the pitch of terror in her voice is enough to squelch my little burst of levity.

“You’re not going to die,” I tell her.

“I will never forgive you. Not for what you said and not for killing me. I will haunt you from the grave,” she shouts. I remember about Gigi’s threat earlier and almost laugh. Almost, but I don’t dare. Not yet.

“I haven’t asked forgiveness. I gave you an honest assessment. And for the final time, you’re not going to die,” I tell her.

“What do you mean for the final time?” she cries up to me. “You mean you’ll stop reassuring me? You’d just let me sit here and panic about dying and not try to make me feel better?” She’s nearly screaming and her words are punctuated by sobs.

“You’re making yourself hysterical,” I call down in a voice that I hope doesn’t betray my unease.

“You’d be hysterical if you were the one down here facing impending death,” she cries angrily.

“I promise you’re not going to die,” I repeat.

“Don’t say that. You can’t promise that. Everyone dies. I had a feeling something significant would happen while I was here,” she says mournfully. “Twenty minutes ago, I thought it was that I would get to have a fun little fling with a sexy stranger. Hahaha, what a joke,” she cries.

She turns her head more so that nearly her full face is visible. A beam of moonlight breaks the dark shadowing them. I can see those eyes that tempted me so much tonight. Her face, even while twisted with pain and fear is like a painting—with features that separately you’d never think to pair together. Big eyes, a tiny nose. That lush, but small mouth … Yet they come together and create an expressive, very interesting, and beautiful masterpiece.

My phone rings, and I answer it with my head still over the side so I can keep an eye on her “One sec, it’s about the rescue,” I tell her before I put it to my ear. Marco starts speaking right away and my heart sinks when he gives me the status.

“What’s wrong?” she asks as soon as I hang up.

“Nothing’s wrong—”

“Your face says otherwise,” she snaps. “Just tell me because I’m freaking out down here,” she says.

“It’s not a big deal,” I reassure her. “The station’s rappel team is one man short tonight. One of the guy’s wife went into labor about an hour ago,” I tell her. Her eyes widen in horror. She pushes up to sitting and scoots closer to the cliff wall. I listen for signs of cracking or shifting in the rock. I hear nothing and exhale in relief. “There’s a team thirty minutes away, and he’s already on his way to them.”

“This is what I get for being so goddamn selfish. I’m going to die on a cliff in Italy and all because I wanted to live a little,” she cries.

“You’re not going to die,” I repeat what has become my refrain.

“Oh, the irony,” she shouts and throws an arm over her eyes.

“Well, it will certainly be a loss for the theatre, if you decide to throw yourself to your death,” I say dryly.

“It’s not funny. You come down here and see if making jokes seems like a nice thing to do,” she says, her eyes still covered by her arm.

My anxiety and guilt are tangling with each other. I don’t know what to do and everything I say seems to only make her more upset.

“Do you want me to go get your friend?” I ask, feeling like a failure.

“No. Please don’t leave me.” Her hand stretches out to me. And she looks up over her shoulder again. Her eyes are full of sorrow. “She’s having the time of her life. I’ve already