Activity

Valencia:

“Your turn, Valencia!”  My stomach drops as I stare up the cliff.

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?  You haven’t even tried it yet!”

“I’m not strong enough.”  My voice fades to a barely audible murmur as a part of me dies inside.  I didn’t want Kit – or anyone for that matter – to know how weak I really am.

“That’s alright.  I’ll just help you up!”  I duck away as he steps closer to me.

“No.”  The word comes out sharp and strong, far stronger than I intended.  I don’t want you touching all over me.  He looks genuinely helpful for once, and I feel a little bit bad for snapping at him.  But I can feel myself getting really, really stressed, and I don’t need Kit making it worse.  I walk up to the cliff as cold panic seeps through my brain.  I lay a hand on a foothold, feeling the damp, rough stone beneath my fingertips. “I can do it myself.”

I plant a foot on a spur of rock, testing it before I launch myself up.  I tentatively plant my other foot on a tiny outcropping, and before I know I’m already off the ground.  There’s a hole somewhere above me, and I dig my hand in as far as possible.  I lift myself a little further, feeling around for a hold somewhere below me.  This isn’t half as bad as I expected.

I plant my foot on another outcropping, and in a split second my shoe slips on a slick of algae.  I freeze, a new wave of panic ricocheting through my veins.

I can’t do this.

I’m already too far up to jump, but I can’t find another foothold.  I’m stuck, in full view of everyone.  My face burns, and I crumple against the sharp rocks.  I can vaguely hear Kit down below – I think he’s trying to give me advice but he’s really just making the situation worse.  Blood thunders in my ears, pounding and echoing in my constricting chest.  I shrink away as a hand anchors around my arm, slowly dragging me up against the rocks with an iron grip.  Someone pulls me to me feet, but I hardly feel the ground beneath me.  My mind is numb with adrenaline.  I feel something soft and heavy deposited in my arms – Kit’s coat.   He must have passed it up before trying the climb himself.  I reel back as soon as my fingers close on a fold of soft fur, and stumble back against a sharp rock wall.

The cold, dry air burns my nose.  It’s too much.  Too many sounds, too many smells, too many people.  The nauseating smell of putrefying algae in the stream, the dry scent of dust and old dirt hanging in the stale air, Kit’s vaguely botanical cologne wafting from the fur.  And somewhere behind me, the oscillating glow of a bobbing torch, and so many murky voices.

My shoulders clench as my fingers drag through the fur – the same motion I’ve traced across my forearm so many times before.  I can’t even tell who’s yelling anymore – if they were even yelling to begin with.  The words drone on and on in the background, flattening and echoing in a feverish mess.

I grip the fur tighter.  Even the soft fibers hurt now, burning and scraping at my fingertips like the most offensive of old carpets-

I crumple at a sudden touch on my shoulder.  “It’s soft, isn’t it?”  Kit’s laugh pulses in my right ear, like a thousand gunshots pelting me from inside.  I clench my fists.  What do you want from me now, Kit?  He shrugs as I stare past him, a slimy grin plastered on his face.  “I thought you said you hated fur, but you sure were enjoying my coat just now- ”

“Take it and leave.”  My face burns as I shove the coat at him.  I flinch back, stumbling away from Kit, away from the buzzing throng of people somewhere behind us, until I collapse against the stony wall.  I bury my chin in my knees, vaguely aware of Kit staring back at me from the bubbling crowd.

I think he looks concerned, but I wish he’d just leave me alone.