It was a little after two in the morning by the time I get back to the little Brooklyn apartment. I said goodbye to Jeremiah at the bar and called a cab for the short ride home. He had decided to tough it out and walk home, saying something about it being sobering; I wasn't going to take that chance.

I unlock the deadbolt and step into the dark apartment. Flashes of light were dancing across the living room ceiling. Jenna had probably fallen asleep on the couch with the TV on waiting for me to get home.

I walk to the living room, stopping at the door frame. I prop myself up against it. There she is, lying curled under a blanket. He long, brown hair splayed across the throw pillows she insisted on decorating with. Jenna, my Jenna. I had never let myself get close to anyone before her. Not with all the hiding and the running in my life. Not with all the walls I built to shut others out. I couldn't afford to make connections with people when I would have to move and start all over again. And yet here I was and here she was.

I move to kneel in front of her by the couch. I push a few stray strands of hair out of her face, letting my fingers to play across her cheek. Her eyes pop open and she smiles at me.

"You," I pause as she untucks from the blanket, "are as beautiful as the day I met you." I tell her, feeling entirely peaceful as she touches my hand that is still resting on her cheek.

She giggles, "You mean the time you were moving into this apartment, carrying too many boxes to see over and ran straight into me? Leaving me with a black eye and a broken nose." She continues. "That time? Because, yeah, I am sure I looked great."

"See that's where you are wrong, it was love at first broken nose." I crack a smile at her, rubbing my thumb across the nearly imperceptible bump on her nose. The only proof the event had even occurred.

"Only for you." She amends.

"Well then, when was it for you?" I ask, now generally curious.

She hesitates only briefly before answering, "When you insisted on getting me ice, but had to run to the convenience store because you didn't have any, leaving me waiting in your- a stranger at the time- crappy apartment. But then you don't bring back ice, you brought back frozen peas, stating you needed food as well, and I quote, you said 'they are multipurpose'.

"A year and a half later, look where we are," She continues, looking around the crummy apartment with its peeling wallpaper and the kitchen faucet that drips every 30 seconds, "living in the very same apartment in which you ate those frozen peas when I was finished with them."

"I couldn't let them go to waste." I reply in my defense.

Jenna gets up from the couch, grabbing my hand from her face and pulls me upright with her. I wobble as the room spins from the quick movement. I feel her hands on my arms, stabilizing me. "Come on, let's get you to bed." She leads me out the door and down the hallway to our bedroom. I feel the covers being wrapped around me as my head hits the pillow and then nothing.

* * *

The late summer breeze spills down the mountain, cascading over the slope and into the valley town below. As if summer was breathing its last breath onto its lovers below. The midnight sky is painted with stars winking in and out of sight, falling closer and closer the longer you looked at them. The constellations danced across the sky, jumping and tousling with one another. The moon shines down on its spectators, sending out its beams to light the world below.

Her feet dangle over the edge; her red sneakers scrape the side of the cliff sending scree tumbling down the steep rock face. Gravity reaches up, clawing and grabbing, threatening to pull her down by her shoelaces. My heartbeat races, breath going in and out of my lungs rapidly. Her long, blond braids hang around the sides of her neck, swaying as she turned her head to me. Her smile spreads across her face, lighting up her dark brown eyes. She motions me to the space next to her, drawing me to her side. Before I tell her, I have already seen it, I am being pulled from the protection of the trees by a force I can't identify.

I struggle, twisting and reaching for the comfort for the tree cover behind me. My boots crunch against the rough surface, propelling me forward on their own accord. The ground beneath me fractures as I am forced closer to her. Like walking on a nearly frozen lake, the structure of the ice not strong enough to support the footfalls. The rock breaks in geometric patterns, splaying ahead of me. The sharp cracks and pops coming from below is deafening. I fight furiously against the unseen force, praying the compromised rock holds her up. Each step I take sends more spiraling fractures forward.

I throw my body backward desperately; my head hits the ground, hard. The impact causes more fractures. I hear chunks rock falling off the cliff face, striking the stones beneath. As they tumble, they pick up speed. Crashing more furiously against one another as they plummet down the mountain. I claw at the rock beneath my fingers, trying to pull myself off the crumbling rock face. Maybe, if I can get my weight of the ledge, it will continue to support her.

The rocks dig into my hands, my arms, my face, burning my skin and scratching at my eyes. Yet despite my struggling, I am being dragged by my feet to the edge. Terror grips my chest, hard and fast, making it even harder to breathe.

Quickly, I rotate to my back, hoping I could use my heels to dig in and stop the relentless force from pulling me to the edge. I can see her now; her mouth is moving but no sound comes out, she waves me over again, patting the rock next to her. Right where her hand touches, the rock shatters, sending more pieces tumbling down the side to join their brothers and sisters below. She hasn't noticed the cracking rock. Her eyes are on me or on the sky. I can feel the adrenaline coursing through my body. Fueled not by concern for my life but concern for hers. I yell her name, Aideen. She can't hear me over the colossal din of crashing rocks. I scream it again, and again. My voice cracks with the strain. She still hasn't seen the crumbling rock; she hasn't looked down.

My feet find the edge of the cliff, dipping over the ledge. I rotate again, back to my stomach. Still searching desperately for anything to cling too, but there is nothing. Finally, with both of us now precariously balancing on the edge of cliff, the weight is too much. The entire face fractures from the mountain side taking her and me down with it.

I realize then, that there is something eerie about falling, you instinctually flail, looking for anything to hold on to. Even when you know there isn't anything there at all. But then I feel it; her hand finding mine. Her fingers interlacing with mine. I turn my head, searching for her face. My eyes lock onto her deep brown ones. She appears to be at peace; her eyes don't mirror the terror that must be showing in mine.

Her mouth moves, forming words I can't hear. The wind pulls her voice up and away from me before I can take it in. I shake my head, praying she understands. She keeps hold of my hand the whole while we fall. Her eyes never leave mine. She opens her mouth to speak again, I see her mouth form three little words; I love you.

* * *

I wake up just as I feel the ground hitting my back. The phantom indents of the rock aches across my back, the nerves reacting to stimulus that isn't there. The sunlight of the morning filters across the room. I lie there, collecting my breath and slowing my heart rate. I shake off the feeling of falling, stretching each toe and finger, then each arm and leg followed by hips and shoulders, checking to see that I am still in one piece. Deciding that there is no real damage, aside for the raging headache that is more likely attributed to the alcohol, I roll over to look at the digital clock on the nightstand. 10:35.

I feel like I slept for once, though. The exhaustion doesn't weigh my body down quite as much as it has been. My eyelids don't feel as heavy. My head hurts just as bad, but beggars can't be choosers and I will take the small win. Maybe I had managed to get some good sleep. I ventured to think that I had slept until I was sober enough to dream.

I can still feel the air rushing past my head, feel the drop of my stomach as gravity pulls us over the edge; I see her small face smiling at me, her 15-year-old pigtail braids whipping around her head as we hold onto each other. Her dark eyes reflecting the starlight, never breaking contact with mine. I shiver at the memory; anger bubbles in the pit of my stomach. How dare my brain steal the memory of my last night with her, taking it from its secret place in my heart? Whether the memory was real or not, whether she was real or not, the feelings were real, and I held on to them dearly. How dare this curse take something so precious to me and warp it into a nightmare?

I feel my eyes burning at the thought, my throat constricting as I try not to cry. I need a distraction. I turn my eyes to the nightstand next to me. I find a glass of water left for me with a note attached to it that says, "Drink up!" in Jenna's loopy handwriting. I smile at her consideration.

Grabbing my phone off the charger, I text Jeremiah, figuring since he walked home it might be a good idea to check on him.

-You alive?

I stare up at the ceiling, trying not to think about falling. Falling dreams are the people-who-fear-heights worst nightmare. My worst nightmare.

My phone buzzes in my hand.

-Sorry, he is a little indisposed. He will have to get back to you.

I reread the message twice. Text messages from Jeremiah were usually cryptic, but this was a whole new level of strange.