Falling Faster
She wasn’t suicidal. That much she knew. But impulsive thoughts—those sharp, sudden whispers that flickered in her mind—became something else entirely since she started dating him.
It began with the kitchen knife.
One day, she stood in her apartment, chopping vegetables, when the thought flashed in her mind: What if I stabbed my hand? Before she could even process it, before the knife even grazed her skin, he was there. He had flown from his home across the city in less than a millisecond, grabbing her wrist gently but firmly.
“You don’t have to do this,“ he’d said, eyes filled with concern.
She didn’t. But knowing he would always be there made her feel invincible. Safe. And strangely, thrilled.
It became a game. Every time the impulse surfaced—standing too close to a busy road, considering jumping from her second-floor balcony—he would be there. No matter where he was, no matter what he was doing, he would drop everything to save her. It wasn’t long before she stopped worrying about consequences entirely. Why would she? He was always there to catch her. And she was addicted to the rush of knowing she could push the boundary, and he would still come running.
But tonight was different.
At a rooftop party, she leaned against the railing, staring over the sparkling cityscape below. The music pulsed behind her, but all she could hear was the whisper in her mind: Jump.
Without hesitation, she pushed herself over the edge.
The wind rushed past her as she fell, and, as expected, he appeared, flying beside her in an instant. But this time, something was different. He wasn’t rushing to grab her. He wasn’t panicked. He just… hovered, his face unreadable, his body gliding beside her quickly descending form.
“What are you doing? Aren’t you going to catch me?” she shouted, her voice sharp over the roaring wind.
He looked at her, his eyes colder than she had ever seen them. “I don’t know if I should. I’m tired of always saving you. You never seem to care what happens. You just want the thrill.“
Her heart pounded, but not from fear. Anger flared inside her. She flipped herself in mid-air, her back to the ground, staring up at him as the ground rushed to meet her. “Fine,“ she said, her voice icy. “Then let me die.“
For a moment, they locked eyes. His were steel, hers defiant.
50 feet.
40 feet.
30 feet.
She dared him with every beat of her heart: Let me go. Let me fall.
20 feet. His gaze didn’t waiver, though something flickered behind his expression. But he didn’t move.
10 feet.
5 feet.
At the last second, his arm shot out, catching her clothes, just before impact, pulling her back from the brink. He clutched her tightly as they soared back into the night, her breath shaky, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins.
As he carried her home, she trembled. From fear, yes. But also… excitement.
She pressed her lips to his ear, her voice soft, carried away by the wind. “Shh… you’re right. I won’t do it again.“
She smirked, running her fingers through his hair. “I promise.“
But deep down, they both knew it wasn’t a promise she’d keep.
