Too Late For Your Second Chance

instincts screamed. I didn't hesitate. I grabbed my bag, my precious art supplies

, digging into my already bruised flesh. "Help me!" she screamed, her nails tearing at my skin. The sudden pull threw me off

scading debris. My body throbbed, every muscle protesting, but I ignored it. The world outside roared, a symphony of destruction. The path I' d just taken was

oice cut through the lingering echoes of the slide

if my mere presence was an affront. I just stared at the sound, a strange mix of dread and a flicker of th

eveled and covered in grime, his face etched with worry. He l

bbing dramatically. "Bentley! Oh, Bentley, I thought I was going to die! It was so terrify

d to me, still under the overhang. "Frida, are you hurt? Are you okay?" he

ing her face into his chest. "But I was so scared

arry her away. He looked at me then, a brief, fleeting glance, as if he had just remembered I was there. But his focus remained solely on Frida. The r

t, my voice raw, desp

ead, his eyes meeting mine. They held a flicker

aring pain in my ankle, and stumbled towards him, my hand outstretched. "Bentley, please

glare at me, her eyes flashing a silent warning. Then, she pulled at his shirt, her v

mperceptible. Then, he secured his hold on Frida, his jaw tightening. "I'll be right back, Adelle," he said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "I nee

voice raw with desperation. "Please!" But he

tant drip of water and the thudding of my own desperate heart. The sun had comp

s, matching the chill in my soul. How many times had he left me? How many times had he chosen her? I thou

. Bentley never came back. The darkness became oppressive, alive with unseen rustlings.

pushed myself up, using the rough rock face for support, and began to drag myself down the treacher

ding through me. One of them lunged. I felt a sharp, tearing pain as teeth sank into my leg. I kicked, screamed, fought with a primal fury fueled by terror. Somehow, miraculously, I managed to break free,

and leaves me to die. He cares for her, and abandons me to the wolves. The irony was a cruel, final punch

es. Hospital. Again. My leg throbbed, heavily bandaged. My arm still

tood over me, his face pale, his eyes wide. He grasped my hand, his t

worried? The word tasted like poison on my ton

was blocked. I tried to get to you, I swear. But Frida... she needed me." He squeezed

g. Or, if not lying, then desperately clutching at excuses. He hadn't tried to get back. He had chosen. He had chosen her. The me

om, his face green with worry, convinced I was going to lose my hand. He'd stayed by my side for hours, holding my u

per, pulling my hand away from his as i

erything. The mountain was unstable. You were just caught in the wrong place at the wrong time." He reached for my hand

and unwavering. "No, Bentley," I said, my v

paced the small room, his movements agitated. "Adelle, d

ir a perfect cascade, her face a picture of innocent concern, peeked her head in

oment, then turned back to me, his eyes now cold, hard, and filled with a chilling finality. "Are yo

holding nothing but contem

her, and pulled her close. "Frida, darling," he said, his voice sickeningly sweet, "I think it's time we mad