I scream and scream until my throat goes numb.

My hands are numb, too. I'm gripping the rope that holds me above the canyon with one hand, sobbing, screaming, the fibers tearing lines through my palm. My other hand flails at the cliff, looking for a hold. For traction. Anything.

If I could just squeeze a little harder--if only--if only--

I look up at the top of the cliff, where they are standing. I don't have to see all the details of their faces to know who it is. The one whose face I know better than my own. The one who was a friend for so long and then suddenly, abruptly, became someone else. The one who called me part of her family...and then drove a knife into my back.

But the person at the front of the mob is the one that really chills my blood, because that person is me. That girl with curves she hates, with brown hair streaked lighter, with gold eyes full of malice and anger. I see that look directed at myself in the mirror far too often.

That girl is the one who grips a blade and moves toward the rope holding me to the top of the cliff.

"NO!" I scream. "No! Help!" I'm thrashing, flailing, spinning, trying and trying to hang on. "Jesus! Help!"

The other Me cuts through the rope. It frays in her hands. I see a cold light glinting in her smile, and in the split second where I hang in the air, I note the letters etched onto her forehead.

My True Nature

Then I'm falling.

I fall and fall, forever, through darkness, feeling blades lash at me, aching, the terror of what might meet me at the bottom tearing a scream from a throat that I thought was mute now. I fall and fall until suddenly, sickeningly, jarringly, I hit the ground. And all the air flies from my lungs as I choke and gasp and sob. I can hear faint laughter from above me. Those who have rejected me? Those who have hated me? Me myself? They all laugh at me here on the ground, choking for breath, hurting and aching.

I don't know how long I lie there. I beg for help. Desperation fills me, as with every cry all that returns to me is echoes. Not even the mockers stay for long. They too drift away after a while, leaving my crushed body on the ground, alone. I stare up at the sky and try to hold down the tears as a hollow pain tears at me. Alone. I am alone. No matter how much I beg.

Then I hear it. The sound of crunching footsteps.

I sit up way too fast, and my back gives out, the wounds sending me back to the ground in a heap. I hurt everywhere. But then I see him. Jesus.

"Where were you?" The words bite out of me. "When I was in this darkness? When I was falling? Why didn't you catch the rope? Why didn't you keep me from falling? Why didn't you come to pick me up? You promised you wouldn't leave me! Where were you?!"

He is silent. Silent as he bends over me, and then I feel it. I see the scars in his hands, and the holes in his feet, and I can imagine the wound on his side as he bends down and lifts me into his arms.

"Why?" I beg again. "Why did you abandon me?"

He does not answer, not at first. I feel tears brimming in my eyes as I cling to him, because I know I cannot let go, even if I don't understand. I caused my own fall, did I not? Did I deserve this?

Then he finally speaks. "Trust me."

And as I try to hold back the tears, I nod.

I won't understand.

I don't understand.

Everything hurts from that fall.

But he is here. And he is good. And that will have to be enough.

Even if I don't know why, I will trust him.

Even in the dark.