Heights

   I had just set my feet to the edge when I dared to look up. Chills ran simultaneously up and down my spine, causing a sort of stuttered shiver when the two waves met. My breath grew erratic as a cold sweat gathered and my heart picked up to a racehorse gallop. I closed my eyes and took a step back, but he took me into a type of embrace. Gently he held my head to face the depth of the scenery when my eyes opened once again.
   "Don't run away."
   So I didn't. Gripping his hands against my ears as if they alone kept me grounded, I sighed deeply. Looking down at my feet, I opened my eyes.
   My shoes were dusty from the trek up the bald mountain. Below the rocky outcrop just a few mere inches from my toes lay a bed of large stones ranging from dry-dirt brown to bloody-clay red in color. (Another shiver.) Further and lower still was the grass line, soon followed by the tree line exploding with the vivid hues of fall.
   "See? It's not so bad."
   I shook my head, "You forget I'm a coward."
   "Even a coward can learn to be brave."
   I gave my attention back to the vista a good distance under my feet, annoyed with my inability to argue with my companion. Beyond the decorated trees rose hills and mountains not so different from the one we were perched so precariously on ourselves. A few even boasted a mist that promised to turn to frost if the temperature dipped any lower. From between two of the lower peaks, the sun could be seen slipping discreetly down the sky. It tossed reckless beams of color across the briefly brightening expanse to distract from its sneaky getaway. I was sure that it, like me, just wanted to disappear unobserved from its inhuman height.
   His voice, filled with respectful awe, came as a slight shock to my wandering mind, "Gorgeous."
   "It's more enjoyable when observed from pictures . . ."
   His thumb caressed my cheek jokingly, disrupting my pout, "You can't feel a picture."
   "The Starry Night by Vincent van Gogh, I get plenty of positive feelings from that."
   I could feel him roll his eyes in the way his voiced gained at least three solid levels of sass, "Technicalities, technicalities . . ." He released his grip on me and took a step back. "You can leave now if you want. I didn't bring you up here to torture you."
   It was almost funny how I found myself drawn to the ledge despite my rampant phobia. My knees shook, but as I breathed in the clear, fresh air that cloaked the mountains in the evening, I didn't feel so afraid.
   "I think I could stay a little bit longer, actually."
   He recovered the distance between us, grabbing my arm with an uncharacteristic firmness. My attention snapped to him, causing my heart to pound against my ears.
   Something had changed. Something deep and roguishly morbid. His eyes had lost their false sparkle and his features their friendly flavor. Now he only seemed sickeningly twisted and darker than the deepest crevice in the sea. For a moment, I thought maybe I had imagined it all when he took to a youthful giggle and a more blissful demeanor. What he said, however, did well to remove any doubt.
   "I must have misheard you. I thought you refused my invitation."
   "I-" my voice caught, so I swallowed. "I didn't refuse."
   An amused shadow passed over him as he smiled warmly at me, "Liar."
   That was when I fell.