❝Emerson Baldwin has self diagnosed himself with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
He hates anything that has to do with a) disorder. b) feeling out of control in any way. c) stepping out of his comfort zone.
So when his friends somehow talk hi...
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As it turns out, Randy and Peter aren't the professional rock climbers they made themselves out to be because when they return to the bottom of the steep incline, they're covered head to toe in scrapes and forming bruises.
"Stumbled a couple of times?" Rosalind smirks slyly at Peter as he touches a bleeding wound with a hiss. He ignores her question and simply throws her a glare.
"You know," She speaks again, "I happen to have been trained to hike and climb. Not to mention I'm smaller and lighter than both of you. I could have made the trip in half the time." Emerson's brows shoot up at her cocky remark.
Peter's face reddens with anger before he rolls his eyes. Randy speaks before he can, "We managed to contact the airport and they're sending a helicopter right now to give us a ride back. It'll just be a few minutes."
"Thanks guys." Emerson gives them an awkward smile, shooting Rosalind a confused look to which she replies nonchalantly with a careless shrug.
Not even fifteen minutes pass before a helicopter lands in a clearing twenty feet from them. Emerson's throat clenches at the thought of being up in the air but, for the first time in almost four years, he pushes the thought away and trudges ahead towards the helicopter, releasing a low breath.
His mind goes back to Rosalind's question. Why is it that he didn't freak out more being up in that plane strapped to Peter's front? Maybe because he didn't have the time to think about it?
"Emerson." Randy nudges him, bringing him out of his stupor, "You first."
His eyes find Rosalind waiting patiently behind him before he nods and hoists himself through the door and onto the far seat. The pilot instructs him over the wind to fasten his seatbelt and put on a head set.
When Rosalind slides in next to him, a hesitant smile slips onto his lips. "Ready?" He speaks into the mouthpiece, her nod assuring him that she's okay.
Once they're off the ground, Emerson's eyes close and his fists instinctively clench atop his thighs. Up in that plane, he had no time to think about the height. Only the thought of jumping and the fear of landing like a pancake inhabited his thoughts. Now, however, he has plenty of time to think about the space that is gaining between his feet and the level ground.
His palms begin to sweat and his stomach churns. He tries to tell himself it's okay and that this is perfectly safe but his mind keeps flashing back to that moment before freshman year. The image of his feet positioned at the end of the cliff. The water swirling angrily as his friends laugh off to the side distractedly.
