Edge of Reason

EDGE OF REASON

The heat from the bonfire was nothing compared to the pain in his heart.

Miguel flicked another simmering glance toward the couple hidden amongst the shadowed rocks that linked the islet, La Roca, to the mainland. His jaw clenched as he rose from his crouched position beside the fire and stalked away from the rowdy teenagers gathered around the flames. Drawn toward where the waves crashed against the darkened shingle beach, he picked up a stone and with a strength born of betrayal, he hurled it at the fire’s rippling reflection, each successive stone landing further than the last.
The sound of crunching stones from behind stayed his arm in mid-throw. He tensed as a pair of slender arms encircled his torso.

“Miguel,” a voice whispered against his neck, “where've you been all summer? I’ve missed you. We can slip away; head back to the house while everyone else is on the beach.”

He tore himself from the embrace, careful to keep his back to Anna.

“Not now,” he replied, teeth gritted as his anger turned inward. Anna was a loose thread, one he should have taken care of weeks ago, but he’d been too distracted.

He jammed his hands into his pockets and strode off into the darkness. He needed to put as much distance as he could between himself and the whole damned lot of them: Anna; the drunken crowd dancing around the bonfire; the couple hidden in the shadows.

He should have expected it, should have known that Carlos - the lothario who gloated every Monday morning about his conquests from up and down the coast – had finally moved in on Daniella.

His Daniella.

The new girl from Barcelona, whose urban chic and quiet shyness had caught his attention the first day she arrived at the only high school in Salobreña. He’d watched her, day after day, sitting alone as rumours of her snobby city ways passed from one pair of lips to another, the small-town locals too tight-knit to let the attractive stranger into their midst.

The snide remarks had brought back memories of his cool reception two years ago when he first arrived in the seaside town to live in exile with an elderly Aunt. The prank he’d played on Batista had landed him in the principal’s office for the last time and finally forced his parents to carry through with their threats. It was still a mystery how they’d managed to link him to the posters plastered all over the school of the super jock’s face photo-shopped onto the body of a drag queen. He’d been so careful to cover his tracks that time.
The first few months in Salobreña had been miserable as there was little he’d had in common with kids from a backwater town. Then one day, he’d watched a group of boys swim to the tip of La Roca, scale the limestone cliffs to the top and leap from a height of fifteen metres into the warm Mediterranean waters below. They caught him looking and after a few nudges and whispers, Carlos called out to him.

“Hey, city boy, come and take a jump if you dare.”

Goaded by the challenge, he swam to La Roca, scrambled to the top and with his heart thumping, took his first terrifying jump into the swirling water. It had been his ticket into the herd, a rite of passage for which he’d been given a grudging acceptance.

It was the sting of those memories that had prompted him to approach Daniella, drawn by the warmth in her caramel eyes, intrigued by the heart-shaped birthmark on the side of her neck. The ease of conversation precipitated an offer to take her to see the town’s only attraction, the Salobreña Alcazar. One look at her slender figure silhouetted against the castle’s ramparts, her long chestnut hair blowing in the wind, banished all thoughts of Anna, whom he’d casually been seeing.

“Any interest in going for a swim sometime?” he asked, striving for an offhanded tone.

After the slightest of hesitations, she smiled and replied, “Sure”.

Anna was quickly forgotten, relegated to the status of a spring fling, his free time now spent with Daniella, swimming in isolated bays, walking the beaches, commiserating with each other about their forced exiles to the small town. In response to her explanation that her father had been transferred to the local branch of a national bank, he replied that his parents had been transferred overseas, choosing to abandon him to the care of an unknown spinster aunt, a story which had garnered the elicited sympathy.

He'd lain awake many a night, basking in the knowledge that for the first time in his life, he knew what it was like to be the Batistas and Carlos’ of the world; that this time, he’d been the one to land the girl.

It wasn’t long before spending his spare time with her was not enough.

The fact there were no openings at the restaurant where he worked had not stopped him from securing her a position. It had been child’s play. A few whispered words, a nod or two at the appropriate moment, a purposely mixed-up order and José was dismissed, already under repeated warnings. Then a casual mention of his friend, Daniella, and they were working together. The two of them ... and Carlos.

Miguel’s hands balled in his pockets as he approached the stretch of beach that had been theirs. He stood at the water’s edge, his hand thrumming at the memory of the day he brushed his finger down Daniella’s neck and around her birthmark.

“An unusual shape,” he said.

She pulled away. “You’d better beware,” she replied with mock seriousness. “People with a heart-shaped birthmark are said to see into others’ hearts, to see their auras.” She narrowed her eyes. “Some even claim they dream events before they happen.”

He’d laughed and then, as casually as possible, asked if she was able to see what was in his heart. She hesitated, then looked away and changed the subject. He shrugged off the ripple of unease, not wanting to believe she could sense the emptiness that filled his soul.

As the summer progressed, his obsession with her grew, but little more than friendship was offered in return. His frustration built but he waited, calculating that patience would pay off in the end. He had failed, however, to factor in Carlos, failed to see the signs of something brewing between that gigolo and Daniella.
He kicked at the stones on the beach, jarring his foot in the process.

“Miguel, come on,” Pablo shouted from the direction of the bonfire. “We're swimming out to La Roca.”
He turned to the sounds of squeals and shouts. Shadowy figures raced toward the shoreline, tearing off t-shirts, hopping out of shorts. A familiar rush coursed through his veins, the same one that had hooked him on his first jump.

Movement caught his eye and two shadows detached from the rocks, hands held as they ran to join the others now plunging into the dark waves. A sliver of ice snaked its way down his spine, replacing the surge of adrenalin with something heavier, colder. As they reached the water’s edge, Carlos’s outstretched arm tugged at Daniella who had stopped and was peering around, searching the darkness, searching for ... him? With another tug, she joined Carlos as he dove into the water.

Miguel walked back to the now deserted bonfire, his steps measured as his thoughts roiled. Embracing the heat from the flames, he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. With a roar of frustration, he flung the shirt into the crackling flames, then walked to the shoreline, where he plunged into the foaming surf. His strokes were purposeful, the sea’s cool caress doing little to douse the fire that raged within. When he reached the cliff face, he hauled himself out of the water and climbed upwards, ignoring how the jagged edges of limestone bit into his tender flesh. He made it to the top just in time to see Juan make a sign of the cross before taking the short run and hurling himself off the edge of the cliff. It was a count of four before there was a splash in the water below.

“Olé,” Juan shouted from down below as the group cheered.

Another of the daredevils stepped forward and with a deep breath, blessed himself, ran the few feet and plunged over the edge.

“Hey, Miguel, where you been?” Pablo asked. “You gonna jump tonight?”

Several heads turned in his direction.

He felt the force of Anna’s resentment rolling off her in waves. Carlos looked him in the eye, a slight mocking curve to his lips, a challenge in his crossed arms. And in Daniella’s shadowed features he saw not only guilt and embarrassment but a hint of unease before she dropped her gaze.

A muscle twitched in his jaw at the thought of the empty days to come, knowing with certainty he’d lost her. He took a step forward and looked over the edge into the dark pool of water partially enclosed by the surrounding cliff face. The jump, intimidating enough in the light of day, was reckless at night. He suspected their bravado was spurred on knowing it was the last weekend of summer. That, and the copious amounts of alcohol consumed, as few would attempt the jump stone-cold sober. He stepped away from the edge.
“Not tonight,” he replied.

His hands curled into fists as Carlos sniggered. He moved off to the side, clearing the way for those with enough machismo to leap, clearing the way for Carlos.

It took a while, no one else in a hurry to jump, the guys teasing each other, trying to work themselves up to the challenge. Goosebumps rippled across his arms as a cool breeze caressed the top of the La Roca. He waited, knowing it was only a matter of time.

“Come on,” Juan shouted from the waves below, “I'm getting cold. Anyone with enough cojones to join us?”
Carlos made his move, as Miguel knew he would.

“Make way,” Carlos shouted, as he took a few steps back.

Miguel watched as Carlos crossed himself. Then one step, two steps and he was running the short distance toward the plummet over the edge.

Miguel’s eyes narrowed. It’d be easy, so easy to extend his foot, to nudge Carlos off-balance, just enough to scare him, to inject an extra frisson of fear that he might hit the side of the cliff on his way down. What he wouldn’t give to wipe that self-satisfied grin off Carlos’ face, to knock him from his pedestal, if only for a few seconds; to have him know what it was like to face his mortality.

Miguel stood suspended in the moment, split seconds remaining for him to make his decision. Then his gaze suddenly jerked upward, and he met Daniella’s eyes. Eyes that pinned him in place as her head moved side to side on her slender neck, the heart-shaped birthmark a dark stain on her pale skin. Her gaze held his as Carlos ran past and sailed over the edge. He remained captured by the horror reflected in her wide-eyed gaze, wondering how she could have guessed at the darkness seething within him. It was only as she turned away, a trembling hand raised to her neck, that he recalled their conversation about her birthmark that day on the beach.

Miguel clambered back down the cliff face on shaky legs. What, if anything, had Daniella foreseen? Could there have been a different ending to the jump?

He dove into the water and struck out towards shore, pummeling the waves to ease the growing anger that he would never know whether he’d had it in him to release the vengeance that only minutes before had burned a hole in his heart.