The Edge of Love

The first time Ava felt something for him, she was bleeding.

It wasn’t anything poetic. She had tripped, stupidly, during a hiking trip she never wanted to be on in the first place. Her hands were scraped, knees shredded, and her pulse hammered in her ears like a war drum. But then he was there—Daniel—pulling her up by the arm like it meant something. His eyes locked onto hers in that moment of panic, the wind rushing past them at the cliff's edge, and her breath caught. Not from the fall. From him.

They didn’t know each other well. Group trip, mutual friends. He was quiet, didn’t say much during the drive up. She thought he looked like someone who carried sadness like a backpack. Heavy, but manageable. Still, when he touched her arm and said her name, just once, it didn't feel like safety. It felt like something sharper.

Later, around the fire, the story came out more dramatic than it had happened. She told it like a near-death experience, and the others laughed. Daniel didn’t laugh. He watched her from across the fire, hands folded. That was when the warmth started, slow and pulsing, right under her ribs.

The next morning they were paired up for the final part of the hike. Alone, finally. The trail narrowed into dense forest. Sunlight barely reached the ground, just long slices of light filtered through the trees. The air smelled like wet moss and pine needles. Ava wasn’t scared, not until the shouting started.

Someone had screamed—a woman's voice. High-pitched. Cut off fast.

Then silence.

Daniel stiffened beside her. They both froze, eyes darting between tree trunks. Something about the quiet afterward felt wrong. Too still. The kind of stillness that presses on your chest like a warning.

She wanted to run. He told her to stay. But then he took her hand.

It was strange—how quickly her fear melted into something else. Her body didn’t know the difference. Heart racing. Skin on fire. His fingers around hers. Danger changed the way she saw him, like the fear lit him from beneath. Every word he said sounded like protection, every glance a promise. He wasn’t quiet anymore. He was focused. Calm. He made her feel like they were the only two people alive.

They moved quickly, breathlessly, dodging branches and whispering names into the trees. There was no scream again. No reply. Just the sound of their boots against wet leaves and their own panic echoing off the trunks.

Nothing happened. No body. No blood. The rest of the group said they hadn’t heard anything. Maybe it was an animal. Maybe Ava imagined it. But she swore she saw something—a shadow that moved wrong, too tall, too fast. The kind of shape that didn’t belong in daylight.

That night, Daniel kissed her.

It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t sweet. His hands were trembling, and hers were cold. It felt like survival, like claiming something before the darkness could. The fire outside their cabin had long since died out. Everything smelled like pine and smoke. Her heartbeat hadn’t slowed since the scream.

Ava remembered something she'd read once—that fear tricks the brain. That adrenaline makes everything sharper, makes people feel connected in ways they’re not. It’s not love. It’s chemicals. But how do you tell the difference when his lips feel like gravity and your body won't stop shaking?

She stayed close to him after that. Too close. She didn’t even like the same music as him. She didn’t know what he did for a living. But she liked how it felt—this sense that only he knew what the fear had felt like. That made him hers. Trauma, it seemed, was a shortcut to intimacy.

Two weeks later, she found out he had a girlfriend.

Not past tense. Present. The kind who texts “I miss you” while he’s in your bed. Ava didn’t scream. She didn’t even cry. She just felt cold all over again. Her body remembered the forest, the scream, the burn of his hand in hers. A chemical echo.

She didn’t confront him. She left without saying a word. He didn’t follow.

That night she dreamt of the woods. Only this time, Daniel was the one who screamed. And she didn’t run. She stood at the edge of the trees, watching. Listening. Feeling nothing.

No one ever talks about how easy it is to fall for someone when your life feels fragile. When you’re afraid, even monsters look like angels. Ava learned that the hard way.

And the worst part?

She still thought about him every time her heart raced.