Page 144 of Hurt

Willow was going to crawl out of hell and save her family from the Vegas if it was the last thing she did.

After twenty or so swings the foot finally broke off. It left the end of the tibia ragged and sharp. Exactly what Willow wanted.

A few years ago, Willow had watched a documentary on rock climbing. At the time she had sat splayed out on the beanbag in their shitty apartment above the bar with only half her attention on the screen. Rummaging through the crumbs left on the bottom of the bag of chips, she had watched a man scale a sheer rock wall with nothing but a pair of pickaxes and what looked like soccer cleats on steroids.

Willow didn’t have any of that. She had a leg.

Touching along the wall she spent a good amount of time trying to find a good crack to use. The minutes ticked by, and a cold sweat beaded up on her forehead. It was sensory deprivation in this pit. There was no light, and the only sound was what she created.

Her mind drifted to the dead body behind her. Or next to her. Willow wasn’t sure where it was. Did that person do the same thing? Were they alive down here for days or were they lucky enough to die on impact?

Maybe the cold, the dark, and the hunger finally got to them, and they bashed their head against the wall until they died.

Willow didn’t know but she felt a twinge of sadness for the person she only knew by the feel of their mummified remains. It was probably an attempt to find a connection in the hellscape she found herself in.

“I’ll come back for you,” she promised to the darkness.

The ‘if I get out of here’ went unspoken between them, but they both heard it.

Finally, she found a crack she thought she could work with. Blindly she dug at it with the jagged end of bone. She slipped several times and the bone cut into her hand. The walls bloodied her knuckles.

But then it caught purchase. Surprisingly solid, she tested her weight on the makeshift pickaxe. It held.

The next problem was her feet. Willow’s sneakers couldn’t get purchase on the slick wall.

Toeing them off, she pressed her toes against the cold wall and wriggled them until they curled around the shallowest of crevices. Her eyes were closed as she tried to funnel whatever energy they might use into her other senses.

It was exhausting and slow. One inch up took what felt like ages. Her left hand would search for a hold while the right clung to the bone embedded into the wall. Once her toes found a grip, she would wiggle the bone loose and plunge it into the wall where her left hand was. Like that, she felt she was making progress.

Willow refused to look up or down. She refused to open her eyes. Mind blank, she only allowed herself to move through the motions. The only thing she allowed herself to dwell on was the feeling of her family.

Sharing shitty pizza with Noah in an apartment that was too warm.

The first time she saw Roland looking at her with eyes too bright for a face that cold.

Kurt playing music with her again.

Willow clawed and dragged her body up the wall. Her fingers were bloody stumps, and her toes were in no better shape. Her shoulder was on fire and her face was bruised from hitting it against the rock. The tip of her nose was raw from dragging up the stone.

None of that mattered.

She turned her face up and opened her eyes. Weak light splashed over her face.

Ten bloody stumps dug into the lip of the Void. With everything she had, Willow pulled herself out of the pit and rolled onto the floor.

She stared up at the light attached to the wall. She stared at it until her eyes hurt and tears streaked down her dirty face.

Clutching the bone to her chest, she forced herself to breathe in the stale air and feel the light on her skin.

Using the bone as a crutch, she pushed herself up. She turned her mud and blood caked face to the door.

They cut her wings and pushed her into the depths of hell expecting her to die. But Willow was no fallen angel, she was a demon, and she didn’t need wings to fly.

26

OH, FATHER TELL ME, DO WE GET WHAT WE DESERVE?

Willow’s bare feet scuffed against the sloping floor. The soft sounds were the only noise she made. With one hand on the wall and the other wielding the leg bone in front of her like a sword, she slowly made her way up the long hallway. How long had it been since Asher dragged her down this hallway? It felt like an eternity. Her memory was hazy.