21 ~ Steffi

I can’t even think beyond my initial reaction to finding out Noah is Doctor O. I’m hurt, and humiliated, and I feel betrayed. Was he ever going to tell me, or was he going to continue with the chat room and writing erotica behind my back?

The medical center board members will have a blue fit if they find out. And what a delicious scandal for the media on a slow day. Write a clickbait headline for the story of the doctor who writes porn and runs an online forum where women talk explicitly about their sex lives, and the story will be granted eternal life, showing up on websites forever.

Can I trust him now?

Will he always look upon me as Zer-O?

My heart is breaking for our relationship because it feels doomed. And what the hell was Noah thinking? How could he be so careless with his career?

I want to phone Terra and talk it through with her because I can’t think straight. But I’ve never told her about O-Zone, so I guess I’m as guilty of keeping secrets as Noah is. I could explain everything to Terra, now, but what if she told someone? That person would tell one more person and soon everyone would know.

It would eventually get out. All that talk about me being frigid would start up again except I wouldn’t be the ice maiden any more, I’d be Zer-O. Noah would lose his job. Even if our relationship is finished, I’m not putting Noah’s career on the line. He’s an amazing doctor and this world needs more people like him.

My apartment is spotless, but I start cleaning anyway. Whenever I think about O-Zone a rush of shame makes my stomach churn. In the finish I decide on a bike ride. At least I’ll be able to burn off this stress.

Although it’s cold outside I dress lightly. Just a thermal layer and a thin shell jacket because I’ve got a fury to burn that will warm me in minutes. I don’t feel like running into anyone I know, or hikers who want to talk about the scenery, so I head for a rugged back-country trail where I can be alone.

This is hard. The track is steep, but it’s always like that. My legs feel strong, but what makes it difficult is I can’t control my breathing. I can’t find that loose rhythm where I’m pushing myself, demanding more air, and my body responds with long, deep, gratifying breaths. I’m forced to focus on my breathing when I want it to simply happen. And it’s ragged, all over the place. Deep, sharp, short, none of it working properly for the demands I’m making on my legs.

My physical fitness and my lean, toned body are my barrier to the world. Men are attracted to the way I look. You see it in their eyes, you feel it in the way they check you out when you pass them in a bar or on the street. That was enough for me until Noah showed me what I was missing. A deeper emotional connection that made me whole.

And that same emotional connection is breaking me into pieces.

I push harder up a steep incline, over a small branch that’s lying across the track. There’s a lot of debris from last night’s storm strewn about, and the wind sneaks up valleys, surprising me with a sudden gust and vanishing just as quickly. Either can cause a fall.

Balance.

Counter-balance.

Focus.

Read the terrain.

The first part of the climb is over and the terrain flattens for a while, giving me a chance to catch my breath. I’ve yet to reach any sort of conclusion about the way I’m feeling. Throughout the entire climb, my mind has gone in circles, always finishing with why?

Why do I feel betrayed?

Because in the past people have used my vulnerabilities and failures to humiliate me.

It’s not as if I was tricked into joining O-Zone, nor has any of what I’ve written there has been leaked.

So, why do I feel betrayed?

Because Noah should have talked to me the moment he worked out that I was Zer-O.

Noah didn’t trust me. He didn’t trust the way I felt about him, or that our relationship would survive if he told me his secret. The blade wedges firmly in my heart.

I’ve reached the far side of the plateau while completing another circuit of my mind and returned to the start. Collect the money, don’t go to jail. Nothing resolved.

The new track I approach dips sharply, veers right, then hard left, steeper again, a switchback corner. I’m up on my pedals, balanced, weaving through the trees, staying off the brakes. Momentum is my friend.

Momentum remains my friend until I bank a corner, pump out, increase speed, another corner, and there’s a tree across the path.

There’s that split second of realization that I’m airborne and this is going to hurt, before I hit the earth and pain explodes along every fiber of my body. I’m rolling down a steep slope, dropping when the slope disappears, hitting ledges, grasping whatever passes. The wind is knocked from me, but finally my flailing hands catch hold of something solid and momentum—my new enemy—ceases.

I lie there, eyes closed, knowing if I could get into a crouch it would stop the spasm of my solar plexus which prevents me from taking in the air I so desperately need. But I can’t move. I’m on a ledge. It’s narrow. My body is wracked with pain. I’m not ready yet to open my eyes and inspect the damage I’ve done to myself. Eventually the spasm eases. My breathing is shallow at first because I’m not willing to trust my diaphragm not to spasm again.

Finally, I have oxygen, and I have pain. My bike is below me, in a river. My cheek burns and I recall the pedal striking it as the bike and I parted company. I start at my feet, wriggling my toes. They work. I roll both ankles without pain. Finally, I’m brave enough to look at my legs. My pants are torn and there’s a little blood, but nothing life-threatening. My shoulders ache, as do the ribs down my left side, but it doesn’t feel as if anything is broken. Apart from my left wrist. That hurts like a bitch, and my hand doesn’t want to work.

Lastly, I move my head, lick my lips. My mouth is filled with the metallic taste of blood.

As far as accidents go, I’ve come out of this one pretty well.

I reach into my pocket for my personal locater beacon and find it’s gone. My jacket is completely ripped down that side and the beacon and snack bar I always carry are somewhere on this mountain slope. My other pocket is still intact and I’m relieved to find my phone. Of course, there’s no signal.

It’s snowing.

I guess sunset is about an hour away.

I’m an idiot.

I don’t want to list all the things I’ve done wrong because that’s just going to fill me with despair and won’t do a thing for helping me out of this situation. I didn’t inform anyone of my intended route, and I’m woefully underdressed for the weather. Okay, so I am listing the things I’ve done wrong after all.

Climbing back up to the track is out of the question with only one usable hand. Plus, I’m wearing bike shoes which I’m reluctant to remove because my feet will freeze. I peer down. It’s about forty feet to the river. Over to my right is an old landslide with fallen trees and enough new vegetation to make it appear stable. If I can crawl along to it, I should be able to work my way down to the river. Then it’s just a matter of following its path out of here.

This is going to be easier than I imagined. Until it’s not. I crawl my way to the slip which takes an agonizingly long time. Every movement causes pain to rip through my body. My legs feel pretty good. Just bruised. But my shoulder and injured wrist and ribs are giving me hell. Progress down the slip is difficult and slow. At one stage, I lose my footing and my leg slips between two branches of a fallen tree and jams.

Staying positive is the best form of survival so I breathe through the next wave of pain, then take my time freeing my leg. Unfortunately, the slip doesn’t reach all the way to the river bed and I have to pluck up the courage to drop the last six feet. It’s going to hurt and I don’t want any more injuries so I decide to drop and roll.

I don’t want to think about it too much because I’m losing daylight and the snow is falling harder. I close my eyes, visualize a perfect drop and roll, count to three and let go.

I scream with the pain as I roll over my injured ribs. I have my wrist cradled tight against my chest, but my elbow strikes a rock sending a flash of pain along my arm. The worst thing, though, is that I’ve rolled into the river.

Now I’m wet. Lost. Injured.

But I have water. That’s a good thing.

The wreckage of my bike is close by, but there’s nothing I can salvage from it that will be of any use to me so I set off down the river at a careful pace. Every few minutes I consider whether I should be trying to find shelter, or trying to get out of here. I’m shivering, which I hope is from shock because if I become hypothermic I’m in deep trouble. I’ve already lost body heat on the bike ride because my inner core temperature would have lowered through perspiration, even though I felt hot.

The shivering worsens. I decide I must find my bike. I’ll ride out. Then I remember my bike is broken. I can’t stop the shivering and I’m so, so, tired. I’ve no idea how long I’ve been walking along the river edge but it’s almost completely dark now and I’m slipping and tripping more often. Each jolt makes me shudder with the pain of my injuries.

I decide to sit down for a while in the shelter of a large boulder. I hate the bitter wind, and my wet clothing. My shivering has become more violent. If I sit, I’m sure it will pass. And I’m tired. I’ll sleep for a while, then move on again.