The ladder seems sturdy as I climb it. The rungs are flat pieces of metal with grooves for traction; it feels uncomfortable to climb. I’m slow to ascend, but as I get higher up, my heart starts to race and my legs feel like jelly. 

It’s at this moment where I realize I’ve never actually been this high up on a ladder before. Instead of brushing it off and continuing my climb, I glance down. Rookie error. 

I can see out the window all the way down to the street below. There are a few scarce people that look like tiny specs; the cars look like toys. When I was standing on the floor, it didn’t seem quite so high, but now it feels like there’s nothing really keeping me from falling. It’s like I’m floating, suspended in the air with nowhere to go but hurdling back down.  

It doesn’t take me long to piece together that I might have a fear of heights. This is highly inconvenient as I’ve stopped about 7ft off the ground.  

Mr. Sharpe is focused on his laptop; his suit jacket hanging off the back of his chair as he works diligently. He’s completely oblivious to the fact that I’m frozen two thirds up the ladder, gripping it for dear life. I’m trembling and my hands are sweaty, which isn’t good because my sweat is definitely more pink than a human’s. The only saving grace is that I’m not completely full on blood, which will dilute it a bit and maybe make it not quite so noticeable. 

But, sweaty hands mean that my grip on the ladder keeps slipping. And the most urgent problem—that I’m now discovering—is that I can’t seem to force my body to take a step forward or back. It’s like my feet won’t move. 

Even my jaw is clamped shut, so I can’t speak or ask for help. And what would I even say? What could Mr. Sharpe even do?

I have to just suck it up, keep climbing, and clean the windows. Then, I can get down. 

I look up at how high the ceilings are and how far I’ll have to reach. I’m woozy at the sight. My vision even warps a little, like my brain is soup. My whole body is chilled. 

The worst possible thing I can do right now is pass-out and I fight every instinct that’s making me want to close my eyes and let go. 

Come on, Micah. You’re not going to fall. Don’t be silly. 

Though I try to give myself a mental pep talk, I can’t help feeling like I’ve jinxed myself. Was it not moments ago I was imagining falling off the ladder into Mr. Sharpe’s waiting arms? Now I’m deathly terrified of the prospect. 

Mr. Sharpe stops typing and I can see in my peripherals that he’s glancing over his shoulder at me. I wonder if he’s been alerted by the prolonged silence when I should be cleaning the windows or if my shaking hands are making the ladder rattle. All I can hear is my blood rushing through my ears as my heart tries to punch its way through my ribcage. 

“Are you alright?” Mr. Sharpe asks. 

I can’t even move my head to really look at him, I’m too afraid that any movement will somehow lead to my demise. What a lame-ass vampire you are, Micah. Scared of heights? Come on! You’re better than this! 

My stomach sinks as I quickly come to the conclusion I am in fact not better than this.

“Micah, are you okay?” He sounds more concerned now. I don’t want him to worry about me. Not after everything I’ve already done to make a fool out of myself. 

Very very slowly, I nod in response. 

“Really? You don’t look alright.” Mr. Sharpe seems unconvinced, and I don’t blame him. I’m like a frickin’ statue. I can’t remember ever being this petrified. 

Mr. Sharpe swivels in his chair, still seated but facing me now. “Are you sick?”

Do I look that pale?

Again, tortuously slowly, I shake my head. 

He’s quiet for a moment before he finally asks, “Are you stuck?” He doesn’t sound judgmental or angry or alarmed, and I find his tone rather comforting. It’s like he knows it’s the answer, and he’s right.  

Letting out a shuddering breath, I find my only option is to admit, “I think I’m afraid of heights.” I glance at him to see his eyebrows raise. 

He’s looking up at me in curious confusion. He stands up from his chair, folding his arms across his chest. It makes his fitted shirt strain at the buttons, and I find the distraction hugely uplifting.  

I’m brought back to reality as he asks, “You think? If you’re afraid of heights… Why exactly did you decide to get up there? I’m sure Sam wouldn’t have forced you if she’d known, it’s not like this is a normal part of your job…” 

My stomach sinks as I realize he’s waiting for me to divulge some reasoning for my actions, and I’m suddenly worried that he thinks this was all some tactic to impress him or come off as some model worker. The truth feels far more embarrassing as I mutter, “I didn’t know.”

“What’s that?” Mr. Sharpe takes a step forward, craning his neck like he’s trying to hear me. 

Am I really that quiet? It must be the nerves. 

I’m still stiff and shaking; my arms and legs are starting to feel sore from being completely rigid and immobile for so long. I find the courage to say, a little louder, “I didn’t know I’m afraid of heights! I’ve never been on a ladder this tall before. I didn’t think I’d react this way!” I finally manage to turn my head and stare at him. I’m humiliated as I confess, “I literally don’t think I can move.”

He grunts, stepping closer to the ladder. “Come on. Of course you can. Here I’ll—”

“Wh-What are you doing?!” I grip the ladder tighter as I see him reach for me, still convinced that any minute touch or movement will somehow cause me to topple. If I think about it logically, even if I do fall I’ll probably be fine. But somehow, right now, this is just as terrifying as going out on a sunny day.  

Mr. Sharpe freezes with his hand hovering by my side, the other brushing the leg of the ladder. I wonder if I’ll finally see what he looks like when he’s irritated, but when he speaks it’s slow and soothing. “I’m just going to hold the ladder and support you so you can climb down. Is that okay?”

I swallow, letting out another quivering breath as I nod. “Yeah. Yeah, thank you. I’m sorry.” I don’t even feel embarrassed right now. I just want to get down and feel my feet touch the ground. 

Mr. Sharpe grips the ladder tightly and puts his hand on my waist, like he’s ready to catch me or stop me from falling. I can feel the heat of his palm through my clothes, and there’s no denying I missed it. Ever since the pharmacy I’ve thought about his hands on me, firm and warm—but I can’t indulge in that thought right now. He’s just being helpful, and heaven knows I’m grateful for it. 

Focusing on my breathing, I carefully lift a foot off the rung I’m standing on and lower myself onto the next rung down. I make sure my step is steady and anchored before gripping the sides of the ladder and lowering my other foot. My breathing feels easier as I successfully move one step closer to the ground. 

“There you go. Piece of cake,” Mr. Sharpe says. It’s supposed to make me feel better, but it just drives guilt deeper into me. He’s so nice—too nice, it’s unfair. I’ve probably caused him more trouble in the past two days than any worker has in years. And he doesn’t even know about half of it. He literally saved me and drove me home and I can’t even bear to admit it to him or thank him properly. 

I’m the worst.

I’m still trembling as I mutter, “Yeah. Yeah, it wasn’t so bad.” 

“Just one step at a time,” he says softly as I take another step down. 

I nod, sucking in a deep exhale as I say, “Yeah. Just one step at a—”

My foot slips and my hands are too sweaty to hold onto the ladder. I flail in a panic, gripping onto the closest thing I can to stop myself from falling. For a split second I think I manage to close my fingers around the ladder, but I can feel fabric crumble in my hold. My eyes dart to my hand and I realize in horror that I’ve latched onto Mr. Sharpe’s tie.

Suddenly I’m falling backward and I’m yanking him down with me. 

The ladder folds and falls with us. 

Before I can outstretch my arms to stop it or brace myself, my back hits the ground, along with my head; it’s a hard, dizzying thud. I shout out in shock and the flare of pain, witnessing as Mr. Sharpe catches himself on his hands and knees, hovering over me. There’s barely another second before there’s a rattling crash, and the ladder smacks onto Mr. Sharpe before sliding off of him. 

I want to ask if he’s okay, but the wind is knocked out of me and I can’t even breathe. It’s a frightening few seconds before I gasp and groan, holding my head as I lie there for a moment with a massive, splitting headache. Bright lights pop in front of my eyes, clearing as I stare up to see Mr. Sharpe inches away from my face. 

I instantly blush, staring up into his dark, shining eyes. He’s panting as he leans over me, and his gaze is intense. He looks flushed, and my heart skips a beat as I imagine a completely different scenario. 

If I wasn’t throbbing from the fall, I’d be incredibly aroused. It reminds me of my dreams, but this is better, because I can see his face. 

Pulling myself together, I wince, propping myself on my elbows. “Ah, Mr. Sharpe! Oh my god, I’m so sorry, are you okay?!”  

Mr. Sharpe pushes himself back to a kneel. “Fuck,” he hisses, rubbing the back of his head. “I’m fine. Are you okay?”

“Don’t worry about me!” I sit up a little more, still reeling as I look at him. He looks like he’s in pain, and my stomach sinks at the idea. He was just trying to help me. “Mr. Sharpe, I am so, so sorry.”

“It’s not that bad.” His face says otherwise. “Just smarts a bit. Looks like we both hit our heads pretty good.” He’s playing it off, which only makes me feel worse. He flinches like something’s stung him and stops rubbing his head. I’m about to ask what’s wrong when I see him grit his teeth and lower his hand to his lap.

My words die out and my heart almost stops. 

Any expression on my face instantly melts away. My throat burns, mouth instantly watering as I stare at his hand. My gaze is magnetized onto it. All my pain is suddenly tolerable; I barely even notice it, because I only have one thought…

Mr. Sharpe’s hand is covered in something dark and glistening. 

I can smell it in the air, the sweet tang that makes me swallow hard. I'd know it anywhere. The scent of warm… thick… red… 

Blood.