She dangled over the cliff while Alan and Ken talked. Her hands ached. She had carefully slid over the cliff to run away from Ken. She figured he would think she was too chicken to go near the cliff - with her fear of heights and all. She was lucky she made it this far. Usually her attempts at running away were stopped before she even had a chance. But Ken didn't anticipate the screwdriver in her pocket. And when he was settling-up for a "ride", he didn't see it until it was sticking out of his shoulder. Alan knew she was there, he saw her put herself there. He did nothing but watch. Ken made himself comfortable on the ground, no more than five feet away, while Alan mended Ken's wound.
She couldn't breath. She couldn't risk being found and dragged back to the house. He did things to her, even to Alan. That's why she wasn't angry at him for not throwing Ken of her trail. Ken had a leash on both of them and punishment for running away was worse than dying.
She had a choice. She could easily pull herself up and go back to the house. She knew that life.The life wasn't one worth living, but it was the only one she knew. The cycle of abuse was never ending. Her grip was slipping.
Or...
She released her grip and kicked off and away from the cliff. She fell into the unknown with fear and a bit of hope choking her heart. She took a deep inhale waiting to feel the water surround her body.
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