I let go of him. I’m suddenly tired to the bone, my body limp as a rag doll. For a moment I think about climbing down with Garrett. His car will be in the parking lot, and he will be able to take me home. He seems clear-headed enough to drive now, and I can tell how bad he feels, both for accosting me and for almost dropping me.

But I don’t feel safe with him. I know how hurt he’s been, and I know he doesn’t mean to lash out—but I’ve been making excuses for him for months now.

“You go ahead,” I say. My voice is soft but firm. “I want some time alone, okay?”

He frowns at me. “It’s dangerous out here at night. I don’t think I should leave you.”

I shake my head. “Look, it’s been a crazy night. I need some time to process it all, okay? I’ll be all right. I’ll head down to Nisha’s when I’m ready to get out of here. But right now I just need a little space.”

He doesn’t let go of my hand. For just a moment he looks into my eyes, and I can see everything he wants to say there—how sorry he is, how sad he is, how much he loves me. I look away, toward the bright city lights.

“Will you call me tomorrow?” he asks, a slight tremor in his voice.

I hesitate. I want so badly to break it off with him, once and for all. I want a brand-new start when I walk off this mountain. But if I set him off again, who knows what he’ll do?

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow, when he’s sober, when we’re not in the middle of nowhere, I’ll rip the bandage off. I’ll end it and tell him my decision is final. But for now this is the best I can do.

He reaches out to take my hand in his. We stand that way for a minute, him cradling my fingers in his palm. Something about it—how tender he’s gotten, and how ashamed—twists my heart. Then he pulls away, still a little shaky on his feet, and turns wordlessly, walking slowly down the trail to the parking lot. I can hear him even after he disappears from my sight, breaking branches and stumbling.

A profound silence settles over the canyon when he’s gone. All of the city sounds—barking dogs and sirens and cruising motors—have died away.