Slowly, twisting, turning through the late fall air the red leaf fluttered to the ground at my feet. I reached out to the cold, hard steel and trailed one gloved hand over it. I could feel every nut, every bolt, where the steel cable went through it. I knew every dent, every rust blister, and every scratch along the tubing.

I walked along the causeway, my steps ringing in my ears as I stare over the railing. As I get further out along the edge I stop, stare down into the rolling, heaving waves below me and sigh.

It seems so clear in my mind even after all these years. I was nineteen, cold, alone, my only link to the world gone and desperate to end the pain. It was raining that day, too early in the fall for snow so the rain seemed to echo my sentiments.

The steady rain seemed to flay my skin, ripping at my clothes, at my very soul. The tears racing down my face were washed away by the icy, fall water. Reaching up I pulled out the slim chain that surrounded my throat and stared at the silvery metal.

“No more hurting, no more misery or missing…” I whispered into the air. In a moment of rage I ripped my gloves from my hands, tossing them into the river below. Moving with ease, acceptance within my body I inched my way forward, closer, and closer to the edge only to pause once more on the precipice.

I closed my eyes and offered a silent prayer that where he was, whatever he was doing he would be happy. He would find what he had lost, find who he was. I prayed he never knew just how much I needed him, how badly, how desperate I was for his touch, his love.

A split second before I could step off that cold, impersonal spot on the bridge a hard, muscled arm wrapped around my waist and jerked me back. My body slammed into the warmth and hard length of a man’s body knocking the wind from my lungs.

I didn’t want to live so I struggled; twisting and kicking within his grasp until he pulled me over the railing and whirled me around to face him. There was so much rage, so much pain within the hazel eyes staring at me that I felt ashamed.

“Please, let me go.” I whispered tearfully.

“I can’t.” Dragged behind him to where he’d parked the bike, he tossed me on and climbed on behind me. A moment later the roar filled my ears and I watched as the bridge faded from my sight.

Every year after that he brought me back to that spot. He walked onto the bridge with me and stared down into the rough water below, waiting for what I did not know. We spent five years in New York before I ran again. It was almost funny, me the one that ran and not him…but I did. I ran … here. I stood alone on the cold steel of this bridge and stared down below and realized what it was he was looking for.

He wanted my love. He wanted to know that there was something worth living for. He needed to know that he could love, could live because for so very long all he’d wanted was death. I didn’t see it, didn’t believe it after being told that I would never be ‘safe’, never be loveable because of my mutation.

The knowledge dropped into my head that cold autumn day as I stood staring at death. I was what had saved him from an eternal misery; I gave him mortality within his immortality. In that moment I no longer wanted to die, and every year since then I’ve come back here. I’ve stood in this spot and looked out over this water and thanked my lucky stars that he loved me enough to save me… from everything and everyone including myself.

I can hear the roar of a motorcycle and I turn to smile at the man sitting on the rumbling beast. It’s been two lifetimes since that last moment of weakness but it hasn’t dimmed my desire to be there for him, to live for him. So every year, on the anniversary of our death and rebirth I return to this place. This time though we are not alone. My gaze darts to the group standing behind my savior, my lover, my husband and I pat the railing like an old friend before I turn away. I have a family, kids, grandkids, great-grand babies, and a man who has stood through everything with me.

Even as I walk toward him I know that next year, on a cold autumn day I will be standing on the causeway of this bridge, staring down at the waves. I know as well that I will be leaving flowers again…after all one must mark the anniversary of a death, and a birth. With a warm, loving smile I climb on the back of the bike and wrap myself around him, nuzzling into his neck and listening to the familiar growl that escapes him.

“Home, Logan. There are things I need to do with you.” I whisper and watch as our family, our lives follows us as the bridge fades from view.

I am at peace.