Fuck it. I'm so tired of everything. Of crying myself to sleep. Of being bullied. Of cutting, burning, or harming myself in any way I possibly can. I’m done with life. I stand on the roof of the apartment building I live in. Used to live in, In about 2 minutes. Seven stories up has to be enough to kill me, right? I don’t ultimately care how high I am or how long it takes as long as I’m dead by the time I hit the ground. I call 911 for the irony of it, knowing they won’t be here in time. For no reason other than so that hopefully the person who finds me isn't a poor little kid. (I'm depressed, not a monster.)

    I’m sitting on the very edge. I hear the 911 dispatcher in the back of my mind and through the phone behind me. I cant make out what he says, even though any normal person could understand clearly; ”Don’t do it. Stay on the phone with me. Don’t go anywhere.” I hear the panic in his voice, and part of me feels bad for him. Wasting so much time and energy trying to keep me from jumping when in reality we both know it will happen. The poor guy probably hasn't even worked there for long. He'll probably take off a week of work after today for counselling. I don’t care. I mean, I do, but it doesn't bother me as much as it should. Besides, he can’t really know how I feel. Not like this.

    I take one last deep breath. I hear the sirens in the distance. I lean forward, pushing myself off the edge easily, never even hanging up the phone. I can hear the man frantically trying to get my attention from the call center only ten short minutes away from this building. I fall, for what seems like forever, then hit the ground. Hard. But somehow uninjured, much to my irritation. For a moment, I curse in my head. Was that really not high enough? But I quickly realize, I didn’t hit the ground. Someone caught me. I honestly expect to look up and see a firefighter or policeman or something, even though this was way t orisk to just try to catch me. It shouldn't be possible for them to be there that quickly, but maybe I lost track of time.  Instead, I glance upwards to see a guy, probably about 19, my age. Messy raven hair, gloves covering the palm and back of his hands. Leaving his fingers uncovered and vulnerable. Light skin. Dark leather jacket. Black skinny jeans. My first thought seeing his face: he looks like an incredibly hot, handsome fuck boy.

“You could’ve gotten hurt,” he whispers in my ear, and despite what was going through my mind only four seconds before, all I can think of now is how beautiful he is, how seductive his voice is even in only those four words.

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“That was kind of the point,” I respond in fake irritation, not letting on that this total stranger has completely captured my attention and heart.

“Oh, really?” he sets me down gently and glances into my eyes, before walking off. Then he freezes, spins back toward me on his heel, and it allows me to notice the intensity of his hazel eyes, flecked with green. I see passion in them, contemplation on what to say and do. 

“Walk with me?” he asks, a slight waver in his voice, but I can tell how fake this 'uncertainty' is. Pretending not to be confident when I can tell you certainly that he knows exactly what he is doing and he is so sure that his plan will eventually work if he continues just a little longer, when he doesn’t know it already has. He has already catured my entire being, and I suddenly want to tell him everything about me.

“Sure” I tell him crisply, pushing my purple-stained brown hair out of my face. I pretend to be out of sorts, as I ultimately hope he can’t read my every movement like I can his.

    Ten minutes later I'm sitting across from him at a small twenty-four-seven diner. I can see even more of him now, more deails than I could out in the dark. The small scrapes across his face, the way he fidgets with the straw wrapper while we talk. Everything about him is attractive. I scream at myself in my head. Why the hell is he so handsome? He looks like... Shut up. Shut up, London, now is not the time for your stupid fantasies. I take another sip of the hot chocolate in front of me, feeling more awkward as I realize he ordered a coffee. He grabbed my phone before we got here, thankfully. He also found the stuffed rabbit that must have fallen out of my pocket. He gave me a small smile as he tossed it to me, and I now play with it under the table. 

    "Darling, we've been sitting here for three hours, you barely even touched your drink, and you haven't said much. You sure you're okay?" He looks at me from across the table, his gaze having such a mature feel. Like he can read everything I've been holding back, the things I feel about him. After about two minutes of no response from me, he speaks again.

"Stop fidgeting with the rabbit, baby." He looks at me, a small smile on his face, watching my reaction as he uses a finger under my chin to guide my head up. "What's going on?"

"Nothing... Sorry." I respon in a quiet voice, my little side getting the best of me. I notice the folded napkin in front of me.

"Its okay hun. Look, I've already payed, but I have to go now. Are you going to be okay for the night? Do you need a place to stay?" After my insistent no, he finally decides I will be okay on my own and he starts a walk somewhere, I assume to his place. I glance at the napkin, and put the number scribbled hastily on it in my phone. This was going to be a very interesting night. My dad would not be thrilled with me getting home at one in the morning.