I raised my knee to get over the ledge. I stood on it, putting my arms up in the air to balance myself until I’m upright, then I looked twenty-stories down where the dusty, grey car I always passed by every morning was parked for, maybe, over a decade.

I wanted to die. And I wanted it to happen here, on the rooftop of some unnamed, but ridiculously high apartment complex. I only called it the Corner because it stood at the corner of the street I used to take to get to work. It’s been here since we moved, my mother and I. And it’s gonna be here ‘till the day I die, too.

I felt the wind and the silence and the buzz of the night when no one cared if some nameless, twenty-something girl is about to die. Because that’s always going to be it—no one gives a flying fuck.

I wish I did. But I really, really just wanted it all to be done.

“So, am I supposed to hug you from behind and act like we’re at the edge of the Titanic?”

I would’ve jumped, but the silence and the wind and the buzz were all gone when a voice came from behind me.

Come on. Can’t one just let a girl die in peace? On her own terms—quiet, wind on my hair, late night buzz—at least?

Pissed with a jaw clenched, I looked behind me. “Go away,” I told the tall, lanky guy doused in darkness a few feet away from me. Only that he was now crossing the little distance we had from each other that’s keeping me from yanking him out for ruining my suicide.

I’ve lived a shitty life. Wouldn’t want the end to be shitty, too, would I?

“Sorry to ruin your moment. Just couldn’t help it when you’re—“ he raised his arms the way I did, only that he made a face with it as if he was imitating some big dumb bird. “You know.”

No, I don’t know.

What I do know though is that you’re ruining my suicide.

“Oh. Sorry. Were you about to—?” he now motioned to jump off the ledge, only that he did it with his arms first as if he was going diving.

I closed my eyes and threw my arms in the air. I looked up as if to ask, ‘really, God?’

“This is going to be really awkward if you keep doing that and you end up-“ he clicked his tongue while slicing his neck with his hand, “-dead. People would think you committed suicide. Or I pushed you over the ledge. Either way, it’s not a good look on either of us.”

I gave him an incredulous look. “I am trying to die.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, so, again, go the fuck away.”

I knew I just said no one gave a flying fuck, but on the day I decided to kill myself, I met someone who gave too much fuck, it did not only fly but also leaned on the wall and walked and peeled oranges in front of me.

I scrunched my nose in irritation and closed my eyes. I always heard that I have anger issues, and I’m starting to think they’re right because I’m so irritated when this guy’s only peeling oranges.

I let out a sigh before folding my knees and grabbing the ledge. I turned my body carefully until I jumped off onto the rooftop floor once again. No wind in my hair. No silence. No death. No suicide.

“Thanks for ruining my suicide.” I snapped at him, rolling my eyes.

He did not say anything. Instead, he peeled the white off of the orange slice he got without taking his gaze off of me.

“What?” I asked, irritated.

“I was just peeling off the whites for you.” He handed me a slice of orange. “Here.”

I stared at his pinched fingers with a slice of orange in it. It was so orange, though. He did a good job peeling off the whites.

I hated the whites on oranges. I always wanted them off because they’re bitter and icky and they felt like strings in my mouth. But my mom would never bother to peel them off. That is if she even cared to peel oranges for me, or any fruit for that matter.

I took a shallow breath before taking a step and plucking the slice from him.

“It’s sweet,” I told him, chewing. “It faintly tastes like iron though.”

“That’s cause I peeled it with my hands. I kind of, um, held a rusty metal before I got here.”

“Sure.”

Silence. No one spoke for a minute. He just continued peeling oranges and swallowing them while looking at the floor. Or he didn’t look at anything in particular. His gaze just roamed around, wishing they had a mouth and a tongue instead because they seemed to want to say something but couldn’t.

“Sorry I didn’t go away,” he spoke. My gaze met his hazel one. “I just got here, so.”

“Yeah. Don’t try to come up here tomorrow at the same time because I’ll do it again. Please don’t interrupt me the second time.”

“That’s a bummer,” he said. “I got here at this time, in this rooftop, because I also wanted to die. And I kind of planned to do it again tomorrow, too.”

Oh.

I didn’t know what to say because 1) I also interrupted his suicide, which I gave him hell for, and 2) it’s kind of getting awkward because we realized we had to compromise on whose suicide is going to happen tomorrow.

“Well, I said it first, so you change your time,” I argued.

“You can’t have two suicides on one place in a day. They’d wrap the place around after the first one and the second one would not be able to do it anymore.”

“Then, you find another rooftop. I got here first.”

“Technically,” he raised his index finger while the rest of his fingers on that hand crumpled the orange skin. “I got here first because I actually live here.”

Of course, he’s living here.

The only rooftop I deemed good enough to die on had to be someone else’s good suicide spot.

I rolled my eyes in annoyance. “For fuck’s sake, I just wanted to die.”

I kicked the air as I puffed out an exhale. I looked up to the waning moon and the scattered stars on the dark night sky. The air grazed my cheeks and tickled my eyes as they started to water. In a snap, my chest felt so heavy that gravity was put to shame. The clouds seemed to swirl over me, and I felt the tears threaten to fall down. I closed my eyes and quickly wiped them with my arm.

“I just…” I murmured under my breath.

Wanted it all to end, I wanted to say, but I’m suddenly out of air.

It’s just all so fucking unfair. I wanted to thrash and kick and punch and destroy but at the same time, my limbs were weak, and I couldn’t stand. I hate feeling like this. Like an empty void was inside me and I couldn’t help but get sucked in. I wanted to cry but my tears were crystals that only leave me bleeding. I just wanted to end it all but I’m apparently the butt of the universe’s joke.

“I’ll do it.”

When I looked at him, his figure was a few steps closer. I wasn’t able to see it before, but he had a big frame. He towered over me, and his hazel eyes were mesmerizing. The right corner of his lips twitched when he said, “I’ll let you jump here instead. I’ll make way for you.”

I blinked away the pool of tears at the corners of my eyes. I looked at him under my weighed-down, wet lashes. I bet my eyes were bloodshot and looked funny, but he didn’t comment on it.

I let him finish because he looked like he needed to get it out or else he won’t say it.

“I’ll give you this, but you have to do me a favor for a month.”

“A month?!” I interjected, borderline hysterical. “Dude, I can’t wait one more month. I want to die now.”

“I understand that, but how about you tell me your problems and I’ll solve them for just the month you’d spend with me. Whatever it is—rent, shelter, food, job—I’ll solve them all. And in turn—“ he fished a white bottle from his pocket, “—you have to feed me this every day without fail for a month.”

I crossed my arms over my chest as I chewed on the inside of my mouth—a habit I unconsciously developed during college whenever I argued for a promissory note because of my overdue payments. And that time I looked at my landlord’s eyes when I told him I’d pay tomorrow. Or that time when I read my mother’s message asking for money after not getting in touch for three months. I realized I did it to distract myself from the pain weighing in my chest, and to make myself bleed just to see if I’m really still alive.

“You can’t solve my problems.” I begged myself to choke out those words, so they might’ve came out a little weak and rough on the edges.

“I’d let you move in. I’d give you money. I’d feed and clothe you.” He took a few steps towards me until I found myself craning my neck just to meet his gaze. “I’d give you everything you ever wanted for a month.” He didn’t stop walking, so I had to walk backwards. “Then, I’d let you do the only thing you’ve wanted the most.” I felt the ledge of the rooftop hit my back. I had nowhere else to go.

His shoulders towered over me, leaving me trapped. He stopped talking in clipped sentences as if he had rehearsed it numerous of times already.

“Or I will push you down here myself. You’d die on this rooftop, on this day.” His gaze remained unwavering and bleak, as if he didn’t just offer to kill me.

I found myself intimidated from his bleak stare.

“Either way, you’ll die. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

A stream of tears fell down my cheeks as the cold breeze brushed my face. I looked at him straight in the eye. I tasted blood in my mouth. I hadn’t stopped chewing.

He stretched his hand with the white bottle between us.

“Turn around if you want to die tonight,” he told me. “Grab this bottle and leave without looking back if you’d stay with me for a month.”

We stared into each other’s eyes and gazed at one another’s soul for a full minute, not a word spoken. Until I looked down at the bottle on his palm and wordlessly grabbed it.

When I walked past him, clutching his little white bottle, I swear I heard him chuckle. But I couldn’t verify because he told me to leave without looking back.