Cities Below

Somewhere below, in the depths of the steel city, a car crash occurs. The horn is blaring, the alarm on another is going off and I can hear the whine of a siren in slowly growing louder as it nears.

I inhale through the filter of a cigarette, feeling the toxins sift through and float into my lungs. A loop of red is stained on the tan piece pinched between my fingers, the last cigarette that I’ll finish off for good. I guess you can say I’m quitting cold turkey. In a way, I am.

Fuck, I’ll still be smoking in hell when I get there.

My legs cross as I sit on the ledge of the apartment building. It’s my safe spot, or had been my safe spot up until now. Now, the rooftop of the building that I’m not actually supposed to go on is my road, the one that will lead me to the walkways below where I’ll hopefully fall through the cracks and slip straight into hell without much trouble – and hopefully not much pain.

I’d pushed everyone away by screening phone calls and starting petty arguments and refusing to be touched. I couldn’t help it though. How could he touch me? How could Oliver touch me without wondering why in the hell he was with me in the first place? How could he take me in his stained and decorated arms without feeling disgusted for choosing me with all of the beautiful people in the world?

I couldn’t even stand myself so how could he stand me?

We hadn’t talked in a week. The flat has been silent between us even at dinner and during the days we didn’t have to work. The television stays off, the radio stays silent and our mouths stay tight-lipped. For some reason though, we move in our sleep automatically toward each other so when I wake before him his arms are draped over my scarred hips where words like ugly, fat and worthless reside from my days as a troubled young adult. I’m still both of those but the cutting stopped at his request when he discovered my secret two years ago.

I had considered going back now that our relationship was practically non-existent but I found a better way to avoid his disappointed eyes and tight, angry frown: Suicide.

I’d thought of it for a long, long time - since I was fifteen, actually - but I’d never gotten to the point I was now. The dark thoughts lurked in my head, resting in the shadows of my mind until I had a close call, when I was had a terrible day that had me nearly going to the bathroom for a bottle of pills. I’d run into someone that day though, on my way home from a long day of University courses.

He’d clung to me and made me cling to him. He’d sparked some sort of hope, some sort of curiosity that had me waiting for his phone calls.

Those feeling faded though, and I pushed and pressed until he finally gave up trying, just as I wanted him to do.

I allow my cigarette to drop over the side of the building and I watch as the stub remaining grows smaller and smaller until I can’t tell where it is anymore. Then I inch closer to the edge that I’m sitting on. I tip, I lose balance but I regain it just as quickly as the heavy door slams open and then shut.

“Remy?”

I close my eyes at the sound of my name.

This wasn’t how it was suppose to happen. He was supposed to be at his friend’s house or at a pub bitching about me to one of his friends so I would be completely and utterly alone when I die. He wasn’t supposed to come back early, he wasn’t supposed to know exactly where I go when I’m in need of some alone time. I don’t want to feel guilty like he’s already making me feel just by him being here.

“Remy!? What in God’s name are you doing!?” he asks, surprisingly more calm than I expected. It holds an edge of concern but he isn’t screaming at me, isn’t telling me that I’m stupid for trying to do this.

I don’t reply. I can’t. Tears are burning behind my eyelids and I don’t want to turn to see his desperate eyes. Instead, I inch a little closer and I hear a tiny sound of panic escape from his throat somewhere behind me.

“Rem., please – please – don’t do this. Don’t make me lose you. I don’t think I can live without you,” he begs softly.

I open my eyes and stare out into the city that blossoms from concrete and pavement like flowers bloom from sticky and messy soil. “Why?” The word comes out as a hoarse whisper.

I honestly want to know why. Oliver didn’t need someone like me to ruin his life. I was a fuck-up, a product of whiskey and a broken condom, a nothing. I knew that for a long time.

“Why?” he asks, as if it’s the most absurd question he’s ever been asked. “Why?” he repeats. “I fucking love you Remy. I want to give you everything I have. I want you to be the reason I wake up at eight in the morning after a late night. I want you to be the one that I have to trick into marriage because you never do what someone asks you to do. I want to hate you when you’re being a bitch and I want you to be the one to tell me with I’m being a cunt.”

He stops and I hear him step forward. I tense and he immediately freezes, the footsteps stopping abruptly.

“I want to be the one that holds your hand when I convince you to get a tattoo, Remy. I want to hold you close when you don’t feel safe, when you don’t feel like going on, until you realize that I actually mean that I love you when I tell you.”

He takes another step closer and I inch even closer away from him, away from life.

“I want you to yell at me when you get frustrated with yourself for not achieving the degree of perfection you want, okay? I want to be the one always waiting for you and I want you to be the one always waiting for me.”

Oliver’s getting dangerously close. I can feel his presence almost directly behind me. He wants to reach out, pull me into safety and then lecture me for being so idiotic but he isn’t reaching.

“I want you to decide to live, to be with me. I know both are hard things to do but I want to work through this tough and bitter life with you every step of the way,” he says, his voice soft but pleading.

He’s making me decide. Live life or take life?

I close my eyes again and think, tears spilling from the ducts, causing my dark lashes to clump together. Mascara is probably pooling beneath my eyes but I refuse to wipe it away.

I think and I think and I think until my brain feels ready to explode.

Nothing makes sense, nothing ever makes sense.

I think some more with Oliver standing behind me, ready to catch me whether I want to be caught or not.

Then I open my eyes and take a leap, a leap that lands me in his tattooed arms and off of the edge of death. He hugs me so tightly that my ribcage is on the verge of cracking into a million pieces and I hug him back like my life depends on it, because it does.

I wait for the lecture to come but it never does. All that comes is silence that’s filled with relief and salty tears that he’ll probably deny if his friends ever question him.

Eventually, his knees give out and we fall to the rooftop where we lay staring at the sky holding each other. “I’m glad you chose me,” he finally admits when the sun fades and the stars light up the sky in place of it. “I probably would have jumped after you if you hadn’t.” He hugs me closer to him so our bones are painfully jabbing each other.

When I say nothing, he sighs.

“How many times do I have to tell you that I love you before you start believing me, Remy?”

None. I know he loves me. I knew the second he didn’t lecture me that he truly and fully loves me. I turn my face toward his and press a chaste kiss on the corner of his lips. “I believe you. I love you, Oli.”

Oliver’s lips twitch upward.

“What’s going to happen in the morning?” I ask a little fearful. It’s a topic I’ve been avoiding since I’ve landed in his arms.

“I’m going to call around if you’ll let me to see if there’s anyone you can talk to. Then, we’ll work through life together and live happily ever after,” he says. “Are you okay with that plan?” His fingers knot in my hair and the pads of which touch gently at my scalp.

I play with the strings of his hoodie tossing the idea around in my head. “I don’t know. I’m warming up to the idea though,” I say. “Happily ever after sounds nice right about now.”

“I think so too, Love,” Oliver whispers, his lips moving along the top of my head. “I think so too.”

We stay there for the rest of the night, holding each other and listening to the sound of the city below.