Truant Wave
Depression is a little like happy hour
Allie froze in place and looked behind her. A man in a dress suit stood a few feet behind her. His blond hair stood at an awkward angle, but was losing volume. His dress shirt had a few buttons loose at the top under his coat, and he had no tie.
"Excuse me?" She sniffled in the cold air.
"Were you...are you gonna jump?" He asked cautiously. He stepped cautiously, too, even if he was more than 10 feet away.
She became defensive, "What business is it of yours? Do you own this building?"
He shook his head, "No...I just came here to work..."
"Well, you want a story to tell your co-workers? Stick 'round for a few minutes," Allie spat.
"Please don't!" The man shouted, startling her, causing her to jump in place. "Whoa, watch it!"
"Why not? You don't know me!" Her thighs were shivering, goosebumps present; they rubbed against the metal pillars she stood between.
"Nothing is worth doing something stupid over," He told her with sincere eyes, "I'm sure a lot of people will miss you."
"I have no one," She spoke quietly, her eyes falling back to the flowing traffic down below Market Street, "I'm alone. This is my only option."
"No it isn't," The man spoke boldly, stepping a few steps forward.
He wanted to help.
"Yes it is! You don't know me..." Her voice cracked, "I need to do this."
"Please don't," the man stressed softly, "you can...just bring your leg back over and we'll talk."
She shook her head, tears rolling down her cheeks, down her jaw and neck, on to her sweatshirt, "I'd rather die."
"Please, ma'am, don't," he begged.
"Why do you care?" She shot back, looking back at him once more.
"A friend of mine tried to kill himself a few years ago...I wish I could've helped him. He got better, but I wish I was there to talk him through it," he told her.
"Your friend obviously didn't have any real problems," Allie subconsciously brought her leg back, her skirt swirled at her legs.
"He had bipolar disorder."
She snorted, "I've been used, beaten up, and I am ignored. I have no friends, I have no family who care about me."
The man stopped, his heart was breaking listening to this poor girl.
"I just wish my parents gave a damn to actually see why I am the way I am before they dismiss me. They couldn't keep up with the psych bills so they were forced to bring me home," she rambled to this stranger, "Have you even felt like a burden? Like a stranger to your own flesh and blood? To the people who -from your birth- were suppose to love and protect you?"
He shook his head as her hazel eyes bore into his, "No."
"Exactly. I am going to do this to end their suffering. To give myself some fucking peace. To be with my big brother."
He watched her put her leg over again, "Wait!"
She looked at him again, "What now?"
"What's your name?"
"Why do you care?"
"Because, you don't deserve to tell all this to a stranger when you can't tell your family. I can tell them for you."
She laughed bitterly, "Gimme a break! They probably won't look for me. I'll be at the morgue until they feel the need to chuck my remains."
"Please, Miss, don't do this," again, the stranger was begging now.
"Leave me alone," her eyes focused on the pretty lights of down town.
"Just give me your name then," he said, breaking her concentration.
Dazed from sleep and the lights, she spoke absentmindedly, "Allie..."
"Allie. Okay, Allie what?"
"Allie Peralta. What's yours?" she looked back at him, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.
"I'm Patrick Stump."
She nodded, "Nice meeting you...maybe I'll see you in hell."
Allie placed her other leg over and closed her eyes. Her arms outstretched and free flowing through the wind, she prepared to leap forward, but strong arms grabbed her. Patrick yanked her back over the building, and accidentally hit her head on the ground.
"Oh shit," he mumbled.
"Excuse me?" She sniffled in the cold air.
"Were you...are you gonna jump?" He asked cautiously. He stepped cautiously, too, even if he was more than 10 feet away.
She became defensive, "What business is it of yours? Do you own this building?"
He shook his head, "No...I just came here to work..."
"Well, you want a story to tell your co-workers? Stick 'round for a few minutes," Allie spat.
"Please don't!" The man shouted, startling her, causing her to jump in place. "Whoa, watch it!"
"Why not? You don't know me!" Her thighs were shivering, goosebumps present; they rubbed against the metal pillars she stood between.
"Nothing is worth doing something stupid over," He told her with sincere eyes, "I'm sure a lot of people will miss you."
"I have no one," She spoke quietly, her eyes falling back to the flowing traffic down below Market Street, "I'm alone. This is my only option."
"No it isn't," The man spoke boldly, stepping a few steps forward.
He wanted to help.
"Yes it is! You don't know me..." Her voice cracked, "I need to do this."
"Please don't," the man stressed softly, "you can...just bring your leg back over and we'll talk."
She shook her head, tears rolling down her cheeks, down her jaw and neck, on to her sweatshirt, "I'd rather die."
"Please, ma'am, don't," he begged.
"Why do you care?" She shot back, looking back at him once more.
"A friend of mine tried to kill himself a few years ago...I wish I could've helped him. He got better, but I wish I was there to talk him through it," he told her.
"Your friend obviously didn't have any real problems," Allie subconsciously brought her leg back, her skirt swirled at her legs.
"He had bipolar disorder."
She snorted, "I've been used, beaten up, and I am ignored. I have no friends, I have no family who care about me."
The man stopped, his heart was breaking listening to this poor girl.
"I just wish my parents gave a damn to actually see why I am the way I am before they dismiss me. They couldn't keep up with the psych bills so they were forced to bring me home," she rambled to this stranger, "Have you even felt like a burden? Like a stranger to your own flesh and blood? To the people who -from your birth- were suppose to love and protect you?"
He shook his head as her hazel eyes bore into his, "No."
"Exactly. I am going to do this to end their suffering. To give myself some fucking peace. To be with my big brother."
He watched her put her leg over again, "Wait!"
She looked at him again, "What now?"
"What's your name?"
"Why do you care?"
"Because, you don't deserve to tell all this to a stranger when you can't tell your family. I can tell them for you."
She laughed bitterly, "Gimme a break! They probably won't look for me. I'll be at the morgue until they feel the need to chuck my remains."
"Please, Miss, don't do this," again, the stranger was begging now.
"Leave me alone," her eyes focused on the pretty lights of down town.
"Just give me your name then," he said, breaking her concentration.
Dazed from sleep and the lights, she spoke absentmindedly, "Allie..."
"Allie. Okay, Allie what?"
"Allie Peralta. What's yours?" she looked back at him, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.
"I'm Patrick Stump."
She nodded, "Nice meeting you...maybe I'll see you in hell."
Allie placed her other leg over and closed her eyes. Her arms outstretched and free flowing through the wind, she prepared to leap forward, but strong arms grabbed her. Patrick yanked her back over the building, and accidentally hit her head on the ground.
"Oh shit," he mumbled.