Let It Happen

I found my best friend on the roof of his apartment block once, just sitting on the edge and looking down, and for a second my heart stopped. He was so still, only his shiny black hair billowing slightly in the breeze. He was so still it was like he was already dead. He didn't even stir as I sucked in a gasp, the small sound carried away by the wind.

If I ran to him, would he jump? If I startled him, would he fall?

As long as I'd known Dennis, I'd never known him to be the type of person to consider jumping off a building. He used to be loud and confident. He used to love himself. I didn't even recognise him now, as I prayed he didn't push off the ledge. He just looked so calm, so resigned, and suddenly I knew that the old Dennis was gone. I knew he'd do it if he wanted to.

Slowly, with shaking hands, he reached for the pack of cigarettes that sat on the edge beside him. He lit the last one and dropped the empty packet, watching it flutter and spin, freefalling to the ground, considering following it down. He drew a lungful of smoke from the cigarette and exhaled, a grey cloud surrounding his head, as if his dark thoughts had come to life around him.

I don't know when I started crying. But suddenly I realised it was happening, because my vision blurred and for one gut-wrenching moment I couldn't see Dennis. And in that moment I knew I'd rather die than live without my best friend, that if he pushed off that ledge I'd follow him. I imagined our broken bodies on the pavement, side by side, our fingers brushing, our eyes closed. I sank to my knees, hugging myself, a sob escaping me.

I wanted to call out to him, beg him not to do it, but sobs shook my body and I could barely form a word. The gravel dug into my bare legs and I was shivering violently in the cold, but I could barely feel anything over the ache in my chest, the breathless sting in my lungs. It felt like I was watching him through a window, and I couldn't call out to him.

But suddenly his hands were gripping my shoulders and I was looking into his blurry blue eyes through my tears. I pulled him to me, shaking, and he wrapped his steady arms around my waist.

"How did you know I'd be here?" he whispered, his tone almost scolding, almost disappointed.

I couldn't answer him; I could barely get my breathing under control. So he just held me, stroking my hair and shushing me. For a moment I forgot anyone else existed. It was just me and Dennis and we were breathing. We were alive.

But then a car beeped below and I flinched, tensing against his skinny body. I felt him laugh softly into my hair.

"Let's go inside," he suggested, stooping to pick me up.

I obediently coiled my legs around his waist and let him carry me inside. I buried my face in his neck, not even sorry that I was getting his shirt wet because this whole thing was his fault. He was doing this to himself.

Tears still stained my face, and as he carried me I wondered why he never cried. Gus had hurt him so many times, making him withdraw further and further into himself until he was almost a skeleton. It was like Gus had taken all his emotions away so he could treat Dennis however he wanted.

I didn't speak until we reached his door and he put me down, fishing in his pockets for his keys, muttering about having no cigarettes left.

"Dennis," I whimpered, and he paused to look at me, his beautiful blue gaze unwavering, almost as if his old confidence was still in there somewhere. "W-would you really have done it?"

"And waste these good looks?" he grinned, but the smile didn't quite reach his lifeless eyes.

Needless to say, his answer didn't reassure me.