The rain was like bullets on my skin. Now, I could actually understand what people meant by 'pouring'. It was like God was taking a nice, long piss, just to keep the mood going. The water was so very below, and the bridge felt like a cliff. I swallowed. This was it. No one was here to watch, just like no one was ever there for me in the first place. I pulled my hood up and crawled over the railing cautiously. Now there was even less footing between me and the edge. All I could hear was the pouring rain, down, down on my shoulders.

There was no one for me in this world. Parents? Died a while back. I wasn't sad though. I never even loved them. Sure, they were always there for me and they treated me great, but I never felt that kind of love that I was supposed to. Friends? I never had any. I don't want to be friends with anyone, and no one wants to be friends with me. There's really no point in living anymore. The landlady said she'd kick me out cause I wasn't paying rent. And so now, I've decided to disappear from this world, to see if it would change anything. To lie down at the bottom of hell and look up and see if anyone came to my funeral.

I could hear footsteps behind me, fast paced and hard. I ignored them, and took a deep breath, before taking a shaky step forward. I felt the air leave my gut and I felt weightless. In that one moment, as my body dropped, I couldn't feel anything. No sadness, no regret, no feelings for myself. Just the feeling that I was light as air. And that's when someone grabbed my arm. I was hanging, teetering. I screamed and looked up, but I couldn't see anything cause the rain was shooting my eyes. "Let me go! Let me go!" I screamed, but I couldn't move my body. Like I was frozen. I felt so vulnerable, right then, that someone had my life right in their hands.

"No! I'm pulling you up!" The voice was barely heard over the rain, but it sounded like a man. That's when the feelings kicked in. Regret, sadness, and a whole lot of my body just aching. Not pain. Just my body wanting to drop and get it over with. I began to struggle, but this person was stronger than I thought, and had pulled me up over the railing in a matter of seconds. Momentum drove towards the man's body and I pushed away, crying out. I didn't want to be saved. I wanted to die.

The man pulled me close into a tight hug, and I sobbed, my attempts at breaking away getting weaker and weaker, before I just gave up and cried into his chest. It felt like ages before he scooped me up and carried me off of the bridge. I didn't protest. Whether he turned out to be some kind of weirdo rapist didn't even matter anymore. It was either him or the bridge. And hey, if I was going to die, why not help someone before I go?

I was taken into an apartment and dropped onto a couch, despite the fact that my clothes were making it wet. I lowered my hood and decided to take a look at my rapist-to-be. He was young, and he looked barely older than me. Rough, tanned skin. A strong jaw. And he was very tall. Plain black eyes and cropped black hair. He looked just like any average guy. I turned away. "Why'd you save me?"
My voice cracked at the end.

"Because no one should have to take their own life."

I didn't say anything to that.

A week passed. I tried to starve myself, steal a kitchen knife, anything I could do to kill myself, but he always seemed to be a step ahead of me. Even when he went to my apartment and got me all my clothes, he tied me down to the couch so I couldn't do anything. He force-fed me when I refused to eat by myself. I barely even remember his name, yet he had mine memorized clearly. Yamamoto Takeshi. A simple, generic name. I had to right it down on my and so I wouldn't forget. I stopped trying to kill myself. He'd stop me anyway, so I was no longer bothered.

A whole month passed. I could remember his name without writing it down now. I ate quietly by myself, and thanked him politely and acted like proper guest, even though I wanted nothing but to leave. He was gentle with the way he touched. There wasn't a single moment when he acted forcefully or hurt me. I began to think of him more fondly, more as a friend. I just couldn't hate him. He was too nice, too funny, and too sweet to hate.

It was a very normal day for us. I'd stay at home and watch TV or read or do something normal and boring. I heard him open and shut the door, and drop a few bags in the kitchen. I dropped my book and walked in. He had a very normal smile on his face, like he always did. He looked at me. "Hello~"
I didn't say anything. I leaned against the wall, my hands behind my back. It felt odd. A whole month just gone, and not a single bad thought in my mind for the past few days. The words came out of my mouth before I could stop them. "Why'd you save me, back then?"

He stopped emptying the bags and turned to look at me, his smile gone. He moved faster than I thought he would and his hands were on either side of my shoulders, trapping me. His gaze was stronger than I'd seen before, and I was scared; just a bit. "You already know."
I didn't say anything to that. I looked down. The moment I felt his press his lips against mine, I froze. My mind just wasn't processing what was happening. He pulled away and looked me right in the eye. "If you can't pay rent, you know what people do? They get a job. When people are hungry, they go and cook. And when people are unhappy, they go find something or someone they love and never let them go."

I bit my lip and threw myself onto him in a tight hug, blubbering and sobbing into his shoulder as he kissed my hair and squeezed me tight.

It was very normal that day when he went out. Months had already passed, and we'd established a nice and lovey dovey relationship. So when he went out to get the groceries, I didn't question anything. But he didn't come back that night. Or the next night. Or the nights after that. I was worried sick. Whenever I asked him what he did for a living, he'd give me vague answers that never really answered the question, so I always dropped the subject. Now I really wished I pressed him for answers. Nearly a week and a half passed before I heard the door slam open and feet rush in. I scrambled downstairs, to see three unfamiliar men in suits, and Takeshi, covered from head to toe in blood. One of them grabbed me and put me in the kitchen and locked me in.

I screamed and pounded at the door and begged them to let me out, but no one would answer. Hours passed and my screams got quieter and quieter, before they died out completely and I was left to sob in the corner quietly. The door opened, and there stood a man, with cropped white hair and a bandage on his nose. He was taller than Takeshi, and looked like he could break a wall with a single punch. "You can see Takeshi now." His voice was friendly.

I scrambled up and went into his room, to see him sitting up in his bed, with bandages all over his chest and arms. I didn't even think when I ran and hugged him so hard that he fell back against the pillow. People left the room, and the door shut behind them. I let go of him and wiped away the tears in my eyes. "Sorry." I got off of him and helped him sit up. "Its okay."

He enveloped me in another hug, holding me close. The stench of blood was still on him, but I was no longer worried. I had plenty of time to ask him what happened later, but now, I happy just having him back.

DONT ASK ME. I CANT WRIGHT SUICIDE FICS. I JUST CANT. EVERYTHING I WRITE TURNS OUT LOVEY DOVEY AND SHIT OKAY ITS NOT FAIR I DONT HAVE ANY SKILLS LEAVE ME ALONE

Will be continued.