Warnings for attempted suicide and possible triggers.

Don't let me fall.

The night was dark, dreary. The sky was cloudy and the threat of rain bloomed over the buildings and skyscrapers of New York City ominously. The air was thick with moisture from the upcoming downpour. Wind blew and thrashed forcing the girl with long brown hair and storming grey eyes to lean into it slightly to stop herself from falling backwards. It would rain and it would storm but it wouldn't matter. The girl would be dead before the first drop of the April shower fell from heaven.

She was even sort of glad, in an ironic way. The rain would help wash away the blood from the sidewalk seven stories below. It would drip and flow away from her body like a river or a stream or... It didn't matter. The rain would take her blood into the sewers of New York and disappear. Just like she would. She'd just disappear, like she never existed at all.

Eighteen years old and she wanted to disappear. She wanted to die and the sad thing was that she wasn't upset about it. Death didn't scare her. Living scared her.

The wind whistled. It would be over soon. She would be over soon. It, her, her life, was almost over. The wind was loud but it wasn't loud enough. She could still hear their taunts over the whistle. She could hear them calling her names. The wind couldn't deafen them.

Fat.

Annoying.

Wale.

Piece of shit.

Useless.

You're such a fucking bitch.

Why don't you just go kill yourself!

It hurt so badly. All the names. All the taunts. All the horrible jokes they pulled on her. They spray painted Fat Bitch across her car windshield. They broke into her locker and filled it with McDonalds bags. They shoved her. They degraded her. They told her she was worthless. They taped notes to the brim of her locker calling her bitch and whore and fat ass. She couldn't take it anymore. She couldn't take them anymore. She couldn't take anything anymore. She couldn't take herself anymore.

She'd tried talking to people, her mom, her teachers, her friend and they tried to help. They tried to hold out their hands and pull her back from this spiral that had become her life since the beginning of her senior year but they just didn't understand.

"It's just words, Ella."

They brushed it off like it was nothing. Just words. Just thoughts. Nothing serious. Nothing to get upset over.

"It doesn't matter what they think."

They'd tell her then they'd act like their words were gold and they had the magic cure for her. They'd act like they'd just fixed her and that was it. She's welcome. Get better. Don't be so sensitive.

"People's opinions don't matter," they'd say.

But they do. They do matter because they might just be words from people whose opinion shouldn't matter but it does because everyone wants to be liked. Everyone wants someone to be there for them. Everyone wants to feel loved.

But the girl, she doesn't feel loved. She doesn't feel safe. She doesn't feel wanted. She feels useless. Stupid. Fat. Bitch. She'd never had sex but she feels like a whore because they told her she was. They screamed it at her and painted it across her locker and spit it in her face. She's never failed a test but she feels stupid because that's what her father called her before he slammed the door in her face and walked out of her life. She's doesn't feel old but she knows that her life is almost over. She knows that she's going to die because she knows that she's going to kill herself.

She doesn't sob as she looks over the edge but that doesn't mean she hasn't cried. She cried the first day they called her fat, the first time they shunned her. She bled salty tears when her dad walked out on her and her mom. She cried when she'd finally come to the conclusion that no one would care if she died. She cried when she decided the way she wanted to die. She cried right after she gave her favorite book to the girl who claimed to be her friend, she wouldn't need the book anymore. But now, now there were no tears if sadness. She wasn't sad, she was content. It would be over soon.

She gazed down at the sidewalk thoughtfully and tried to measure where exactly she would fall. Would she hit the streetlamp on her way to the ground? Would she slam into the mail collector? No one walked down the street, it was too late at night, so she didn't worry about falling on - killing - anyone else when she hit the ground. She took one foot up on to the ledge of the building. It was windier a foot higher in the air, it almost shocked her. Though, it didn't shock her any more than the voice that suddenly rang out behind her.

"It's a long way down, isn't it?"

She'd been caught. Now there was a spectator to see her jump.

The girl refused to turn around even though the voice sent shivers down her arms. She didn't want to turn around because she didn't want to see what was looking at her at her weakest moment, at her final moment. She didn't want to see the shame, the pity. She didn't want whoever it was to see that she wasn't sobbing or crying that she really did want to jump, that she was okay with this.

"Why don't you step down and you and I can talk?" The voice - it, because she refused to think of it was anything resembling a person. She knew if she thought of this voice as an actual person then it would make her realize that this was real, that she is really going to kill herself. And if she did that then she knew that that voice in her head, way back in the back under all her pain and hidden beneath her screams of desperation would be her common sense and it would rear it's ugly head and try again to convince her mind that this was wrong and she had more to live for, that she actually had people who loved her.

But I don't, she screamed in her head. No one loves me. They hate me. This is what she needed to do. She needed it all to end.

The girl had heard once that only cowards kill themselves, she didn't think that. Cowards cower in corners and behind heroes. They put their lives in other people's hands and she wasn't doing that. She was taking her life into her own hands. She was doing what she wasted. Because this is what she wants. She knows it... Right?

"I think I'm fine right here." She finally answered the voice albeit with snark lacing her words.

"No," the voice, it was deep and tender but the girl refused to look back. A part of her was embarrassed that the man - no the 'it', it wasn't a person - had found her in the first place. The streets were deserted, the impending storm kept everyone tucked into their homes and away from the streets. She'd planned this for now because she knew no one would be out. No onlookers. No rubberneckers. No one to tell her to stop. "I think you'd be better over here."

Behind her she could hear him - it. She waited for it to say the same things everyone said. She waited for the clichés to spout from its mouth. She waited for it to come forward from the shadows behind her on this lonely rooftop and offer the forgiveness of everyone who has ever wronged her.

"It's okay. Whatever happened to push you this far, it's not worth it."

She waited for the man – the it – to tell her it understood.

"I know you're upset. I get it. I know how you feel."

To ask - to beg - her to step away.

"Stop. Step away from the ledge."

To plead to take it's hand.

"Take my hand."

She waited for all this to happen knowing that when he offered his hand she couldn't take it. She couldn't take the hand she knew would be offered behind her because she already knows how this goes. They offer their hand, their help, and you take it thinking that this is it; this is the thing that will make you better. This person is offering to pull you back from the brink. But then week later you're not better and your cry for help somehow turns into cry for attention. They expect you to get better and be fine if you know that they are there to help. They expect you to turn around and be fine. But it doesn't work like that, it can't work like that.

Both the girl and the man were silent. The girl was waiting, just waiting, for the man to say something. The air thickened, the brewing storm's wind ripped hair into her face, it caught and stuck to her mouth. She didn't make a move to swipe it away.

"You really gonna jump?" The person behind her asked suddenly, almost lazily. As if it were a dare. The calm in his voice surprised her.

"Yeah," She snarled back, annoyed that he hadn't gone by the book. This man, this it, this… whoever the hell was behind her was supposed to go by the rules. He was supposed to tell her to step back, say she had more to live for and all that bullshit that she didn't believe anymore. "That's the plan."

"You got a good reason for killing yourself?"

The girl nodded slowly. Off in the distance over a tall building a flock of birds scattered as a particular strong gust of wind blew them from their perches. "I think so."

"You think?" the man asked, she could practically hear the smile on his face. It angered her and the anger surprised her. For the last few weeks she'd felt nothing – numb. She hadn't been sad or hurt or angry. There had been a void. But now, this man was angering her. He was getting in the way of her plan. He was interrupting her

"Yeah." She answered smartly. Wind bit at her face.

"Well you better know for sure because I've heard that this whole dead thing is pretty permanent." The man snapped back matching her snark.

She couldn't hold it back, "I think that's the point of dying. It's permanent."

The man was silent for a few moments before he spoke again. "I suppose."

"Are you going to try to stop me?"

"Maybe," he answered dully. "Do you want me to stop you?"

Again, anger burned through her veins. This isn't how this was supposed to work. She was either supposed to jump with no one around, no witnesses to see her fall or this man was supposed to talk her down. Get her to back away. But right now the guy was just annoying her. "Why do you care?"

"I care about you."

"Bullshit." She spat at the pavement below. "No one cares about me. I'm broken. Dirty. Piece of shit."

The figure behind her was silent. "You're not broken just cracked a little bit. Just bent, maybe."

"What the fuck are you doing up here? Can't you just let a girl kill herself in peace?!" The girl finally screamed without looking back. She screamed out to the city before her not wanting to turn around and see the strangers face. See the pity he harbored.

But, the man surprised her again when he replied nonchalantly, "Actually, I run over this roof and you're in my path so I think the better question is, why are you trying to kill yourself on my rooftop?"

"This isn't your rooftop," she said matter of factly. She knew who lived in this building. An old lady, an older man. A pregnant mother with two kids already. A drunk who used to beat his boys until they ran away months ago – he has yet to file a missing persons report. A drug dealer who doesn't try hard enough to hide his stash. A single dad working as a firefighter down on Thirty Fifth and Elm Street with a baby girl whose mom died during birth. And lastly Andy. Andy lived in this building.

"This isn't where you live," the voice said.

"How do you know that? I live here. In 32A." She lied defensively.

"No, you don't. You live down the block, in another apartment building. Why did you choose to come here? Why not at your own building?" The voice sounded oddly curious in a calm, morbid way.

"My building's not fucking tall enough."

"No, that's not it," he was quiet for a moment, thinking. "You didn't want your mom to see you dead on the street when she came home from work. You didn't want to run the chance of her finding you. Admirable."

"How..." The girl stuttered, "How did you know that?"

"Because it's my job to know. This is my city. It's mine and my brothers jobs to protect this city."

"Are…" she stuttered again, her anger was starting to ebb but her numbness wasn't returning. Instead guilt started to fill her. Her throat felt tight, it was hard to breathe. She heard the man shift and take a step forward, just slightly.

"Stay back!" She yelled startling even herself with how loud her voice rang in her ears. "Or-or-or I'll... I'll jump!"

"You jump and I'll catch you and I'll either save you or we'll both fall." He stated. She shook her head violently, her throat burned and she wished with everything that was left inside of her that she could go back to that feeling of numbness that had encased her body for weeks. Having that feeling of nothingness blanket over her was like a guiding arm around her shoulders. It helped to guide her over the edge. It helped her believe that because she couldn't feel then others couldn't either. They wouldn't be sad if she died. No one would be sad. No one would miss her – well, they would miss teasing her and taunting her and making her feel inferior but they wouldn't miss her. And that broke her heart.

"Keith killed himself," she whispered suddenly, tears swelled in her eyes as she spoke his name.

Keith, twenty-two, brown curly hair, chocolate brown eyes, and a slit wrist. He was her friend, he was older than her but they had still been friends. Three months ago in a few days would be the day he killed himself. Keith had been one of her only friends and he killed himself. The girl could still hear the sobbing voice in her ears from when his girlfriend had called her to tell her they'd found him in his apartment; bloody, lying on his bed with a note right beside his head and a knife on the bedside table.

"Did he seem different the last time you spoke with him, miss?" asked the officer looking official if not a little sleep deprived with a greying mustache and coffee breath. The girl shook her head feeling sick and rotten. Keith wasn't perfect, he had his faults and he had some problems but he never let it seem so bad. Had she known she would have stopped him, begged him not to. Told him she loved him in every way a sister can love a brother. They had different mothers but the same father. They were family even though they went home to different families each night.

The girl felt rotten. She felt dirty. She felt too big for her skin. Too fat, too large, too dry, too dirty. Her blood felt like poison in her veins, it was too thick. Keith was dead and even though she knows, she knows, it wasn't her fault – that he did this to himself – she still feels like she did this.

It was the next day at school that they wrote "Dyke" and "Fag" and "Bitch" all over her locker. She stared at her locker for the longest few minutes of her life and came to the realization that she didn't need this, that it was all too much.

That night she went home and planned her own death.

"He killed himself so… so... why can't I?" Another piece of her heart seemed to break as she spoke.

"Because you're stronger than him. I saw the ambulances at the apartment down the street a few months ago. I was running the roofs with my brothers and I saw the paramedics carry a body out on a stretcher. I saw you there. You walked out of the building with another woman, was she your mother?"

"Don't talk about my mom!" The girl yelled again. She was tired, she noticed suddenly. Her hands were trembling.

"They told me he liked me, Andy, I mean." Now she was desperate, she was digging, trying to find a good solid reason to do this – to jump. She wanted this. She needed to numb her pain, to release her sadness and confusion. She wanted this. She wanted to die.

"They said he would be at his house waiting for me to come over." She sniffed, her eyes watered more. "So I did. I went to his house and I knocked on the door. Someone said come in and I did and then a bucket of water fell on my head." She looked down at her hair that was still tinted red slightly. "They dyed the water red... It looked like I was covered in blood. They took pictures." A sob escaped her mouth before she could hold it back. It was loud and wet. It made her throat hurt. "They laughed. Andy laughed. They always laugh." Another choked sob tore through her throat.

"Does it really matter what other people think? Does it truly matter what others say?"

"Yes," she says quickly. Confidently.

"No I... I think the actual answer to that question is no," he chuckled, somewhat. Even the half chuckle seemed out if place as it rode the wind away from the strangers mouth.

"Whoever told you that is a stupid asshole." The girl snapped. "Anyone who says others opinions don't matter obviously hasn't had anyone ever spit horrible names in their face."

"But, really it shouldn't-"

"It does!" She screamed desperately, brokenly. "And why the fuck are you here anyway?" She seethed, tears welled in her eyes. Anger boiled her blood. "I bet you have a great life, why don't you just go back to it. Stop trying to play hero and save me. Go home, kiss your wife or girlfriend or your boyfriend or baby momma or something and leave me to die alone!"

The person was silent. A drop of rain splashed against the girl's cheek. At least she thought it was rain. Maybe it was a tear that had finally spilled from her eyes, she wasn't sure. Violently, she jerked the arm of her sleeve up to rub away the salty rain drop.

"I don't have a girlfriend or a baby mother or a," again the man chucked, "or a boyfriend. All I have are my brothers."

"Then go back to your freaking brothers!" She spat, her body swayed with the howling wind. Brown hair attacked her face sticking to the moisture on her cheeks.

"I can't," he said softly.

"Why the hell not!" She screamed again loosing her voice to the wind. She was breathing hard now. Another tear – no, another drop of rain splashed against her face.

"Because you need me more than my brothers need me at the moment."

She was practically shaking with anger now, "I don't need your help! Leave me the hell alone!"

"No."

Tears, because she could feel them collecting and falling from her eyes, washed down her face. She let out another wet sob then looked over the edge of the roof. She wants this. She has to do this. She has to die because Keith died, because Andy will never love her, because no one loves her, because everyone is mean to her, because they call her names, because they dumped water dyed red on her, because they spray painted her car, because her dad slammed the door in her face, because she'd read Keith's suicide note, because she'd already written her own note. She needed to die because… because… because…

She didn't know why. She had all these reasons but they all seemed so… petty.

Taking a deep breath, the girl bit the side of her cheek and rubbed her hand through her hair pulling it from her face for the first time. She wiped her eyes.

"What's your name?" The man asked the girl. She took a deep breath. Cold hair rushed into her lungs and filled her up. The cool air felt good in her chest. Slowly, tentatively, she let it out and closed her eyes. This was it. This was when she either told the stranger her name and took a step back or ignored him and jumped. It was weird. A few minutes ago this decision wasn't even on her mind, it was so much easier to think. Harder to breath but easier to comprehend what was going on. She already knew what she was going to do. She was going to jump, to die. To kill herself. No one wanted her here. No one cared. She didn't care. She was done with them. With everyone. She was done with herself. She knew people would be sad but people are sad all the time, over stupid things. And sadness wears off over time. Time would heal her mother. Time would heal the one girl she titled friend.

But now...

Now the thought of jumping made her pause. The stranger, whoever it was, was behind her. He cared. He didn't even know who she was and he cared.

Never underestimate the kindness of strangers, she remembers her mother saying the day she came home to find someone had paid for their groceries at the supermarket when her mom didn't have enough to cover it after her dad walked out on them.

"My... My name is..." She paused again. Her heart sank. She peered over the edge of the building again at the pavement below. It was so far down. She sniffed once to stop her nose from leaking but she couldn't stop her tears. She let out a sob and doubled over on herself slightly. She ran her fingers through her now greasy hair.

To tell him her name or not to.

To remain a stranger or to realize that she was an actual person and he was too.

To take a step back or step off the building.

To kill herself or to stay alive.

To live or to die.

"My name is Ella Marie," she mumbled loud enough to be heard over the wind, but just barely.

"Ella Marie, can you please take a step back from the ledge?" The stranger asked. Ella paused, she was still crying silent tears. Slowly, slower than she'd ever moved in her life she slid her foot backwards inch by inch all the while watching as the heavy clouds that covered the greatest city in the word let loose their storage of rain. She took step back and a few drops hit her. The ground below got further away. Another step and she stepped off the ledge completely. She couldn't even see the sidewalk anymore. It was raining harder now, covering her tear stained face with fresh water, hiding her tears.

Ella stopped and closed her eyes. She wearisomely drew her arms out to either side of her with her palms facing up. She spread her fingers and just let the downpour of rain wash over her body. The body that, a few minutes ago, would have been splattered across the pavement stories below.

She let the rain wash away all the pain. She envisioned their words pained across her skin in blood. The words they spit on her face and drew on her car and wrote on her locker. She thought of their laughter as they taunted her and teased her. She thought of the red dye in the water they poured on her. She thought of all of it. She let it fester in her mind and on her skin before the rain washed it away. The water washed away all the pain of her yesterdays.

Ella stood in the rain for as long as it took to make her feel clean again. She wasn't sure how long she'd been standing there; she was just content in letting the rain help her to be reborn, to heal her broken heart.

"Life will always get better." Said the stranger who convinced her to take the step back. "My father told me that life is a journey of peaks and valleys. Some days you will stand on top and others you will suffer at the bottom. When you are in the valley you use the memories from the peaks to help you soar back to the top."

"What is your name?" Ella finally asked.

"I go by lots of names."

"What's one of them?"

"Friend," he answered warmly.

That's when she turned – whipped – around to see the man behind her. To hug him, to cry into his shoulder, to help her back to her apartment, to –

It wasn't a man who stood behind her. It was a large, green… turtle? A blue bandana wrapped around his – it's, the amphibian's, the teenager's? – eyes. The hilts of swords with blue tape wrapped around them protruded from his back. Rain got into Ella's eyes forcing her to rub them. When she opened her eyes the turtle was still there, watching her. The shell on his back peaked around his shoulders and abdomen – plastron?

"Hello," he smiled at her tentatively. He seemed as skittish of her as she was of him. "People call me Leo."

He extended his hand slowly, rain dripped through his fingers. His green skin looked smooth but his hand appeared rough, calloused. It reminded her of sandpaper. Ella licked her lips, her tears were now mixed with the rain water on her face. The turtle stood there, dripping and holding his hand out to shake. Ella took a deep breath then looked him in the eye. Time seemed to slow, the rain lightened, sound dissipated down and her vision narrowed until it was just her. Just her and her… friend. Wearily she took a step away from the ledge. The ledge that she was about to throw herself off of. She took another slow step then another until she was in range of the turtle. Ella was tense as she extended her right arm and hand towards him. She gasped as their skin touched. She didn't know what she was expecting but it defiantly wasn't the warmth that spread through her cold hands and up her arm to seep across her body. His hands were rough, yes, and worn but they were strong, solid, alive.

The turtle, Leo, smiled at her and it warmed her insides and broke the walls she'd built. Everything rushed back to her like an open dam. Her face crumpled and she surged forward to hide in his arms. The realization of what she was about to do only moments ago crashing into her. She was really going to do it, jump, kill herself and possibly kill her mom as well. What would her mom do without her? She's all she had left. Ella sobbed into the crook of Leo's shoulder and neck as she thought of the police calling her mom just like Keith's sister had called her when he'd died. Her mom would be alone. No husband, no daughter, no reason to live.

Leo was stiff for a few seconds before he melted into her enshrouding her with his arms and bending down to encase her completely.

"It's alright," was all he said. It was all he had to say.

After a few moments Ella came back to herself. She sighed and took a step back letting a small smile frame her lips and looked up at Leo. Her clothes, her whole body, was drenched but she felt warm and whole. She felt… not good but better than she'd felt in a long, long time.

"I think I want to go home now," she said. The rain was letting up now. It had almost stopped completely. The rooftop was flooded with an inch or two of water, it sloshed when she moved her feet.

Leo nodded, "I think that's a great idea."

"Will I ever see you again?" She asked after she'd walked to the door that led into the building.

"I'm always around." He answered, "I'll look out for you."

"Because you're my friend." Ella smiled. Leo nodded.

"If you ever need someone to talk to or you need me there's a shop on 7th Street called The Second Time Around, a woman named April owns it. She's also my friend. Just tell her you know me and she'll help you." He smiled back at Ella. Ella nodded storing the information securely in her brain. She turned around and put her hand on the handle of the door. "Goodbye Ella Marie." She heard from behind her. Quickly she turned with a thank you fresh on her lips but he was gone. Without a sound he had just disappeared. Ella let out a small breath and turned back around and opened the door.

It only took eight minutes to get back to her home. She opened the door to her home only after shredding the note that burned in her pocket and stuffing it in the trash can in the hall. She walked into the living room looking at the clock to see it was past well three in the morning. Ella looked at the couch to see her mom sleeping softly, covered in her ratty blanket that was so comfortable even if it was old. She bent down and kissed her mom's sleeping forehead.

"Hey baby," her mom whispered, rousing from sleep bit by bit.

"Hey mom, it's okay, go back to sleep."

"M'kay honey, love you."

Ella bent back down to place another kiss on her cheek softly. "I love you too, mom."

This story was inspired by my other story Say Something. Thank you for reading and remember, everyone has someone who cares for them. Everyone is loved and no one is alone. There is going to be good days and bad days and strong days and numb days and some days you will be a bitch and others days will be blessed but everything will be okay. Everything will get better.

Have a good day.

- Hannah Lynn