She couldn't stop her shoulders from shaking. That was the most annoying thing.
She stood there, a silhouette against a neon sky of wonder, and her shoulders heaved up and down and shuddered like she was about to launch into an epileptic fit.
She was supposed to be appreciating the view, in her last fight, defiant and poignant. It was supposed to be symbolic- she'd stand there till the end, still furious, still unwilling to compromise.
She would never do that. She'd never give in.
Not to this one, anyway.
But her shoulders were shaking like she was a scared little girl, and her teeth were chattering from the morning cold. She grimaced, pulling her hands out of her pocket and blowing on them.
She couldn't breathe, as well. Her lungs jerked in awkward ways which made her heart burn and her throat scream for air.
She was fuckin' terrified. But she couldn't admit it to anyone.
The dawn sun was just beginning to glint over the hills of Rosewood, momentarily painting everything a hazy gold. The sky above was out of a painting. Hues of orange, yellow, pink were splashed against the landscape vividly, like some deity had haphazardly scrawled colours against the sky. Clouds wafted lazily above, melting into the sky in burnished bronze.
It was going to be another beautiful day.
But below, the buildings were dark and jumbled together and winding. There were few lights in the street, few visible snatches of warmth. The rest was coated in eerie shadows.
She could see her house from here. Her mom wouldn't be up so early, of course. So, it too was plunged into the darkness like the rest.
She let her eyes roll across the surroundings, taking it in. There was the cafe she used to work in, and there was Aria's house, and there was the dentist and the garage, and there was the church. Right across from that, the movie theater, a puddle of light around its old, neon sign.
She had good memories from that movie theatre. Just seeing it from high up here allowed a spark of something which used to be happiness pop in her chest, a bubble of past glory.
She breathed in deeply, her hands curling at her sides, the flinty expression never leaving her face.
Don't think of that now. How long ago was that?
How long had it been since she'd been in that movie theatre, clutching some popcorn in her hand and watching a crappy zombie movie which she knew her date had picked especially for her?
Five years.
She was twenty-two.
Where had her life gone since then?
Absolutely nowhere.
She was still here. That was the problem.
The rest of the girls had graduated with no problem. They'd made their goodbyes and headed off, all around the world. Aria went to some amazingly creative and arty university, somewhere far away from here. Spencer of course got into the University of Pennsylvania. Everyone had known she could do it. And Hanna had found herself heading off to the Academy of Art College in San Fransisco, with a head full of mindblowingly amazing garments.
And Emily, poor, sweet, little Emily had been stuck in Rosewood.
Even with Mrs. Montgomery's best efforts, Emily had failed her final year.
She hadn't been able to take it. The stress of A, her grief over Maya, her academics and sporting requirements piling down on her. Danby shut the door in her face. They didn't want anything to do with a swimmer who couldn't quote from A Catcher in The Rye to save her life.
Everyone had been sympathetic, of course. Everyone was so sickeningly sweet to her, and that only made her more determined to break away from the sugarcoated words of all those who laughed behind her back.
And of course, A.
A hadn't stopped pestering Emily just because the girls left. A taunted, A bullied, A laughed in her face as she was wrapped in her humiliation. A mocked her every single step of the way.
It had been hard, redoing the year. But she'd done her best, and passed all her exams. Mrs Montgomery just about burst with pride when she graduated.
She got into Danby. Thank God. She got in, and got straight down to swimming. No wild teenage parties for her, no more drinking, certainly no drugs. She was determined. Every morning, she got up at 5am and went down to the pool. No matter what.
She knew what she had to be to get a scholarship. And she gave everything.
There were talks of Olympic swim teams, talks of representing her country all over the world. Her mom received a letter asking Emily to come to an trial for Team USA. She had cried and cried and cried while Emily stood there, motionless, waiting for her to stop.
She hadn't been nervous at all, stepping into the biggest pool she'd ever seen, stretching and warming up. She knew she could be the best swimmer in the world, if she wanted to.
And by God, she wanted to.
She had smashed the race. She shaved two seconds off the best time ever clocked in that very pool. She'd been held aloft by her coach, by her classmates, chanting her name. She'd punched the air and beamed, and known then that she had a future.
She felt hope for the first time blossom within her, and it was like breathing new air.
That night, she'd partied with all her new friends for the first time in years, and felt alive, more alive than anyone would ever know. She'd been renewed, rejuvinated, come back to life. Her energy knew no limits.
And then A launched the final indignity.
The HGH results came back to bite her. A had sent a letter with them enclosed to the chief scout for the USA swim team. He took one look.
That was all he needed to make Emily's dream, her world, her life come crashing down again.
They'd booted her out in the most humiliating way. She left Danby, crushed and broken. Her friends turned their backs on her.
They didn't want to be seen with her anymore.
No one did.
So now, the girl who could have been on the USA swim team, winning gold for her country, manned the checkout till at a local Walmart.
And A would never leave her.
Every day she received a message, at exactly 5pm, gloating over her fall from grace. She'd attempted to tell the chief scout the story about A, how those results had been from a time when Mona Vanderwaal had stalked her and her friends.
But it wasn't enough. She'd been kicked out time after time again, trying to explain everything. People shut their ears to her. No one wanted to know anything more about the golden girl who fell from grace.
She still lived with her mom. She could barely scrape together enough money to feed herself, let alone get her own house. She worked every day, from nine till five, and utterly hated her life.
The girls had never come to visit her. Not once. They were all off having their own exciting lives, free to do whatever they wanted without A hunting them anymore.
Emily had seen Hanna in the paper, one morning, as she sat eating cornflakes and reading. She'd been snapped next to Stella McCartney. Apparently the two were now firm friends, and thinking of releasing a new range together.
Aria had gone on to be a poet and a photographer. There was an exhibition of her work at Rosewood, just a week ago. Emily had turned up, bedraggled and lonely, wanting to see one of her old best friends.
But Aria hadn't been there. There were people who met Aria, who knew her, but they talked about an elegant, refined woman who produced work which spoke of genius.
They didn't know the same Aria that Emily used to know.
Her photographs said everything. They were of far away, exotic, beautiful places, places at least a hundred miles from Rosewood. She'd moved on, run away, flown far from the town where she came from.
The town which Emily was still stuck in.
There was only one photograph in the entire exhibition which held any meaning to Emily. It was near the very end, one anyone could simply overlook. It was in black and white, simple, and called "an example of her beginning work" by the lofty curator.
It was a picture of a girl on a rope swing, wearing shorts, a white shirt and leather boots, her dark hair falling over her shoulders. A boy held her gently in his arms, goofily beaming down at her, one hand curled around her wrist. An orchard surrounded them both, with a beautiful country house just captured in the background. The girl looked brilliantly happy, clinging onto the rope swing and grinning at the boy.
It was Spencer and Toby, deliriously in love.
Emily had stared at that picture until her eyes blurred. She took in every single detail, standing and gazing until the curator had actually told her to leave. She'd wanted to snatch the photo up and take it with her.
That was all she had left of the girl she'd once called her best friend.
She'd gone home that night and cried to herself, still sleeping in the bed that she'd had since she was seven years old.
All of them had gotten away from Rosewood. All of them, but her.
She couldn't take that anymore. Twenty two years old. No proper job. No hope. No life.
No future.
And A still tormented her endlessly.
She wanted out. And she found the way to do it.
So that was why she was standing on top of the tallest building in Rosewood, emptily surveying the town which had taken everything from her.
She was dressed all in black. The blood would be harder to see, that way, and the thick clothing she'd chosen would staunch most of it. Plus, any other colour, and everything would be a lot more gory for the poor person who'd have to try and pick up her mangled body.
She was thinking about it so clearly now. Before her life went to pieces, this kind of thinking would frighten the living hell out of her.
And now she accepted it.
It was the norm, for her.
She'd left a note, for her mom. It was kindly written, thanking her for everything, telling her it was never her fault. It ended on a solitary note, only one which spoke of the gloom and doom which rumbled in her mind.
I'm so sorry. I cannot take being a failure anymore.
I have no future, and no hope.
I love you and Dad very much. Always remember that.
Emmy.
Her heart was beating fast in her ears now, and she took a little step closer to the edge, peering down at an empty road. She predicted she'd end up splattered on the pavement, if she aimed it well enough. Could she aim in the air?
She'd have to find out.
She bit her lip, trying to stop her teeth from chattering, and rolled her shoulders experimentally. Her powerful muscles were still there, clinging to her bones from years of training.
Her training. All for nothing.
Her life was all for nothing.
She stood on the edge and pulled her hoodie up, masking the back of her head. Now she looked like A. The shadowy figure who'd tormented her life, driven her enough to do this.
Her phone buzzed, predictably. She swore, and spat, pulling it out of her pocket.
I dare you.
-A
She swore again, this time at the top of her lungs, so the entire town could hear her. Liking the sound of it, she snarled, and threw her phone off the building.
It spun as it fell, twisting through the air, and she watched with a bitter smile as it smashed against the pavement with a small crack. The plastic and glass exploded against the concrete, glinting in the dark.
Huh. Looks like I will hit the pavement.
She stiffened her muscles, rolled her shoulders again, taking a breath.
Her feet were teetering on the edge, her toes dangling into nothing but thin air.
She could feel the wind tugging at her, the temptation to fall swirling through her mind.
She opened her arms wide, and stared up at the sky.
The sky, golden and bright with so much promise, glowing down onto a girl who had lost everything.
She was so lost in her thoughts she didn't hear the rattle of the iron fire escape that she, herself had come up.
She opened her mouth and began to speak to the town below.
"Goodbye, Rosewood." She began. "Goodbye. You've thoroughly fucked my life over. I hate you. And I hate my life. So this is it."
"Goodbye." She said again, and readied herself for the final step.
A scream ripped through the silence behind her, and she flinched, her foot dropping into thin air.
The scream went on, a keening sound, high and terrified, as Emily felt her leg begin to plunge.
But she turned, turned just in time, and snatched her foot back from the edge, curiousity temporarily replacing her suicidal wishes.
A girl sprinted towards her, long hair streaming behind her, eyes wide and desperate and filled with tears. "EMILY!" She screamed, her throat raw and ragged. "EMILY!"
Emily stood, motionless, staring at the girl, failing to recognize her. She opened her mouth to say something, but couldn't, as the girl raced forward.
She came close.
Too close.
Emily, panicking, stepped backwards over the edge.
Cue another scream from the girl, who threw herself forward, gripping handfuls of Emily's hoodie, clinging to her desperately.
Emily tripped, twisting to her side, but the girl had a firm hold on her.
She tried to scream in anger, or move her hands, to tear the girl's hands away.
But she could do nothing. She was a block of wood, unfeeling, unmoving.
The girl, for a skinny thing, was surprisingly strong.
She lay on her stomach, panting, and holding Emily's hoodie for dear life.
She dug her fingers in. She groaned.
And she began to forcefully lift her up, dragging her up the brick wall, over the roof line, pulling her with all her strength.
She grunted, again and again, heaving Emily across the roof, backwards, back until she was far away from the edge, far away from leaping off.
Emily lay there, utter hopelessness consuming her.
You can't even kill yourself, you pathetic shit.
Tears formed in her eyes, and she closed them.
She didn't even have the energy to fight the girl off.
All of it was gone. Everything.
She couldn't do anything, anymore.
The girl sat above her as she lay on the concrete. Her eyes were filled with tears, too. "Emily." She shouted again, her voice hoarse and cracked. "Emily! Look at me!"
But Emily couldn't. She was consumed by her own misery.
The girl sobbed, tears drizzling down her face. "Emily, Jesus Christ." She screamed. "LOOK AT ME!"
The sunrise, brilliant and radiant, glowed over the two girls sprawled on the roof, as one screamed and the other lay motionless.
The girl couldn't calm down. It was like she was in a panic attack. She screamed, and screamed, and screamed, and held Emily tight to her, still with fistfuls of her hoodie in her hands. "Emily, Emily, Jesus, Emily." She sobbed. "Please, Emily, please, I'm begging you, open your eyes, Emily, you're terrifying me. Please. Open your eyes, please, Em, please. Em, please."
The girl collapsed into Emily's prone form, still crying. "Em. Open your eyes. Please." She cried.
Her voice was wobbly and weak and raw.
But Emily suddenly realized she would know that voice anywhere.
She sucked air into her lungs with a gulp, and opened her eyes, and stared at the girl.
Spencer stared back at her, tears coating her face. "Emily." She sobbed, and hugged her.
"I'm sorry." Emily managed, her voice choked. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"
"I read your blog." Spencer confessed. "I realized what you were doing, and I panicked, and oh God, I caught a flight to America and drove here and knocked on your front door, and I saw the note, and I came running up here..."
Emily was still shivering, and she could hear sirens in the distance.
They were most likely coming for her.
For the mangled body that would be on the pavement right now.
If it wasn't for the girl with mascara streaking her pale face, the girl who looked the exact same as she did now as when she was seventeen, the girl with the most amazing eyes Emily had ever seen, the girl who was skinny as a rake but still had muscles from her field hockey days.
Muscles enough to stop a suicide attempt.
"I love you." Emily whispered, her voice almost inaudible.
Spencer shook her head, wiping tears from her eyes. "Jesus, Emily." She murmured.
"Don't ever do anything like that to me again."
Spencer hadn't been here for the last five years. She had no right to say anything like that.
She had no idea what Emily had been through.
Yet Emily found herself apologizing.
"I'm sorry, Spencer." She murmured. "I'm sorry."
"I love you too." Spencer replied, and pulled the prone girl into her arms, gripping her close.
Emily's head lolled on her shoulder, her eyes unfocused, her thoughts a muddled mire.
As the ambulance pulled up outside, and paramedics began charging up the rickety iron fire escape, Emily Fields allowed herself to be held by Spencer Hastings.
And she cried, and cried, and cried, for the mess her life was, for the mess of her future, for the hope she didn't have.
And Spencer Hastings vowed, in her mind, whispering into Emily's ear, that she would give her hope.
Okay. I have some explaining to do.
I have given up on Red Ones. I'm going to change the story's status to over, right now. It was nice to write, and I suppose you guys will just have to accept the last chapter as it's end. Unless I come up with any better ideas... which I will happily write.
This is a oneshot. I wrote it in one hour. The inspiration for it was my friend very recently attempting to commit suicide. She was alone for four hours, so nobody would have realized she had done it. She and I live very far away, so I have no idea if she's okay or not right now. I'm terrified for her. I've been trying to call her for hours on end.
She's been depressed for many years, and part of her depression I turned into inspiration for Red Ones. "the raven" is my word for her depression when we want to talk about it without other people listening. I think this time, the raven may have gotten the better of her.
Please, if you're a Christian. Or a believer in any general religion. Or simply don't want to hear another suicide story in the news, of a kid with so much potential gone to waste.
Please include her in your prayers tonight. That's all I'm asking for. If you're not religious, just include her in your thoughts then.
I know this may seem rude of me, begging you to think of her or pray for her, but I am at my wit's end. I'm terrified she's succeeded and everything is going to pieces around me.
I'm not religious. But I need to do everything I can do right now. And I need all the hope I can get.
The only thing which keeps me together is writing. So I wrote this. I hope you guys like it. Review if you want.
Lots of love. xx