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So is it over? Is this really it? You've given up so easily; I thought you loved me more than this.

He wasn't sure how he ended up there. It was the third night in a week that he'd found himself there. Gone out of his mind, a combination of Johnnie Walker Black and other things he wasn't proud of, hundreds of feet above the icy Hudson.

It was never planned, these trips. But he kept finding himself stumbling above the water, wind whipping his hair back and forth as cars and taxis flew by. There was just a bit of metal and concrete separating them and he felt if one car just a bit bigger went just a bit faster it might send him flying over the edge.

He wasn't consciously thinking about it. Not actively planning to kill himself. It was something that had been there as long as he could remember. Something he tried his hardest to push away when he was sober but took over him when he wasn't. And lately he'd been sober less and less often.

His eyes and ears and nose stung with the cold, harsh wind as he walked. His coat wasn't heavy enough for a New York winter. It was a marled gray with a collar but no hood. Nothing that could save him from the falling snow and icy wind.

He thought a lot about what would happen if he did just jump on one of these stupid, pointless walks across the river. If his favorite coat would help him drown quicker if he didn't hit the water at the exact angle he'd need to, how long it would take for someone to find him? What would his parents say if they actually picked up the phone? How much his family would resent him even more? If Newt would be okay, be able to make rent without him….

When he made it about halfway across, he stopped like he always did. Let out a big breath and lit a cigarette. As if that would actually clear his head.

No one had ever bothered him on these walks before. He'd learned that was how New York was. Everyone was always in a rush and couldn't be bothered to notice strangers, let alone care about ones that might jump off a bridge.

Until that night. The night he met her.

He hadn't seen or even heard her coming, he was far too wrapped up in his own head. He was too sober again.

"What're you doing?" her voice was warm and inviting despite the fact that it made him jump and nearly drop his cigarette.

He turned his head quickly, taking her in in the dim light. She was bundled up much more than he was. A big fluffy coat and warm scarf, little curls peeking out of her hat.

"I-I, uh, going for a walk," he tried to form coherent sentences.

"You're not walking," she crossed her arms over her chest like she was cold despite what she was wearing. Like she'd been outside all night. Longer than him.

"I'm taking a break," he felt like he was being interrogated. She wasn't what he expected.

"You're thinking about jumping," she corrected him simply and pulled out her own pack of cigarettes.

She said it so simply. Like she could read his fucking mind. Part of him thought maybe she could and he was fucking terrified.

"Who are you?" he questioned and he didn't mean for it to come off coldly, he was just defensive. He didn't want her making assumptions about who he was.

"Does it matter?" she pulled out a cigarette for herself.

"It does if you're going to question me," he watched as she put the cigarette between her lips and dug around for her lighter.

"I'm not questioning you," she mumbled and paused to light her cigarette, "I've asked you two questions so far."

He could feel his face turning red and heating up with frustration despite the wind. He'd known her for maybe two minutes and she was already one of the most infuriating people he'd ever met.

That should've been enough to send him home. He didn't have the patience to deal with interrogation. He was cold and tired and starting to sober up too much and he should've just gone home.

"Why's it fucking matter if I was thinking about jumping anyway?" he snapped at her.

She studied him for a second, not seeming the least bit bothered by his outburst, "It matters a whole lot."

He shook his head and rolled his eyes, "Why're you even here?"

She gave him a sad sort of smile, one that made his chest sting, "People who have monsters recognize each other. They know each other without even saying a word."

It was the first time that he had met her; it had also been the same time in which he had met Newt. He had loved both of them, but only one was his best friend…

But tonight it felt different, this week different. Karen was gone. But Newt remained. Liquor remained. School remained.

"I gave you everything, Kar," he said, taking a final drag of his cigarette. "I guess it wasn't enough."

And then he dropped.