There was nothing beneath my toes.

I was standing, yes, but there were fifteen floors between the bottom of my toes and the ground. I peered over them, raised a stiff hand to wipe a tear from my face.

But why cry?

Why would I cry if I didn't care?

"Shut up, Addie. For once, just shut up. You don't care."

I said it to no-one but myself, though it felt like my final speech to the world. I might as well be on a podium, waving to the people of Britain.

I bit my lip. I squeezed my eyes tight.

Then I let go.

I leaned forwards and fell, spreading my arms out wide, like a strange, broken bird. My eyes opened as I gasped. I was flying. Falling. I was ending. It was about time.

About time to go.

I had no-one holding me anymore. Nothing to stop me. I'd lost my anchor. And so, like a ship without an anchor, with barely a crew, with nothing to cling to and no destination, I only had two options: drift or sink.

I'd done both, of course. I'd drifted for almost a year. Now, I sunk.

I was tumbling and tumbling, further and further down, I never knew it took this long to fall. It had only been seconds but my mind was racing. It was as though it was trying to make up for the thoughts it would never think.

I cannot think this way now.

The footpath was nearing, nearing, a little girl clinging to her mother's arm looked up. She was screaming, screaming, the busy people were stopping, staring, the woman covered her child's eyes, their faces, oh their faces, but it was okay, I wouldn't remember it, I would never, ever remember it, it didn't matter, it would be over, oh, over, not much longer now and I'd be able to see each and every grain on the footpath, and-

And then there was no more.

The fall never ended.

I never hit the ground.

I never felt the bones break in my skull.

The ending, the slamming, the finality, it never came.

I woke up in bed, my alarm clock telling me it was one day after I had jumped.

There was nothing in my head.

Nothing but … but a dream? I was sitting at a table with a man, a strange man, and we were drinking tea. He had a bow tie. He was making jokes. And then he told me. He leaned forward, and told me that I had to look after myself, and that … that …

I could not remember the rest.

No matter how hard I strained my memory, I could not recall the remainder of the sentence.

That was two years ago.

Now, I am hardly the person I was. No, I am not always happy. But yes, I am a million times better. I aged then. I aged so much. I'd like to say that I am wiser now, but maybe I was always wise, and merely hiding it then.

It is a winter's day, and the wind smells of snow. It whips my scarf around, and I turn to pull it back. I stop. I freeze. I stare. For there, just feet away, I see something that stirs a lost memory, deep inside of me: the blue box with the man who saved my life. The man who, brought me back.

He sees me staring and, though my first thought is to walk away, I do not. I walk towards him, closer and closer. "Hello."

He looks at me. "Sorry, do I know you?"

"Oh, just, I …"

"I'm sorry. Bungled time streams, but what's your name? I'm the Doctor, by the way, that's Doctor, like, of medicine. Only that's not me. Medicine's not me."

"Addie." I extended a hand. Had he forgotten me? Did I not matter?

"Well, Addie, I've been needing ah, uh … helping hand. Just a little job I need to get done.

I travelled with him, in the end.

He told me so much about him. We were friends. He showed me the universe, and I learnt so much. The biggest lesson of all, though, was the one he had told me the first time I met him. The last time, for him.

I didn't know it then, but he was a Time Lord. I told him not long after we met on that Winter day that he had saved me.

He took out a sticky note and scribbled something on it: a date, a time, and co-ordinates. We went there. We caught me out of the sky. We made me better and dumped me into my bed.

The Doctor made me better, but it was my telling him to do so that saved my life.