I sit in the hospital waiting room. There's a few there, for others who got hurt in the storm. The same thoughts run through my mind, over and over.

What have I done?

Is everyone okay?

What do I do?

What can I do?

They repeat over and over in my head. I try to focus on the words, on the repetition, and not on what the words mean.

Phil was only knocked out, thank god, and it seems that he will be completely fine, so if they're right he'll be able to come home immediately. I'm sure he's fine; he must be fine.

I sit. I wait. I stare at the wall, and I drown in my own thoughts. I zone out so completely that I have no idea how long I've been like that. A nurse informs me that Phil has woken up, and seems to be okay. I'll go in and see him, and we'll go home.

Walking in, I wonder what his thoughts are. He'll ask questions, I'm sure of it. He has a right to know, after what has happened to him, and I know I can trust him, but I have never told anyone before.

When I see him, he is propped up on the hospital bed with a pillow. A nurse walks in and tells us that he was knocked out, but that they are satisfied he can go home. She lists some symptoms for us to watch out for, and tells us to call them if we see them.

Once we are home, I need to put my arm around Phil's shoulder to help him walk, because he is still too dizzy to stand up alone. He goes to bed immediately.

I hope to god he is okay. I don't know what I'll do if he's not.

I sit in my room, alone with my own thoughts. The events of the last few hours have only proven one thing: I am dangerous, more than I thought.

I don't want to be a danger. I don't want to live in constant fear of this happening again. I don't want to feel guilty forever over the damage I've done. But I have set something in motion that I cannot control, and there is no escaping now.

Then I realise something. I realise the name of the emotion I've been feeling, for as long as I can remember. It is not guilt, fear or anger, nor a mixture of the three. That's what I thought it was, but I was wrong.

I feel defeated. I feel tired. Tired of the curse I bear. Tired of pretending. Tired of the constant feeling of fear. Tired of being me.

I have lost. There is nothing I can do but cause more damage. And that is not what I want.

I can't stay here. Or anywhere. Wherever I am I cause pain and hurt. So, I have to leave. Leave completely. Leave this world.

I scribble a note to Phil. It is six lines long, and reads:

Phil,

I owe you an explanation. I know I do. But I'll be gone before I have chance to give it to you, so here's an apology.

I'm sorry for what I did. You don't understand, and never will, but I needed to say it.

You'll be safer this way. I can't hurt you if I'm dead.

Trying to keep silent for fear of waking Phil, I slip on my winter coat, and leave the apartment. It is cold enough now that I can see my breath as a cloud in the air. I don't know where I am going, I just carry on walking. There aren't many people out, but cars drive past me quite frequently. Ahead of me, I see the Thames.

I must have walked for a long time to be here. But here I am. I walk onto the bridge, and I hesitate.

This is for the best.

If I don't do this, I'll never escape.

Still, I'm not happy, standing here.

I cast my mind back to when I was seven, when I started changing the weather. At first, I thought I was just imagining it, but as I grew older, I understood I wasn't.

I keep remembering, thinking of how I tried to live a normal life, knowing I couldn't tell anyone. Then, when I was 16, things became worse. I killed people. I know I did, but, of course, no one knew it was me. The guilt and fear at what I could do only made me more of a danger.

I buried my emotions.

It was painful, to pretend I didn't care. Sometimes I failed, sometimes I showed emotion, but never enough to injure. I did well. Until yesterday. It was such a stupid thing to get angry about. Phil was only trying to help. But he can't help me. No one can.

By this time, the wind has been joined by a thick fog. What will happen after I jump? Will the fog disappear? I hope so. I don't want any part of this to stay. The sky is lighter in the east. Sunrise will start soon. I need to get this over and done with. I am about to jump, when I hear my name being yelled through the fog.

"Dan? Dan?"

It's Phil. He came looking for me. Shit.

I freeze. I don't know why I am surprised. Of course, Phil would come and find me if he saw the note, but I didn't think he would find it. Now I really am torn between life and death.

If I choose death, I keep everyone else safe. I will never hurt anyone again.

But I want to choose life. I want to stay in the life Phil and I have made for ourselves. I don't want to die.

From the sound of running coming towards me, I assume Phil has seen me. I don't look at him, but remain staring at the water below me, because I don't want to see his face. I don't want to see those eyes filled with disappointment, or, even worse, fear.

Wind blows against my face, and it feels much colder than it did before because my cheeks are wet with tears. Crying silently, I feel a hand grab mine, stopping me from going anywhere, and I hear a barely audible voice.

"Dan, don't even think about it," the voice says, and I can tell Phil's been crying too.

He lifts his hand and wipes my tears with his hand, and I can't help bursting into loud sobs, holding my head in my hands.

"It's okay, Dan," he says, wrapping his arm around me and hugging me towards him.

Is it okay? No, it's not, but I want it to be. Maybe one day it could be. I continue to say nothing, staring at the river below me. I know that if I don't jump, I will only hurt more people, but right now, I almost don't care. Phil wants to help, and I want to let him.

I tell myself that I'm selfish if I stay alive. Phil sees the conflicting emotions on my face, and hugs me tighter.

"Please," he whispers desperately, "Don't go. You're so much better than this. Please, just come home and let me help you."

And I realise that this is not just about me. I only thought of how I would save Phil physically, but I ignored that I would hurt him emotionally. Phil, my caring, sensitive friend, with the most adorable personality I have ever known, would never know what happened. It would haunt him. He doesn't deserve that.

I have to tell him everything.

I nod to Phil, and whisper "okay", agreeing to come home, and he instantly pulls me into the tightest embrace ever, with the happiest smile on his face. I'm uncertain, but I hug him back. It will all be okay. Phil is here. Phil has promised to help me.

When we break apart, I look up at the sky. The fog has cleared, and the sunrise has painted the sky in reds and golds. The warmth makes me smile another smile. A beam that stays on my face all the way back to the apartment.