She stood upon the wall of the bridge and gazed down into the water below. The waves thrashed beneath the bridge as boats passed. Everything about this moment was cliché, the way many people chose to leave.

She didn't have access to pills or a gun, and if she was being honest with herself, there was a part of her that still hoped for something better. That by being public about it, someone might stop her. Someone who would express that she mattered. There were people in her life that certainly cared but their words seemed hollow. Biased. Like the words spoken were what was expected; they didn't wish to upset her more.

She felt so distant from her own body that nothing felt real.

She looked back down. There was always something so romantic about the sea. Even though it was one of the worst ways to go. There was so much conscious time, so many moments to regret the decision as the final seconds played out. She supposed death by fire would be much the same, but usually, people died of smoke inhalation and not the actual burning. Besides, the sea would be cooling to her mind, chill her incendiary thoughts. Make the anger and the sadness just wash away. Now, however, she just felt hollow.

The sea will fill that void.

She shifted her weight ever so slightly and leaned further down to stare into its abyss. She just wanted it to swallow her whole, like the night sky—to fall up into the stars and drift through the endless nothing and become one with it. Yet gravity would not allow her a cosmic demise. The earth looked out for its own. Her body would do more good for the creatures down below than the lifeless void above. She sighed and clenched her fists. It was a simple step. One foot in front of the other and the pain would end. She would never know hollowness again. There would be nothing. If only she could resign herself to it.

But the body is made for self-preservation, and so her feet remained firm upon the concrete wall.

"So are you going to jump or what?" a male voice said behind her. She turned her head and looked back to see a curly blue-haired man with red glasses standing there watching her. He had on a white jacket and his hands were shoved in his pinstripe pants. He looked about mid-twenties, her age. He had a slouched stance and a stern look that made him appear both detached and aggressive at the same time. She stared at him and then slowly turned back around to face the water.

"What does it matter?" She mused aloud. She spoke the words not sadly, merely a question posed for discourse.

"Matters a great deal. Decisions tell you a lot about the character of a person. Even the small ones," he said.

She laughed. As if her mettle actually mattered. She had no qualms with what the world thought of her—that was between them and their god above to dictate, she supposed.

"Character? As if that matters now. What does it matter to you or anyone else who I am?

"Well then, at least have some commitment behind your decision. I hate when people can't make up their minds," the man huffed.

"Are you trying to make this about you?" She asked in annoyance. "Or perhaps you want me to jump?"

"Wasn't the goal," he said tonelessly.

"So you have a goal then. Some reason for selfishly inserting yourself into this one truly selfish moment for myself," she spat. "That's what you were going to say, right? How selfish I'm acting?"

"Look…"

"Why are you here? Just fuck off and leave me in peace."

"You're not in peace, or you wouldn't be up there." His voice was gruff in his retort.

"I'll be at peace soon enough," she said softly.

"Why? You think there's something better?" He scoffed.

"Probably not. Just to cease would be a blessing. To not feel anything."

"Drowning's a pretty suck-ass way to go," he mused.

"So I've heard." She just wanted him to leave. Why was he even talking to her? If he thought less of her for her decision then just let her follow through with it already.

"So why not use this? Much faster." She turned again to see him pull a pistol out and extend his hand to her. She just stared at his open palm. It certainly would be faster. One pull of the trigger and it would be over in an instant. No time to regret a decision. Commitment, as he'd said.

She looked back into his dark eyes, intrigued by this strange man. Having believed that he was going to try to talk her down, she was instead surprised that he seemed to be egging her on. Maybe he was simply bored and looking for some sort of excitement.

She hopped down from the wall and approached him slowly. She wasn't afraid despite the fact he held a gun; she had dissociated too much to have any real concerns about the man. What could he really do to her that she wasn't already doing to herself? Anything he did would be a favor at this point. If he killed her, she could only thank him for saving her the trouble.

They stared at each other for a moment before she took the gun from his hand. The weight of it in her grip startled her. She had only held a gun once before when her grandfather attempted to teach her how to shoot.

But you don't need accuracy at point-blank range.

She looked at him and raised the gun to her head. Her hand shook but she steadied it again as she pressed the barrel against her temple. His countenance darkened as their eyes met.

She closed her eyes and breathed.

In. Then out.

Then in.

One.

Two.

Three.

Click.

She released the breath she was holding.

A hand grasped her wrist and lowered the gun from her head. Then he took the gun from her shaking grasp. She opened her eyes and tears fell down her cheeks. He put the unloaded pistol back in his pocket and then crossed his arms. Her heart raced in her ears as she continued breathing.

She swallowed before speaking, "Who are you?"

"Name's Ghiaccio."

"Ghiaccio. Why did you give me the gun if it wasn't loaded?" she asked.

"Got you off the wall, didn't it?" He raised a brow and walked over to the bridge and leaned his elbows against where she'd just been standing. She watched the stranger gaze out at the sun just finishing its long trek across the sky. It would be dusk within the hour.

"I don't understand."

"I'm a hitman for Passione." His words seemed random to her reeling mind.

"You must not be very good at your job then, are you?" she said, sarcastically.

"Oh, I'm very efficient. Never miss a target."

"So what, am I your next target?" she scoffed. "Why not just let me finish the job for you? Or will you not get paid that way?" Her tone fell flat as she tried to detangle his meaning for the entire interaction.

"Nah, I'm not here for you. Not in that way." Ghiaccio sighed. "I see a lot of death in my line of work, most of it caused by my own hand." He glanced down at his open palm and then balled it into a fist. "Saw you here while I was walking home. Didn't really wanna watch it again."

She had no words with which to respond. Ghiaccio stood up straight and turned around to face her, leaning back against the wall. "Well, if you've got nothing better to do, let's take a walk." She didn't find anything threatening about him. Perhaps the adrenaline from earlier had made her tired but she didn't feel in any danger with him. She didn't really want to be alone either.

That's when the dark thoughts clouded her judgement.

"Why not? You changed the only plans I had for today." She followed him down the road. His hands remained in his pockets.

"So what brought you here?" Ghiaccio asked.

She scoffed. "Heh, how long you got?"

"How long do you need?" Ghiaccio glanced at her. She had no retort to that. This guy had randomly shown up and inserted himself in her life as she was trying to leave it, and he was willing to listen to her. Possibly every sordid detail.

"I just feel hollow. Empty." She decided to keep it brief.

"I feel that way a lot," Ghiaccio said. "Like it just doesn't matter if I wake up in the morning."

"So how did you make it stop?" she asked.

"You assume I did." He glanced at her. "It doesn't stop. You just find other people like you. Others that get what you're feeling. It makes it more bearable."

"You know people like that?" she asked.

"Yeah, one or two."

"That's nice." She chuckled, "Misery loves company, I guess. "

He shrugged. "Some days are better than others. And yet it's hard, even when you have people that care about you. Still feels like shit even when they say it'll be okay." Everything he said was exactly her feelings.

"Sounds like you really get it."

"Yeah, well, I've been through some shit." He tilted his head until his neck cracked then he sighed.

"Yeah, so have I..." she murmured.

"Wanna unload? Got nothing else to do," Ghiaccio offered.

"Well, I guess a lot of it is me. My depression gets the better of me a lot. Voices telling me I'm not worth it, that nothing matters. Not literal voices, of course. Just… suggestions." She looked at him and saw he was still watching attentively, waiting for her to continue. "Dwelling on past shit that I should just leave in the past. But I can't. It creeps up on me even when I think I'm okay."

"Maybe there's stuff you still gotta deal with. Shit will haunt you until you face it. At least I found that to be the case for me." He pulled one hand out of his pocket and gestured as he spoke.

"I thought I did. I said what I needed to say, and I thought it was over. Yet there seems to be a sort of loss of... identity… If that makes sense? You fight for years, a clear enemy in your sights. You are a victim. Some may say a survivor, but I've never liked that term, because who can really say I've survived it until I'm dead and in the ground? There's still time for me to decide if I survived or not. And that's not even true. That sounds like I have a clear decision in my mind, that it's my choice to die. But anyone who has ever been suicidal knows that's not true. We're suicidal because it's the last option. It doesn't matter if that's true or not, that's how it presents itself in the mind."

He scratched the back of his head absently. "I get what you're saying. I suppose people mean that you survived the situation, not necessarily the aftermath of it."

"I feel as if the situation wasn't one in which I couldn't survive. My life was never threatened. It was abuse, but not of a physical kind. I was not beaten, not hated. Perhaps loved too thoroughly… I don't know why I'm telling you all this." She suddenly felt vulnerable, like her insides had just been exposed. There had been a brief flicker of the horror she kept inside that suddenly had light shed upon it. She had almost let loose the things kept deep within, that she hid away from even herself.

"Sometimes it's easier to talk to a stranger," Ghiaccio offered quietly. "Someone who has no connection to any of it. Strangers can be unbiased about it," he looked at the ground. "My dad used to beat me and my mom until she left. Then I fucked off shortly after; I wasn't staying with him. Now I'm in a gang. Not great, but better than where I was."

"Mm," she nodded, not knowing what else would be appropriate to say. She couldn't imagine what that would be like to live with day in and day out. Someone who should be loving and nurturing, but ends up being the one from whom you need to be protected the most. Someone who should have your trust but takes a sledgehammer to it in one instant, shattering you for life. You spend every day picking up the pieces hoping that people don't smack them out of your hands again.

But they always do.

Maybe she understood better than she realized.

"I guess it's about not letting the abuse control your life. Trying not to let it define you." He snickered, "I'm certainly not great at that. That fucker still haunts me. I got abandonment issues out the wazoo. Fuck if I know what I'm talking about."

"No, you make a valid point. It's just hard to take back that control when it's been out of your hands for so long." They were off the bridge now and just walking along the street past small shops.

"Also, I get that about not knowing who you are if you don't have something to fight. When I stopped fighting my dad, I started fighting whoever I was supposed to kill. Now I'm a hitman, I guess I took that identity literally. I'm always fighting someone."

"You lose a sense of purpose, I guess. You ensured that would never happen, but now you're always fighting. You never have peace, do you?" She asked.

"Yeah, I guess not." He looked up into the sky as the sun vanished on the horizon, the stars having just awoken.

"I meant peace of mind, but I guess in a gang there just isn't peace. Period." She folded her arms as they crossed the street.

Ghiaccio laughed. "You have no idea."

They talked for a bit more until it was fully dark. She felt better like she would be safe in her own hands for a little while longer, but she still knew it wouldn't be over. The fight was a daily battle, but it was nice to talk to him. She stopped walking and looked at him.

"I've taken up enough of your time for today."

Ghiaccio stopped and turned around to face her. "You can keep talking, I don't care. I said I don't mind."

"I know, but I should probably get back. Maybe throw away the note I wrote before someone finds it. Y'know." He nodded. "Thank you, Ghiaccio. For just listening to me."

"Anytime. Our base is over on the run down side of town. Y'know where that old condemned building is with the overgrown basketball court? We're the shitty building next to it. Drop in whenever you want; you're a friend of La Squadra now. That means you have our protection too. Anyone fucks with you, let me know. I'll put a stop to it."

"Why are you so…" It sounded rude to say nice, but she wasn't sure how else to ask it. Why the fuck would a mafia member take interest in her life?

"Why do I give a fuck?" Ghiaccio smiled.

"Yeah, basically."

"Cause I like you. It's not often I get to talk to someone on a deep, personal level. You're one of the most competent people I've met in a while. Lotta assholes in my line of work." Ghiaccio smiled genuinely at her, no smirks or sarcasm. His eyes looked pleased by their serendipitous meeting. "Seriously, don't be a stranger. Come find me if it's getting bad again. I don't wanna find you up there on that ledge again."

She nodded and smiled back. "Thanks, Ghiaccio."

"You got it. I won't ask where you live, but I can at least walk you in that direction."

"We're actually already in the neighborhood." She swallowed. "I didn't go far."

"Alright then. Take it easy," he said and patted her shoulder. He continued walking down the street in the direction of his base. She watched him go and decided, perhaps, she would take him up on his offer. If things got bad again, and she knew they would, she would talk to him about it. She turned in the direction of her house and headed home as the streetlamps clicked on one by one.