Famous Last Words

Gerard POV

One second. 'You've only got one second, Way.' I think to myself, catching her wrist before it falls out of my reach, and, with a bit of a struggle, pull her back over the rails. It was hard, no doubt. The girl was kicking and struggling to try and break free, but I couldn't stand and watch her end it all. Even with all the struggling, I manage to pull her away from her death (Which is a lot harder with only one wrist to start with). I have her picked up, if I let her down, she'll probably run off again. Who knows what she'd do, then.
But she still doesn't let any of the tears she saved up fall. She looks too exhausted. I know, as I set her down gently, she collapses against the rails, panting, she doesn't have the energy to try again.
"You okay?" I ask.
"Un-unfortunately." she stammers, looking up at me with messy light brown bangs swept over most of her left eye. By now I'de actually had a chance to get a closer look at her. She was pretty short, with large golden eyes that gave you a "100 yard stare". Just looking at her, I can tell she hadn't eaten for days. She was badly injured. Bruised and cut. With scrapes all over her arms and legs, it looked pretty painful. Her clothes were tattered, and it was easy to see the many blade scars on her arms. Her hair was long, messy and wavy, but still clean. A caramel color down to her waist.
She had a fierce glare for being all that young, but on the inside it was easy to tell it was an act to scare people away, and she was really pretty fragile. and I just wondered what made all this happen to such a young kid.
"What's your name?" I ask, wondering if she'll tell the truth.
"Lyra." she says without hesitation. It doesn't take Sherlock Holmes to find our she's not lying.
"Hi, Lyra." I say, softly"I'm Gerard."
"Hi." she says simply.
"Now Lyra, why don't we go and have a little chat at my place?"
"I-if y-y-you t-think s-so." she looks a little scared, and fails to hide it.
"Come on." I extend a hand for her to hold. She smiles slightly, and takes my hand. And we walk back. Her hand's shaky and cool, against the hot California weather. As we reach the house we walk into the apartment building, taking the elevator upstairs.
"My roommate, Frank isn't here,either." I say, trying to start conversation. But Lyra's quiet. She doesn't seem to like talking like I do.
I got the keys out and unlocked the door, we both walked in and I led her to the couch, she had a small limp, but it wasn't much. I sat down on the couch next to her, looking her straight on.
"So, what's with the knife?" I ask.
"W-w-well I w-was t-t-trying to k-kill m-myself..."
"I think that's clear, but...could you tell me why?"
"A-and y-you w-won't tell a-anyone else?"
"Promise." and with that she starts speaking.
"W-w-well I got b-bullied a lot a-at m-my own s-s-school., you k-know, f-for s-stammering, s-so I g-guess y-you c-c-could say t-that's w-where t-the s-self h-harming b-began. M-my p-parents weren't any h-help. T-the exact o-opposite a-actually."
"Well what did your parents do?"
"T-t-they.....m-m-my p-p-parents..."
Her stammering becomes more prominent. It's easy to see she doesn't like talking about it, and she has a hard time pronouncing each word. "Take your time." I say.
She eases and continues. "My p-parents w-would hit me. S-sometimes j-just hitting, a c-couple t-times m-my d-dad u-used a w-whip. T-they a-always e-explained to m-me a-afterwards, t-that I was an a-accident, broken condom. A-and t-t-that n-no a-adoption a-agencies w-would t-take m-me off their h-h-hands, b-because I was t-too "a-aggressive, and, not y-young e-enough."
What? WHAT? Okay, so now I see why this kid thought that was the answer. "Where are you from?"
"W-well o-originally f-from N-New Y-York, but we moved t-to W-Washington l-last y-year."
my eyes widen. "You walked....from Washington....to California? How long?"
"I've been running away since we moved."
"And you keep running?"
"Y-yes. I-I've been e-e-enrolling m-myself I-in a-all t-these s-schools, l-lying, a-and m-making u-up p-parents f-for I d-don't k-know h-how l-long. B-but t-the b-bullying f-followed m-me e-everywhere I-I ran, s-so I-I kept r-running."
"Why do you stutter?" I ask. Her eyes drop a bit. godammit I knew I shouldn't have asked!
"I-I s-stammer w-when I'm n-nervous." she seems to notice my sorry expression. "D-don't w-w-worry, p-people a-ask me all the t-time."
I look out the window, thinking. So she only stammers when she's nervous. Got it. I know I have to fix her up. I just know. A kid shouldn't have to go through is. I'm gonna help her drop that stammer, stop hurting herself, and find a better home then those piles of shit she just described. But when I turn around, the doors open, and Lyra's gone.

Notes

Updating the story as often as I can. ^_^