Desperate in Decline

My feet dragged against the road. I no longer had the will to fully lift them. My foot caught on a pebble and I stumbled forward, my hands flew out instinctively to brake my fall. Funny how my body still fought to live even after I resigned myself to this fate. The bottle in my hand crunched as I hit the ground hard, blood pooling from my hand onto the dark New Jersey road.
I felt stones pressing into my face and used my other palm to wipe some oily hair out of my eyes. I didn't want to get up. Every inch of my mind told me to stay still. To lay there and wait for an inevitable death. Maybe a car would come. Maybe my ribs would splinter and my eyes would bug out and pop as my head split then smashed against the ground. Just another victim of road kill.

But no, that would take to long. I was almost at the bridge anyway. I braced myself for a moment, preparing for the unfathomable effort it would take to get up. Holding my breath and tightening my eyes shut, I placed my hands against the asphalt and pushed myself to my knees. From there I stood, and, vision blurry, began to stumble the last few meters till the ground stopped and the bridge rose out of the earth, towering over the raging water below.

At last I reached the top of the arch, and stood against the rail, taking a moment to absorb the last bit of beauty I would see. A New Jersey skyline muted by grey clouds and sticky air.

My fingers didn't seem to be working, so I used my hands like paws to climb onto the rail. Peering over the edge, my breath hitched and then sped up. I had always been afraid of heights, and now that I was about to fall off one I felt the old fear again in my chest. I fell back onto the road and shied away from the ledge before reminding myself I didn't have a choice. I picked myself back up and approached the rail again, knowing that after jumping I would never have to be scared again. Though I didn't smile, I felt the clamp on my heart that prevented any happiness loosen for a moment. I was about to be free.

I moved my head over the side of the bridge and looked down. My escape. As I once again began to ascend the railing, I heard a voice.

"What in the hell are you doing?"

I paused. I hadn't planned on being interrupted. "I'm dying."

"Ya, I'm getting that." The voice sneered at me. "But why are you doing it where I'm going to."

I frowned. "What, it's not like you can call dibs on a suicide spot."

"Yes, I can. And I called that one."

Once again I placed my feet back onto the ground and turned toward the voice. "I got here first."

A kid stood there. No, a young man, only a year or so younger than me. His hood covered his face, but I saw the outline of dark hair and the glint of a lip ring. "Look," He began, "If I can convince you to do this some other time can I go now? Please?"

I stared at him. He couldn't talk me out of this, so why was he offering to try? Not only that, he wanted to take my place. "No, I got here first." I repeated.

The guy stomped his foot impatiently. "Look man, I just want to get this over with but so long as you're here I'm not gonna."

I frowned again. "So just let my go first."

"No way man! I don't want a used spot!"

"I'm sure it's been used before."

"Ya, probably, but it's a lot less romantic if we both go for it on the same night."

I paused again. This was true. I didn't want to die at the same time and place as this random dude. I wanted it to be special. "Just go some other time."

"No." He stated firmly. "I can't do this another day."

"Do what?" I asked nonchalantly.

"Face them. Those people."

"Well nor can I."

"You aren't like me. You're just some alcoholic who can't deal with the inevitable hangover."

"Am not!"

"Are too! I have real problems, ones that can't be fixed with booze."

I was offended. "Then how can you fix them?"

"With coke and this fucking bridge if you'd just get off it."

"No." I crossed my arms stubbornly. He glared at me.

"Fine."

"Fine."

I glanced down at my shoes. The guy just stared at me.

"I'm coming back Saturday. You had better not be here." He said.

"I'm coming Sunday then." I replied.

"Good. Stay out of my way."

"So long as you stay out of mine." I retorted. With that he turned heel and went back where ever he had come from. I rubbed my eyes with my hand, wincing when I got blood in one. My eye began to tear up, and the other followed suit. Soon I was curled against the stone beneath me, bawling. I couldn't do it, not after what he said. You're just some alcoholic who can't deal with the inevitable hangover. It was true, but for some reason I stood and began my way home, the weight of sadness hanging over me like a cloud.

Why didn't I just turn around and jump? How did that kid stop me? And why did I have the horrible feeling I would be back on Saturday night, just to see him again?

Notes

Hi.
I'm Lesley.
This is my first story, though I've written some Destiel one-shots. So subscribe or rate or just read it, I don't care. I mean I do care, I just don't want to pressure you into anything. I apreciate feedback though, so leave comments or tell me if I've written anything offensive because I want to know so I don't do it again. Also follow me on tumblr @panickedemo.
Thanks!