High

Scratching my arm, I hiss when my nails dig deeper than planned. Not helping my already bad day, I could feel my cigarette slipping from my mouth and going down from the roof. If I was the same girl I was two months ago, I would've worried that it would've burn someone, but then again, two months ago I wouldn't be caught smoking nor hanging out on this roof. Laughing bitterly, I extracted another one from its confinement, lighting it carefully, not wanting the breeze to damp my mood even further.

Swinging my legs above the oblivious passerby, I puffed on my cigarette, dragging the smoke toward my lungs and exhaling it slowly, savoring its calming effect. Watching the rows of people that walked, I could imagine their steps pounding on the pavement, creating a pattern of clacking heels and shoes, everyone too busy with their own problems to notice a brokenhearted girl that is drowning in a bottle of cheap whiskey, meretricious cigarettes and her own misery. Smiling almost masochistically at my thoughts, I could feel someone’s eyes on me from behind. Sighing, I smashed my cigarette, knowing that I have to.

“What do you want, Marcus?” I asked tiredly. My words were slightly slurred from the drinking, but the booze wasn't good enough to fog my emptiness for even a second.

“Still mourning over your broken heart?” He asked back, a teasing tone behind his words. Shaking my head, I released a jaundiced laugh, almost identical with the astringency that I had inside.

“A wise man once said,” he began and I rolled my eyes at one of his poor attempts to talk me out of this state. “Being bitter is like drinking poison and hoping someone else would die.”

Snorting, I turned and shot him a look. “Yeah, you’re right about that,” I smiled, but we both knew it wasn't real nor meant for good. “I am hoping someone else would die.”

“Oh please,” he came and sat next to me, a little further from the edge. Smirking at his cowardliness, I swung my legs harder and higher, just to make him even more terrified about me actually jumping. It would be the easy way out, but I never was someone to always seek attention. If I chose to kill myself, I’m pretty sure I would have a sane enough mind to not do that publicly.

“How are you not over him by now? It was over two months ago, Samantha.”

I cringe at the name. No one but Marcus called me that now. I used to hate the nickname my mom gave to me, Sam, but now that definitely changed.

“So what if it was two months ago?” I snapped at him, turning back to get the bottle. Chugging big gulps of the cheap booze, I clenched my jaw in anger. So what if it was two months ago? The wretchedness was still fresh, scratching at my chest, mocking my pauperized attempts to forget about it all. Getting even angrier at myself, I stood up, feeling Marcus’ fearful gazes thinking that I made up my mind to finish my life.

“Sam,” he called me vigilantly. Turning my back to the cacophony called San Francisco, I marched to the door in the middle of the roof, not minding nor looking at the broken pieces of glass that were the consequences of my angered nights spent here.

Shutting the door I climbed down the stairs to the top floor of the abandoned hotel. Doors with paint that was peeling off were lined in order in the hallway, all of them missing something, whether it is a number or the handle. Jogging to the end of the hallway, I stopped at a room that was missing the number. Harshly coming in, I slammed it shut. The slamming had caused an echo to go through the hotel, but I was too frustrated to care if the cops found me trespassing. Looking around the room, memories started filling my mind. I didn't even feel the hot tears rolling on my cheeks, each fueling my anger.

“How could you!” I shouted. The slurring had taken a bigger effect and even though the words aren't clear as day, anyone could still feel the betrayal, the hurt and the pain in them. Grabbing the nearest lamp, I crashed it on the spot where we used to always hang out, in the corner by the bed. It was a hideaway; a place where we were cramped up, laughing, kissing, pretending as if the world didn't exist and time had stopped. I could hear my laugh mingling with his deep, rich chuckle, or maybe I’m just going crazy. Clutching my head, I released a scream, all the anger, frustration and perfidy synchronized.

Falling on the floor, a fresh new round of tears engulfed me. Crying loudly, hysterical gasps for breath and whimpers are escaping my mouth. My lungs are burning for oxygen, my hands covered with bloody scratches from glass. My breaths from hysterical became ragged, each one trying to get as much oxygen as it could. And it still wasn't enough. I could feel myself slipping into unconsciousness, black dots appearing into my sight.

I struggled to stay awake, forcing myself to get big gulps of oxygen. I was in this craze for what felt four hours, when in actual time it was barely half an hour. Having my breathing and body calmed down, I collapsed on the floor; no longer could my arms support my decreased weight of my body. I knew that my weight was way down below normal point, another consequence to not caring about food and spending your money on alcohol or cigarettes, trying to erase memories that are permanent. Still shivering, I laid down in a fetal position, trying to catch my breath. The shivering continued, cold engulfing me in its frozen hug, mending my broken heart with silent whispers in it, telling me it’s okay, that everything is okay.

But I know it’s not. I know that when I open my eyes, he’s not going to be there. He’s not going to come, give me his crooked smile and to whisper the three words that got my heart beating at a frenzy.

Shaking, I released another pain filled sob. The words are echoing in my head, each time mocking me, telling me I wasn't good enough for him. They became louder, pounding in my head, shouting, yelling that I am no good, that I am a mistake, someone that is far from perfect, no matter who is in the question.

He had a point, though. I changed. I learned to let go, to not care about the future and to enjoy now, to enjoy that I am not dying and that I’m not dead. To enjoy that I had survived through these nineteen years of life. I did just that, but there is this gap.

When you try to change yourself, you also change the person people see. You become something they didn't even imagine you to be, and that is where you see true friendship and true love. The mask you wore had fallen off, the mask you had worn for all your life. You show people exactly who you are, and they are afraid. They are afraid because this isn't the person they knew. This isn't the person they laughed with, the person that they love.

That’s exactly what happened. When I met him, I had my mask on. I laughed with him, I yelled at him, I kissed him. And I still didn't take that mask off. I learned to keep it on at all times, never to let it down.

I thought this would be different. That this time someone will accept me just the way I am.

What a fantasy, huh?

So I let my mask down. I let it fade with the wind, I let it fall off. I showed my true self to the world. I’m not going to lie; it was the best feeling in the world. To not pretend, to not have a mask, to show the real you. To take down that wall of insecurities and to crush it, brick by perfect brick. I smashed it, turned it into dust, let it flow with the wind filled with whispers, shouts and hoots of encouragement. I felt invincible; I was ready to yell all I wanted to just whisper these past nineteen years. I was too lost in my own sufficiency to notice that people were leaving my life like leaves, forever lost into my memory. First my friends, then my family, and at last, the person I thought will forever stand by my side, to protect me from evil words and execrable people.

Blake.

Brown tousled hair. Green eyes that reminded you of emerald with golden specks. Strong jaw and pink kissable lips. He had this tough look on him, like no one was ever good enough to talk to him. He rarely smiled in public, which was absolutely fine with me. His smile was reserved only for me to see it. I may sound possessive, but his smile was something only certain people had the approval to see it. The way it lit up his face, how it gave your heart a jump, the tingles that erupted every time he showed his pulchritudinous smile. His body was fit and muscled. By him, my five point seven foot physique was short, for him was standing at six point three.

I was never more wrong about him always standing by my side.

Remembering his alluring face, a choke-like hold tightened around my neck, applying pressure. For once, I wasn't fighting for a breath, trying to get a gulp of the refreshing oxygen that, let’s face it, was barely present in the dusty room. The choke tightened even more, and I opened my eyes to see no one choking me nor trying to kill me. Although I had soon come to the conclusion that I was the one that was trying to kill me. My arms were lying limply by my side, but I knew that some dark side of the brain didn't allow me to breathe. And I let it. I figured that after all, there was nothing to live about. Sure, I had Marcus and other “friends” that I met while staying in this place, but it still wasn't enough. It wasn't a reason for me to stay alive and to keep fighting. This was the easy way out.

With the last thought lingering in my mind, the choke-like hold had loosened. It wasn't because I had changed my mind about suicide, but because even the caliginous part of my brain had agreed that I will make the decision to how I will kill myself. Determined, I got up from the floor, a different spark cascading in my brown eyes. My lips were pursed into a thin line. Clenching my knuckles, I grabbed the car keys that were lying on the unmade bed layered with clothes and trash.

The cheap whiskey bottle laid neglected at the side. Grabbing it in my other hand, I emptied the liquid, its gross, yet comforting taste scratching my throat. Wincing at the feeling, I exited the room with obstinate steps. My booted heels clacked in the empty hallway, creating clapping noises, as if congratulating my decision. Smirking rancorously, I turned left to the stairs and climbed down, my hand gliding at the polished pole. I almost jumped all the stairs, my rational mind freaked out that I am so indifferent and enthusiastic about killing myself. It wasn't the killing part I was so keen and joyful about, it was the place where I was going to do it.

Smiling wickedly to myself, I unlocked the car and quickly got in. I don’t care if the police will stop me or anything, I mean, who will even be up to watch the abandoned streets of San Francisco at two A.M? It seems three hours had passed since my encounter with Marcus.

Pulling out of my parking spot, I drove from the town at a speed that was way past the limit, I felt exhilarated, as if I could win the world. Laughing loudly, I continued speeding towards my favorite spot – our favorite spot.

After fifteen minutes of me laughing maniacally and flailing my arms, my mood worsened when I saw the place where I felt free. Where I felt as if everything is okay and alright, a place where I could be alone even if I’m with a group. This place is where you take a deep breath, silence filling your mind, not thinking about your problems or mistakes that you've done. A contented smile lingering on your lips, the wind blowing your hair, minuscule drops of the ocean below washing your face. You hear the waves crashing and thundering below you, their force almost making the pebbles in front of you shake.

Getting out of the car with a slight smile and a sad look in my eyes, I managed to grab my whiskey bottle, my sight slightly blurred. It wasn't from the booze, that cheap shit didn't do anything to me except make my words a little slurred.

I stood a little further than the edge. Anger had once again filled me, darkened my eyes and made me see red. My body heat increased, a consequence to getting angry and having a cold.

Frustrated, I shouted to nothing and to no one. “Is this what you wanted!”

I knew he couldn't hear me, he wouldn't dare to be here after what he did. “Is this what you wanted for me to do?! For me to become?!” My voice had raised an octave, wavering and giving the hint that I will start spurting water works in a few moments.

“A suicidal freak?” I yelled. Gulping what is left of the liquid, I threw the bottle away from me, hearing the glass shatter, reminding me of that day when he broke my heart to the exact pieces. Breathing heavily from the shouting, my anger morphed into something that will be hardly recognized as sadness and hurt, only much stronger, making me weak. Stumbling to my knees, I could feel the pebbles crush and sting my legs, their sharpness causing a few scratches and bruises. Not that I cared. In this moment, no physical pain could be matched with the pain I was feeling inside. Burning me, like fire only more intense, hollowing me, stinging, cutting like a sword. I feel as if someone had sliced my heart and added acid on it, making it burn, sting with an incomparable pain. But what bothered me was the emptiness that followed the pain. It was as if it burned everything inside, not even leaving ashes. Only a hollow chest.

If pain demands to be felt, emptiness begs to be overlooked. But I couldn't ignore it. I couldn't ignore the stupefy feeling that was spreading over my body. Numbness exploded in my legs, making it hard for me to move them. But I did. I moved them in the direction of the edge, glad to end my misery and self loath.

Taking a deep breath, I looked in front of me. My sight was still blurred, and I was forcing the endless streams of tears to stop falling. At last, I managed to clear my vision, looking at the star filled sky. My shoulders were sagging and I was taking deep breaths, trying to force the ocean’s salty air in my lungs. The waves were crashing below me, grumbling like animals as they repeatedly flung themselves towards the cliff. They were determined to take it down and drown me. Forcing my eyes to look down, I could feel slight drops dripping on my face. On reflex, I stumbled a little back, the highness of the place I am right now making me realize that this is where it all ends.

And do you know the worst part?

I was fine with it.

Crushing the pebbles with my heels and licking my lips that were suddenly dry, I clamped my arms together behind me. Taking a deep breath and counting to ten, I was ready once again to open my eyes and see my destiny. I imagined how it would be. The snap of a neck echoing in the wind, the monsters below grumbling in satisfaction as they pulled me in, my life already over.

The wind blowing my blonde hair, some rebel strands flicking over my face. It was carrying whispers of comfort, whispers telling me it’s okay, that it’s okay to let go. I opened my eyes and relaxed my muscles.

This was it.

Carefully stepping forward, the tops of my shoes had been already out of the edge. Taking a deep breath, I exhaled as I unhooked my hands from behind, making them to be parallel with my shoulders. I extended them, and at the moment I realized that I was only missing my Jack to once again perform the Titanic. Laughing a little bit at my logic, I shook my head. After my quick laugh, the air once again became cold, a serious matter lingering in it. My lips were again pressed into a thin line.

And then, without debating further, I lost my gravity on the cliff, falling forward. My breath got caught in my throat, but I soon let it go. I counted the seconds as they passed, feeling my heart beat for the last time, feeling my hair whip because of the wind.

One…

Two…

Three…

I shakily exhaled. I turned over and watched the edge of the cliff fade, and the drops of the ocean becoming more present.

This was it.

Feeling the water, I drowned in it. A deep abyss of nothing and everything.

And for once, the real time, I let go.

I simply let go. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SYM-RJwSGQ8