“How May I Help You?”

It seemed appropriate at the time; to get a job at the Suicide Hotline.

Well.

Humming softly to myself, I manned the welcome desk for all the idiots stupid enough to come visit the patronising adults on the telephones. Stuck in a dead beat job and credit crunch ways, I was hardly the compassionate ear they were hoping for.

I heard the bell jingle brightly over the noise of cliché lines and ringing phones. I refused to lift my eyes from my nail file, not even when a large, overbearing shadow obscured my light. It wasn’t until he coughed in irritation that I spoke up.

“Welcome to Suicide Help, please, leave all your troubles at the door. How may I help you?”
“Aren’t you people suppose to care?”
“Nope. At least, I don’t think so anyway.”

The shadow huffed indignantly as flicked my chin and I caught the pungent odour of ink and paint. With a heavy sigh, I lifted my eyes to his brooding, dark face. He was all tortured artist and dark, sallow complexion and I couldn’t help but snigger.

His eyebrow cocked and his dark eyes turned sour,
“Oh so now you’re laughing at me? At my lowest point?”
I shrugged my shoulder, finally putting my nail file down,
“Sorry, but a tortured artist turning up at our doorstep is hardly original. You should have cut off your ear or something.”

“I would have but it’s already been done but you’re killing me softly anyway –“
His eyes trailed down to my chest before flicking back up with a jaunty smirk,
“Anna-Grace.”

I pursed my lips silently, studying his rough jeans and trucker shirt rolled up at the elbow, a pencil sticking out from behind his ear and his scrawny body leaning over the desk for support. I leaned forward, my strawberry blonde curls rolling off my shoulders.

He leaned down, readying himself for my sordid secret.
“Attention all staff, please take note that checking my chest out for my name tag is hardly endearing. In fact, it’s just plain lazy.”

I lifted my finger off the microphone and leant back in my chair; ears ringing in satisfaction of my voice that was just tailing off down the hall. The tips of his ears turned a bright red and his shoulders sunk lower in humiliation.

He slammed his hands down dangerously on the desk and ran out his words in an irate hiss,
“Screw you Anna-Grace but I came here for a little help not to be mocked by a four foot little wench.”

My eyes steeled up as I pointed to the door,
“Well screw you art boy but you’re just another cliché tragedy and I don’t see why I have to waste my Saturday nights listening to you moping and moaning.”

He tightened his lips, fingers leaving smudged charcoal prints across my pristine white desk. Silently, he pushed himself backwards and stalked quietly out of the brightly lit hall, bell ringing cheerily at his brooding exit.

“Yo, Anna –“
My back straightened, praying to God that my boss hadn’t just seen me mock another dead beat soul out of our doors. Turning stiffly, I saw him leaning out of a booth, a young tear streaked girl sniffling weakly next to him.

Nodding his head towards the door he rushed out his words in a thick accent,
“Get atta here kid, your shift is done for the night.”
Winking playfully, he turned his attention back to the destitute soul occupying his cubbyhole.

I didn’t need another word; my heels were already hitting the wet pavement outside as his back turned. The black sky drizzled onto my head as I shivered in the frozen night. My footsteps slapped through the night, scuffed shoes catching the pools of yellow light as I wandered down the empty street.

Turning the corner, I looked round nervously, licking my lips as I stepped onto the bridge. My heart was hammering as I edged towards the brim. My hands splayed across the metal banister, catching tiny fine drops of rain on their surface.

The sky rumbled hungrily at the beginning of a storm as I place one foot on the edge. Rising up, I stood with my hands in the pockets of my jacket as I looked down. The stormy grey water slapped up against the rocks below, swirling and murmuring angrily to itself.

I edged forward, my toes curling around the edge as I took in one last breath, steadying myself for the free fall. Leaning forward, I bent my legs and squeezed my eyes tight shut.
“Excuse me, but do you have the slightest clue what you’re about to do?”

Startled, I spun round my stomach flipping violently as I teetered on the edge. My trainers squeaked on the slippery metal and my hands spun wildly trying to catch onto something other than frosty air. Pressing my hand to my chest, I peered into the night at the glowing cigarette ash.

The figure blew out a stream of faint grey smoke and crushed the red hot ash out. I sizzled beneath its foot in the miserable rain and he stepped forward, beneath a flickering lamppost. He angled his head up to me, jamming his ink stained hands casually into his jeans; trucker shirt soaked clean through.

Huffing, I stomped my foot angrily,
“Jesus art-boy you scared me.”
He was silent, before repeating himself,
“Do you know what you were about to do?”

I looked down, avoiding his dead gaze as I shuffled my feet and murmured softly at the banister below,
“Yes actually, I took notes behind the desk.”

I snapped my head up and pointed dangerously,
“And don’t you dare say it’s not right or another other of those cliché motivation lines they use back there okay?”

He studied me with a soft wave of interest as I peered back over the edge of the bridge. The moon’s broken image reflecting off the violent waves. Kicking the edge softly, I began to murmur absently to myself.
“It seems a kind of fitting way to die; passionless and unromantic.”

I heard the slap of wet footsteps then the low grunt of an art boy climbing onto the edge of the world next to me. He let out a low whistle and turned to me,
“Do you know who you’re talking to? Passionless and unromantic is hardly how suicides are supposed to go.”

I glared at him, instantly forgetting the dark abyss of relief below,
“I don’t care what you think; you don’t even know me!”
“I don’t need to, I’ve found what I wanted.”

Curiosity tugged my chin upwards until I was looking blindly at his moon haloed face.
“Oh yeah, and what is that exactly?”
He grinned at me, a broken wild grin that set off dark angles in his face.

Leaning in, he pushed a soaked curl behind my ear,
“A completely passionate and romantic muse.”
I jumped back startled, feet slipping on the wet metal as I toppled precariously.

The boy jolted as I swayed near the edge before settling again as I glared up at him. Sighing, he jammed his hands in his pockets and carried on,
“Trust me my darling, I know your legs just want to leap but I have an idea. Instead of dying in a completely shambolic mess; how about you come live with me.”

My mouth dropped open in shock and my feet dropped back to the security of the thin lip of the drop below. His hands lashed out, as he carried on desperately trying to fit in all he had to say between me and the fall below.

“I know, I know that you’ve heard all the lines before so I’m gonna be honest; things are gonna get rough and saying everything’s going to be okay will hardly ever work but I can’t waste my time trying to convince you; so the choice is yours, die alone or live with me.”

There was a low riot of thunder in the distance that filled our caesura. A glimmering murmur of silver sparked the brooding black night as the wind and rain knocked us senseless. I cast one last despairing glance between the murky sea below and his quietly hopeful face.

“Okay –“
My voice was slow as I edged back towards his tense figure,
“Okay you win but you only have one night to convince me or else I’m chucking myself of this bridge and trust me, you won’t see it coming.”

He laughed, a broken quiet melody as he grabbed for me, pulling me close. Cupping my heart shaped face in his calloused hands, he pressed a delicate kiss on my rain drenched lips,
“Hush my muse, the night is young.”

Leaning back he tightened his hold on my face as I wrapped my shivering hands around his sodden wrists,
“Besides, if you remember , a mere ten minutes ago I was gonna jump too.”

His lips collided with mine again, against the backdrop of a stormy night and the edge of my life; a storm breaking in the distance.

Like I said, it seemed appropriate somehow to get a job at the Suicide Hotline.

[---]

Yeah, this is weird & totally random but I needed to get it down. :’)

Any who, this will be moved soon into my Little Book Of Oneshots.