The Death, the bridge and a pair of glasses

“I must’ve sounded really cool…” I said, gripping the cemetery gate.

I could feel the adrenaline rush fading. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was trying to break through my chest.
I definitely didn’t want to set foot in the cemetery for a while—ironic, coming from someone like me.

Once I regained a bit of composure, I decided to just walk again, even though the rain was a nuisance. I had no reason to go home and no desire to return to work, though I suppose the old lady already knew I wasn’t coming back.
I thought maybe heading to the bridge would give me some sense of closure—at the very least, I could spit out my thoughts while staring at the water. With some luck, I might end up with tuberculosis.

After a while of walking, the sun had already set. The sidewalk was barely lit by the streetlights guiding my way, and the occasional flash made me squint; drivers really should know when to use high beams and when to stick with low.

A figure on the bridge caught my attention.
Leaning too far over the railing, head fixed on the river below, completely drenched.
It didn’t take a genius to understand the situation.
She looked like a girl around my age, maybe a year or two older. Braided hair, a light blue raincoat, and a pleated skirt that reached below her knees.

Horrible fashion sense, to be honest.

I watched her for a bit. She seemed to be muttering while counting on her fingers.

"Let’s see… if the bridge is 50 meters high… I’d need…" She repeated to herself, loud enough to hear.

"70 meters." I said, cutting into her thoughts.

The girl jumped at my interruption, nearly falling into the water—which, ironically, seemed to be her plan, though it’d probably count as manslaughter on my part, not suicide.

"Sorry, I felt the need to correct the bad math."

"It’s not that important anyway…" She said, lowering her head. Her voice was soft, timid, as she pointed to a bag of rocks beside her.

"Too much weight. You’re more likely to dislocate your shoulders jumping with those stones."

"Not necessarily… If I tie the bag to my waist, it’d just drag me to the bottom. Once I’m there, I wouldn’t care about fractures—I wouldn’t have the time or means to surface, even if my survival instinct kicked in." She said, pulling a pair of glasses from her pocket.

"I see you’ve done your homework."

[Incredibly analytical.]
[She reminded me of myself.]
[Is that what I sounded like?]
[What a headache…]

"Planning to stick around and watch?" She asked, putting on her glasses. I could barely make out a green tint in her eyes—probably just the mix of the lights, the lenses, and the night itself.

"I was actually thinking of explaining why it’s a bad idea." I replied, stepping closer to the railing. I spoke while losing myself in the small waves of the river.

"I’m open to suggestions."

"I’ve got a really good one."

"I’m all ears."

"Don’t do it."

"A stranger’s feeble attempt to talk me out of it—add the rain, the cold… anything else to make this worse?" She complained, constantly wiping her glasses. She probably couldn’t see without them, and with this weather, not even with them.

"Just a suggestion. You can do whatever you want, but… can I ask why?"

"Why would I tell a stranger? Got some kind of fetish or something?"

Honestly, that got a laugh out of me.

"Not at all. I may be a stranger, but let’s just say… I ‘know the subject.’" I said, making air quotes.

I showed her the scars on my wrists and the mark on my neck.
She practically leapt at me, inspecting me like I was some lab experiment gone rogue.

"This is genuinely impressive…"

"Thanks."

"So many marks… so many attempts…"

"Yup, exactly…"

"And you didn’t manage to die? Are you dumb or something?" She asked, tilting her head to the right.

"Huh? At least I didn’t resort to cheap theatrics with a bag of rocks."

"It may be cheap theatrics, but it’s functional. Your attempts were subtle and ineffective." She said, smiling.

There was something in that smile—something I understood all too well.
Just talking to someone, even if it was about ways to die.

"You’re so annoying…"

"I’ve heard that before."

"Admitting it makes it worse…" I said, rubbing my forehead. "Alright, so are you gonna tell me why? Broken heart? Absent parents? You tell me."

"I… uh… how do I put it? Lately… I’ve been seeing things…" Her voice grew quieter as she hunched her shoulders.

"Things?"

"People who… shouldn’t ‘be’ there, and…" Her voice slowly faded.

"And…?"

"Forget it, it’s stupid. This whole thing is stupid…" She repeated, stepping back.

"Come on, I’m not gonna laugh. Not like this situation’s exactly a barrel of laughs anyway."

"And something else…" she said, staring at her shoes, only glancing at me for a moment before fixing her eyes back on the ground. "Death…"

"Uh-huh… Why did I have a feeling you’d say that?" I replied, that tic of scratching my neck kicking in again. "I’m not the first person you’ve told, am I?"

"How do you know?" Suddenly, her eyes were locked on me.

"The way you reacted. Were you expecting me to suggest a psychiatrist or something?" I said, letting out a long sigh.

"I probably need one…" she said, lowering her head again.

"Depends. Does she look like a girl, about 1.50 tall, black hair, almost yellow eyes, wearing a green coat?"

I swear, if her jaw wasn’t attached to her face, it would’ve hit the ground with a thud.

"H-How do you know that?"

"Long story…" I replied, a bit evasive, glancing at the bridge’s lamps. "Good news is, you don’t need to go to a psych ward—not for this, at least."

She stayed quiet for a long time. So did I. In that moment, we probably only needed the sound of the rain hitting the steel of the bridge.

"I’ve… got time to listen…"

"Don’t you think this is already weird enough? Wanna add a post-suicide-attempt chat in the rain to the mix?" I said, brushing past her. I wasn’t in a rush—after all, I was already soaked—but standing in the rain didn’t sound all that fun either. "Go home. You can try again another day."

"Why?"

"‘Why’ what?" I glanced over my shoulder, barely pausing.

"All this… I mean, the logical thing would’ve been to mind your own business."

"Feeling a bit selfish today." I said, scratching my neck again. That tic was getting more frequent.

"Still…"

"If you’re trying to drag out the conversation, that’s not the way."

"I’m not…!" She cut herself off mid-sentence.

I exhaled heavily, deliberately dramatic.
Though I got it, in a way.

"My place is a few blocks away. If you don’t want to go back to yours, you can crash until the rain stops. Just a suggestion—not an invitation." I said, waving my hand as I started walking again.

"Alright!"

"Huh? You’re not gonna think twice? Didn’t your parents tell you not to accept invites from strangers?"

"You said it wasn’t an invitation."

"True, but the point still stands."

"Didn’t your parents tell you not to bring suicidal people to your house?" She asked, clasping her hands behind her back as she hurried to match my pace.

"Ah… touché."

She let out a soft laugh.

A laugh that hid more beneath it than I could’ve imagined.