Have You Considered Hypotermia?

“If we take my weight, plus the added stones in my pockets, that’s a total of 77 kilograms. Add the 70 meters of height between the bridge and the river flowing below, and that gives us a fall velocity of 31.32 meters per second. If I dive headfirst, the impact might knock me out, and I wouldn’t have to worry about my survival instinct tempting me to swim.”

“What’s the depth we’re talking about?”

“Hmm… roughly 6.53 meters. It helps that it’s winter. I could even die of hypothermia if I don’t drown…”

“You’re saying you’re okay with the idea that, if you don’t drown, someone finds your wrinkled, frozen body with a horrified expression? Isn’t that… a bit undignified?”

“Honestly, it’s annoying that you always find something wrong with my ideas, you know.”

“Sorry for pointing out the obvious stuff that flies over your head. You might be super analytical, but that doesn’t make you any less stupid.”

The girl with black hair answered, her eyes lost in the swaying of the water below us, her face tilted, resting against one of the bridge’s railings.

“You’re supposed to be the one encouraging me for this stuff.”

“Supposed to.”

“But something tells me you’re not gonna do that, or am I wrong?”

She turned her head. “Nope,” she concluded. Her fingers brushed the worn railing, and slowly, her eyes met mine. She slipped her hands into her pockets and leaned forward slightly, as if trying to read my expression in that moment.

“Doesn’t that go against the whole point of your existence?”

“The same could be said about suicide.”
She said, pulling the hood over her head. An unremarkable outfit, honestly, though the green parka contrasted sharply with the amber of her eyes.
I wanted to argue, but truth be told, she had a point.

“I don’t know why I keep talking to you.”

“Because you don’t have anyone else to talk to.”

“Even if you’re right, at this point, I must look like the town lunatic.”

“Yup! That’s exactly what anyone would think when you talk about suicide like it’s a college course.”

“No, it’s what anyone would think because I’m the only one who can see or hear you.”

She pressed her index finger to her lips, clearly not thinking, just pretending to—a cheap plan to get under my skin. An effective one.
“Ah… Touché,” she said, letting out a soft laugh that faded in the winter breeze.

I buried half my face in my scarf and turned around. I’d already written off the night, so there was no point staring at the water. I wanted to die, not go fishing.

“It’s still early. Where you going?”

“Home. This method’s a no-go. I’m freezing, I’ll probably catch a cold, and above all, I haven’t eaten dinner yet.”

“You were considering dying of hypothermia in the river, and now you’re complaining about the cold? I don’t quite get how you think, honestly.”

“Simple. In the river, I’d probably die. Here, the worst that could happen is a flu that keeps me in bed.”

“And I’d be the one spoon-feeding you revitalizing soup?” she said, chuckling softly. “…What’s it feel like?”

“Only if you lace it with some rat poison,” I replied, heading toward home. I could hear her footsteps behind me but didn’t turn to look. “It feels awful. Your head hurts, you might get a fever, and you need a ton of tissues to deal with the snot.”

“Dumbass,” she replied. I could hear her exhale sharply—you know, like when you’re a kid and you breathe out in the cold to see the vapor. “I was asking what the cold feels like.”

Her question stopped me in my tracks. I don’t know why, but when I turned to look, she was examining her hands, pointed toward the sky.

“Want me to get a ladder, or are you planning to stretch up there?”My question fell on deaf ears. 

She just walked toward me, pulled one of my hands from my pocket, and held hers next to it.“The tips of my fingers didn’t turn pink like yours… Should I be shivering like you? Does the cold bother you that much?” she asked, comparing my hand to hers, which lacked any hint of color.

“You ask too many questions sometimes, you know? I find it hard to believe you don’t already know or that I’m the first person you’ve asked.”

“Why?”

“Because of… let’s say… the nature of your job.”

“My job, as you call it, doesn’t define my questions or even my desires. Weird, but you’re the first person I’ve asked.”

I let out a laugh—cheap, overdone sarcasm—as I stuffed my hand back in my pocket. “Wasn’t I the one with no one to talk to?” I said, turning and continuing my walk.

“I do have someone to talk to.”

“Then why don’t you go talk to them?”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”To be honest, the directness of her response made me want to drop the conversation, so I just kept walking. Even though the cold crept under my clothes, I didn’t feel rushed to get home.
Who’d be in a hurry to reach an empty place, or worse, one where no one’s waiting for you?

Going through the town center was unavoidable. My house was in a small neighborhood a few blocks away. I’d long since started hating that route. Groups of friends drinking, couples—it stirred a mix of nostalgia and envy.
I let the streetlights hold my attention until I got home. I could’ve talked to her along the way, but I didn’t, and neither did she. My house was a family inheritance—nothing special, more old than anything else, but a roof’s a roof, and I wasn’t planning to stick around much longer, so I couldn’t complain.

I used to cook my meals, but now I just went for junk food or those pre-made microwave meals you just heat up.
I pulled a package from the microwave—two portions, one for me and one out of courtesy.

“You don’t need to feed me.”

“You don’t need to eat it either, and yet you do.”

She twirled the fork back and forth, watching me eat. “Is it good?” Her voice sounded curious.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking that?” I said, a laugh catching me by surprise at the end.

“You know I wouldn’t be able to answer.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“And yet you seasoned it like you were expecting an answer…”

“Guilty as charged.”

“And you made sure it wasn’t too hot…”

“Another crime on my list,” I said, looking up at her, but her eyes were fixed on the plate.

“You know, you’re acting weirder than usual tonight…”

“And you’re about to make me lose my appetite with your observations,” she shot back.

“I’d believe that if you could actually feel hunger,” I replied. I was ready for another round of verbal sparring, but she seemed upset about something. She set the plate aside, stood up silently, and headed to the room.
“If you leave me alone, I might slit my wrists with one of these knives!” I raised my voice so she’d hear, but it didn’t make her come back.

The only sound that reached me was the door to her room closing.