Crash Los Diablos Prequel Novella

Isabella-19 Years Old

Cold, fall, San Francisco mornings have always been my favorite. The way the breeze smells like the salty bay as the fog tumbles over the water has always brought me peace, stillness , particularly on mornings when I wake up gasping and covered in sweat. I know it’s going to be just one of those days. It’s difficult to shake the feelings of hopelessness and shame that cling to my body long after the nightmares have gone.

I used to let negative feelings swallow me whole, allow my mind to fall through the cracks of the past, drowning in memories of sorrow. Sometimes, I couldn’t even get out of bed – I’d say I was reflecting , healing , but I wasn’t doing any of that. No, I was just drowning.

Drowning.

Drowning.

Drowning.

I was in so deep, I either had to get out or give in. Give in to the weight of the water, the pressure on my chest, the deep burn for air in my lungs. Give in and give the fuck up. Let go, and finally just be free. Sometimes, that’s all I wanted to do. Other times, I’d be reminded of why I had to keep going. The sun would finally crack through the gloom and spill through my window, sparking some tiny amount of joy. A text from a friend or a call from my mom would ping on my phone, a reminder to see, to care, to love.

But God, those days when I’d wake up to the more horrific nightmares, days riddled with such pain, anger, and guilt. The nightmares would cling to me, and the memories I worked so hard to bury would come out to play. They’d dance through my brain, taunting me, regaling my brokenness, my failures. They’d follow me, leaving a fog of nothingness in their wake.

Those days are the worst. They’re days of choices. To wrap my car around a tree, or not. To take too many sleeping pills or throw them away. To slice or not to slice.

Today is a day of choices: to jump or not to jump.

I woke up in a state of panic, drenched in sweat, shaking uncontrollably, and screaming loud enough to wake Alyssa, my roommate. She barged into my room already knowing what she’d find, and once again, I had deal with someone who cares and therefore pities me, pities the tiny part of my past she knows.

It’s nothing compared to what plagues me. I let her think what she wants about the cause of my nightmares. I’d prefer pity to disgust any day, but today, the pity is too much.

Today, the pity in her eyes when she came to check on me was trumped by her yet again suggesting I’d be better off living at home with my parents. If I thought that would help take care of “the issue,” as if it’s a matter of where my bed is versus how fucked up my mind is, I’d do it.

Her suggestion leaves me feeling overwhelmingly ashamed and unwanted. My presence makes her uncomfortable, but going home isn’t an option. It’s nauseating knowing that the thing that keeps me here , my friends and family, also holds them back, that my existence is more of a hindrance than anything else. If I stay, I stay for me. If I leave, I leave for them.

At least, that’s the thought I had this morning. So, I got dressed in some yoga pants and a hoodie, then pulled out the letters I wrote for Mom and Dad years ago, the first time I found myself making choices I never followed through with. The newer, shorter letter I’d written for Alyssa joined them now.

That’s it, just three letters . All my life has amounted to can be summarized in three pieces of paper. Three relationships. Three people who’d notice if I was gone. I left them on the island in the kitchen, grabbed my car keys, and walked out the door. Today was the day to end it all and those were my final goodbyes, neatly wrapped and sealed in small, crisp white envelopes.

I once watched a documentary about the Golden Gate Bridge, about the overwhelming number of people who’ve committed suicide there. There was a survivor on the show who described what it felt like to jump, to fall, to crash , and to live. People say there’s romance to it, dying at the bridge.

I don’t find it romantic at all. I find it quick, easy. None of the people who love me will need to identify me. Maybe they won’t find me at all. I won’t have to wait for the pills to kick in, won’t have to risk someone pumping my stomach. I won’t have to wait for the blood to spill and risk having done it wrong. Although that man survived, he was an anomaly. It’s almost guaranteed that I won’t. I weigh 120 pounds soaking wet, and I’m not wearing steel-toed boots. I won’t live through this—all it will take is just one step.

The only beauty I find in the situation is that I’ll take my last, gasping breath in this foggy, chilly, fall morning that used to bring me so much joy. I say used to, because after my realization today, I don’t deserve it. I refuse to bring the people around me down anymore. I’ve ruined too many lives: I will ruin no one else.

I pull into the dirt parking lot and leave my white Honda CR V parked in a corner. I only hesitate for a moment when deciding to leave my bag with my keys, wallet, and phone inside; there’s literally no point in taking anything with me. I close the door and look to my left, to the path leading to the bridge, and take the first step. I don’t allow myself to falter or stop; one foot after the other. I walk as quickly as I can. I just want to get this over with. I breathe the foggy air in and out, in and out. I try to expel the memories slamming into me with full force.

Do you know what a whore is, Little Doll? It’s you.

This is your fault. You know that right? You did this.

Do you see her face? It’s your fault she’s broken.

One foot in front of the other. Keep going. Don’t stop. It’s almost over. My feet pound on the trail until I finally feel the harshness of metal beneath my feet. The bridge.

You are disgusting.

Trash.

Filthy whore.

Slut.

Ugly.

Go, go, go. My breathing turns ragged as I walk as quickly as I can towards the middle of the bridge. I know it’s where the water is the deepest. I’ve barely looked around, so caught up in my memories. I take a moment to stop and look at my surroundings, making sure no one’s around, that no one will see me do this. It’s still so early in the morning; the sun isn’t even up yet and there’s no one else here. Light commuter traffic drives by, blissfully unaware of what I’m about to do. Good, don’t look . Keep going, keep going, keep going.

Ella, you’d be happier living with your parents.

You should go.

You.

Should.

Go.

My feet fumble mid-step, and I’m jolted out of my memories, only to realize I’ve reached my destination. I look back at the roadway, and surprisingly find a lull in cars. There’s one biker on the walkway on the opposite side of the bridge, but they’re facing the other direction and already passed me. Good, I’m alone. I’ll need to be quick. Quick is better. Quick leaves no time for thoughts, no time for choices. I look at the railing, preparing myself to climb over, taking a sharp inhale at what’s before me. I’m not alone at all.

Not.

Alone.

At.

All.

Standing on the other side of the railing is a man. A huge man. I’m suddenly in a state of shock. My feet feel cemented to the ground as I stare at his back. He’s facing the water, his hands on the railing on either side of him. I can’t really make out his features or his age, but I can tell he’s tall, much taller than me, but I’m only 5′3, so that’s not saying much.

His hair is black and hangs in loose waves down to his shoulders, blowing gently to the side in the breeze. I can see his muscular back and biceps through his long-sleeved black shirt. Looking closer, I spot tattoos creeping out from below his sleeves, circling his wrists. I look to either side of the walkway and find that there’s still no one else. It’s just me and him.

I look at the man and find his back heaving, his breaths coming out in what I’m assumed are pants. He’s scared. I’m genuinely unsure of what to do. He’s on the opposite side of the railing, staring down at the bay, so I know why he’s here. He’s here for the same thing I am. He’s still heaving enough that I can see his back shaking, his hands practically vibrating with what I assume are nerves.

In the midst of a choice , he’s wavering on the side of not jumping. He’s holding onto life the way he’s holding onto that railing, hard enough for white knuckles and shaking. He’s making the choice to stay, the choice I’ve made so many times before. I wonder if he knows that his intense hesitation means he wants to stay. Maybe he just needs someone to tell him he doesn’t have to make this choice at all.

Ironic, isn’t it?

I hesitantly take a step forward. I don’t want to scare him, but I really don’t think anyone who hesitates like that should be doing what he’s contemplating. No, he has something to live for, that’s why he’s holding on. Maybe saving him is my final task, something to clear some of my very dirty slate before I go. God, I really don’t want to accidentally freak him out, make him fall off this damn bridge.

“Umm excuse me?” I call out quietly.

He doesn’t hear me over the wind.

“Umm, sir, hello?” I call a bit louder.

He jumps lightly, telling me he heard me this time. Oh shit . I take another step forward, closer to him, just in case. He turns his head to the side, looking down at me, and our eyes connect.

Holy Jesus, crap balls. He’s hot. Not the time for these thoughts, Ella.

He’s young. He couldn’t be much older than me, maybe in his early twenties. His eyes are black pools of night sky, and I swear to God they twinkle with stars as he stares down at me. I feel like I’m drowning in them, in their intensity, in him.

I’m not even sure what he looks like at this point. No, I’m too caught up in sinking deeper and deeper into the pits of whoever this man is. I could fall into them and lose myself, sink into those eyes and never climb back out, and strangely, I don’t want to.

Distantly, I hear a horn blaring, and it jars us both out of whatever staring contest we’d been stuck in. I blink rapidly while he shakes his head quickly, breaking the spell we were both seemingly under, and I take a second to really look at his face while he stares back at me.

His thick black hair lays in loose waves around his face. It has an easy going, unkempt vibe that looks effortlessly beautiful. His skin is a golden tan, like he gets way more sun than San Fran affords us in the cooler months. His lips are so perfectly full and kissable with the slightest hint of natural pink to them, like the wind and cold were just slightly getting to them.

His strong jawline is covered in stubble, and the darkness of his short beard makes his eyes look darker black, if that’s even possible. Those tattoos not only peak out across his wrists under his slightly pulled up sleeves -- I can make out one on the side of his neck, too. I find myself wanting to know if they cover his whole chest and arms. I bet they do.

He’s built. He’s wide, strong, and beautiful, so fucking beautiful.

I really should be afraid of him. I know a man doesn’t have to be huge to be scary, but he’s got both size and looks in spades. Tormentors come in all shapes and sizes. I should be nervous, but I’m not. Not at all.

His gaze is so intense, I don’t know if he wants to pull me in or push me the hell away. I shake myself out of unabashedly checking him out, realizing this is the wrong damn time for that shit, but he’s been staring at me, too. I didn’t miss the way his eyes took in my entire frame, scraping up every inch of my body.

It feels like we’ve been staring for an eternity, when in reality, it’s been less than ten minutes. I suddenly feel like I know him, and a massive wave of panic hits me at the thought of him letting go of the railing, of me not being able to save him.

What do I say? I have no idea what to do, which is why I just stare. Maybe we’re staring because we want to know who will break first, who will say something. Maybe he’s waiting for me to say something life-altering, something to stop him. Thankfully, he breaks first, keeping me from feeling like the fraud I’m starting to become.

“Well, aren’t you going to tell me not to jump?” His voice is deep, warm, and velvety; suddenly, my bones don’t feel so cold anymore.

“I don’t know,” I tell him honestly with a shrug. “Do you want me to stop you?”

That seems to catch him off guard. He rears back slightly and tilts his head to the side, considering my answer. He stares for another moment before responding.

“I’m not sure what I want you to say, but I didn’t think it would be that. I figured I’d get some philosophical bullshit about the merits of life and the selfishness of standing on this side of the railing.”

I don’t respond right away – how am I supposed to approach this? This isn’t a side I expected to be on this morning. I feel like I’m invested now, and if I let him jump, the guilt of a life lost will surely push me over the edge as well. Not that it matters; whether my conscience is guiltier or my slate slightly cleaner, it won’t stop what I need to do.

Maybe it doesn’t have to be the end of the road for him, and looking at him right now, I really hope it isn’t. I’m still drowning in murky waters; I don’t know if I’m cut out to save anyone’s life when my own flutters so freely in the wind. I speak without giving it much more thought.

Clearing my throat, I ask, “Would you like a jumping partner?”

“What the fuck did you just say?” he sputters.

“You heard me. You kind of stole my spot, so maybe we can go together?” I take another step forward until I reach the railing. I step onto the small concrete base, trying to figure out how to get my tiny body over the side. Maybe we’ll go together, maybe it’ll make him find another spot, or maybe it’ll snap him out of his decision altogether.

“What the fuck are you doing? Don’t you dare,” he growls. He literally growls, which might hae made me laugh if this situation wasn’t so fucked up.

“I’m joining you. Like I said, you’re in my spot. Fuck, I didn’t realize how tall the fence was going to be.”

He stares at me, completely taken aback, still death-gripping the fence while I try my damnedest to climb the gate without bumping him.

“It’s only tall if you’re the size of a child. How old are you, anyway? You’re too young for this shit. You shouldn’t be here, little girl,” he throws back.

“That’s a bit sizeist, don’t you think? I’m 19, and you’re too hot for this shit. You shouldn’t be here, either. How do you like that?” I quip, irritated. I still can’t figure out how to get over this fence, and I decide to give up for the moment to argue back at the Greek god in front of me. “And another thing,” I continue. “Not all children are short. I’m sure you weren’t a freaking pine tree when you were a kid.”

Sizest? Who says things like that, Ella? God, I have no idea how to interact with men.

He stares at me for a moment, then shocks the hell out of me and laughs. On the ledge of the Golden Gate Bridge looking down at the water, he freaking laughs.

“Pine tree? Sizeist? I don’t think that’s a word, but fuck, seriously? My life is dangling by a thread, and you insult me? Wow, what a lifesaver you are,” he scoffs.

“Well for one, I also said you’re hot, so a compliment and an insult. I’m glad you’re finding this little morning outing so hilarious. Yes, it most definitely is a word. I’ll get you a dictionary if you climb back over. What are you, like 6′7? You’re a giant. I guess I should’ve called you Redwood ,” I ramble awkwardly with a giggle.

“I’m only a giant because you’re tiny, Thumbelina ,” he chuckles.

I stop any further attempt to climb over the railing and take a look at our surroundings, realizing the sun’s coming up and traffic’s increasing. Apparently, my plans for the day are blown and now, I just need to save this man so we can get on with our lives, or lack thereof.

“Thumbelina? Cute, real cute.” I tap my fingers on the railing as I consider him. “So, are we getting on with this show or what? The sun is coming up. What’s it going to be, big guy? Are you coming or going? Personally, I vote that you climb your tall ass back over the railing. Please do it carefully, because, as you’ve pointed out, I’m one third your size and won’t be able to save you.”

I really hope playing off the levity of this conversation and his willingness to joke with me is the right way to go. I don’t want to go all dark and storm-cloudy on him right now. Unleashing the thoughts really swirling around in my brain would be enough to make us both jump.

He stares at me for a moment, then cracks another small smile before looking back toward the water.

Oh fuck . Thinking I’ve lost him, I internally start to panic. The moment and the jokes are over: he’s decided to go. Suddenly, a huge hammer of loss slams into me. I feel like this will be the last conversation I’ll ever have with this man. Even though I was so dead set on, well, being dead just a little while ago, the thought of losing him physically hurts my soul.

What an insane feeling.

I go to reach for him when he looks back at me with a huge grin, which catches me off guard. Oh my god! Is he going to smile at me while he jumps? What kind of sick shit is this?

Without warning, he shocks the crap out of me yet again and begins to turn back around to face me, which is the scariest thirty seconds of my life. As soon as he gets his leg over the railing, his right hand slips. I feel like it’s happening in slow motion. His grin falters and his hand flails. He loses his hold on the railing and looks up at me with a face full of complete and utter terror.

I instinctively throw my arms around his middle and use my entire body to pull him to me, effectively steadying him. He grabs the railing once more and throws his other leg over. I, on the other hand, cannot bring myself to let go, fearing that the second I do, he’ll tumble back over the ledge.

“Hey, hey, uh, thanks for that, I’m on the safe side now,” he awkwardly laughs.

Still, I hold on for dear life. I’m not sure why, but I can’t let go of him. Maybe this pseudo-hug feels better than it should, considering I’m practically mauling a stranger, but the warmth radiating off his cold body surprises me. So do his arms when they hesitantly wrap around my shoulders. The one-sided creepy hug becomes so much more when he gives up his hesitation and holds me back.

His shirt is cold from standing in the wind for so long above the bay. I’m sure he probably feels cold as fuck right now, but I’ve never felt so warm in my life. I squeeze hard, my face plastered to his chest -- his very hard chest. He feels like a rock, like lava rock: hard, unbending, hot, scary, and utterly safe.

Safe on this side of the railing, safe like a protector, safe like home .

We stand there, holding each other, holding onto life as though it’s as fleeting as the San Francisco breeze blowing past us. I hold onto him, listening to his heavy breathing and pounding heartbeat beneath my cheek. It’s warring with the sound of my own, my heaving chest, the whoosh of air leaving my lungs. The thought that I so utterly did not want his life to go to waste barrels through me like a ton of bricks. I wanted to save this perfect stranger, one who brought me such heavy moments of terror, joy, and humor when I was so ready to throw it all away.

That my first thought was that his life had value and mine does not shakes me to my core. The minutes pass by and our heartbeats begin to slow, almost synchronizing. My breathing steadies and his quiets. I don’t want to release him; I want to give him comfort as much as I want to take it for myself. I inhale deeply, steadying myself to part ways, heaviness slamming into my chest at the thought.

Inhaling deep was a bad idea: the suicidal Greek god smells like a fucking aphrodisiac. It’s pepper, sage, and cedarwood, warm and spicy. I hold onto that smell, hoping to never forget it. Then I realize I haven’t showered in two days and woke up covered in sweat. I barely threw on sweatpants and a dirty hoodie this morning. There’s no reason to get dressed up for your own death. Except now, I wish I’d at least put on deodorant for the occasion.

I slowly pull my head back and tentatively look up to find his eyes closed. Sensing me pulling away, he cracks open his eyes and looks down at me. We continue to stare at each other, still locked in our embrace, sharing the craziest moment I’ve ever had with a complete stranger. His dark eyes seem to bore straight into my soul, and suddenly, I feel completely open and exposed to this stranger. I fear he may be able to see so deep that he’ll find all my secrets, all my shame. That worry breaks the spell. I let out a small cough to break the awkward silence and finally let go, stepping back and severing our connection.

“Ummm, stupid question, but are you okay?” I quietly ask.

He hasn’t stopped looking down at me, even when I moved away, and a tiny grin crosses his beautiful face.

“You know what? I might be. Surprising, isn’t it?” he laughs.

“I’m glad I was here to interrupt your moment of insanity. Well, actually, I don’t know you. For all I know, you could be insane all the time. This could’ve been a moment of clarity for you,” I joke with a grin of my own.

He laughs, but then his smile drops and he takes a step forward, eating up the small space I’d created between us.

“Were you really going to jump?” he asks, so quietly I barely hear him over the wind.

I’m not sure why, but I decide to continue with this raw honesty streak with a complete stranger.

“Yeah, I was. It’s what I came here for,” I whisper back, too ashamed to let the words come out any louder. I don’t know why I feel ashamed, but in his presence, I do. I don’t want him to think less of me, which is silly because we basically met at a bar for suicidal folks.

“What about now? Are you still going to jump?” he asks, looking back and forth between my eyes, assessing me, peering into me .

I think about it for a brief second. The answer screams back at me so suddenly, I’m surprised by it.

“No, I don’t think I am, actually.” He stares directly into my eyes, searching for something. I think he’s gauging my answer, trying to figure out if I’m telling the truth.

He nods his head slightly, seemingly accepting my admission.

“Well then, let’s go,” he commands in his deep, velvety voice. His response throws me off balance for a moment, unsure what he means. My brows furrow with confusion. He holds his hand out to me, as if it clarifies that he means now, together.

“What? Go where?” I question.

“We’re getting the fuck off this bridge, together, now. I’m not jumping, you’re not jumping. You saved me, and now I’m saving you. We leave together,” he demands, as if leaving with a complete stranger is no big deal . I guess, after the last ten minutes of our lives, we’re not exactly strangers anymore. So, I do the only thing that feels right.

I reach out, and I take his hand.

He looks down at our joined hands, my tiny hand swallowed up in his, and smiles down at me.

“So, how did you get here today?” he laughs.

“You’ll never guess, but I drove to my death today. How did you get here?” I laugh back. Making light of such a morbid situation seems fucked up, but at this moment, it feels like a tether to life.

“I drove too. I’m in the south parking lot. You?”

I nod. “Yep. Guess we’re headed back to life, then, aren’t we?” I question and tug him towards the lot.

“I guess we are. Life. Living… alive ,” he murmurs to himself, a note of shock or awe in his voice, which one, I wasn’t sure.

We walk together silently across the bridge, hand in hand, towards the parking lot, both deep in thought. I’m not sure what he’s thinking about, more than likely his close call with death. I’ve had so many that I’m not jarred by why I came here today. No, it’s more so the revelation that on a day when I was so completely set on finally ending it, a reason to stay presented itself in the most shocking of ways.

The fact that a human connection with a total stranger made my numb soul feel drastic things floors me. I didn’t think I was capable of feeling the little sparks I feel now. I didn’t think I could feel such an intense connection with another person. In the moment our eyes first locked, I felt butterflies, warmth, all sorts of other emotions buzzing in my soul, effectively shocking it out of its coma, its numbness. Those sparks and butterflies made me feel something I haven’t felt in such a long time: hope .

Hope for happiness.

Hope for the future.

Hope for emotion.

Hope for more.

More.

That itself shocks me. The idea of wanting more of any emotion when I work so damn hard to turn it all off is insane to me. I never want more, but in those fleeting moments with a complete stranger, more was all I wanted. More time, more feelings, more him.

“Which car is yours?” he asks, bringing me out of my revelation.

“Oh, ummm, it’s a white CR V.” I glance around the lot, now filled up with cars, spotting it far off to our left, facing the bay. “It’s right over there.” My heart suddenly pounds in my chest: this is it, he’s going to say goodbye. Then, he surprises me by tugging me along by our joined hands towards my car. I smile behind him, happy for another few minutes of connection, even if it’s just our hands.

“Oh, shit!” he curses, and drops my hand, quickly walking the last few feet to my car.

I look up confused and see my driver’s side window smashed in. I can’t help but laugh at the situation. Had I jumped, my car wouldn’t have mattered. None of it would’ve mattered. Someone decided to take advantage of me potentially ending my life by helping themselves to my car and possessions. After all the rawness and insanity of the last half hour, I can’t help but fall into a fit of manic laughter.

“What’s so funny? Someone broke into your car. They probably stole some shit, too. Why the fuck are you laughing?” He looks down at me bent in uncontrollable laughter, looking completely confused by my inappropriate reaction, as he should be, considering he can’t hear my brain’s logic. I try to calm myself so that I don’t look so nuts, but it’s hard, really hard. After a minute, I rein it in and try to explain.

“I left my purse and phone in the car because I was headed to jump off a bridge, so my stuff really didn’t matter. Can’t take it with you when you go, right? Then I saved your ass, and you saved mine, and now I have to go back to caring about earthly possessions and I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m laughing. It’s just been a fucked-up morning,” I say between half giggles and half cackles.

He stares at me for a beat more, then breaks into a smile that quickly morphs into his own fit of laughter. We laugh hard, so hard that we end up wiping tears from our eyes. I think we’re both still coming down from our adrenaline surge; I’ll be back in the pits of despair soon enough.

We both seem to come out of it at the same time. Standing up straight and steadying myself, I walk over to my car, unlock the doors through the broken window, and go around to where I stashed my bag. Sure enough, it’s gone.

I snort at the sight. “My purse, wallet, and phone are gone. So are the keys, which is kind of funny. Guess they didn’t want a car.”

I hang my head, feeling the weight of this morning crashing into me. I have a list of to-dos a mile long, with no way to do any of it with my stuff stolen. I rub my forehead and lean my back against the car. I swear, every time I take a step forward, I’m thrown back into the bullshit of life again.

“I’m not even sure what to do. I don’t have a spare key, or my phone to call anyone, or my card to pay for anything,” I say, mostly to myself, assuming my hot, strange savior has already left. I riffle through the car to see if anything else was stolen. Nothing else was, which means they just busted in for a quick purse grab. I guess that’s good news.

“It’s all taken care of,” hot guy says, shaking me out of my thoughts. I thought he’d left, so I’m glad but shocked when I see he’s still here. “The tow truck’s on its way. They’ll take it to my buddy’s shop to replace the window and get you a new key,” he says with a shrug, like it’s no big deal.

“What? You don’t have to do that,” I say, somewhat taken aback by his generosity.

“Of course, I do, Thumbelina. You saved me from a watery grave today. I owe you everything ,” he says, completely seriously.

“Well, you saved me from the same fate, Redwood. We’ll never be even at this rate,” I say with a smile.

He shakes his head, as if I’m crazy for saying it. “Come on, let’s go get celebratory coffee. Vinny will call when the car’s done,” he states as he extends his hand back towards me.

The amount of trust I feel with this stranger should really worry me, but it doesn’t. I feel like I’ve known him forever. His commands and matter-of-fact-ness are everything I never knew I needed. So, I grab his hand again and follow him wherever he decides to take me.

Twenty minutes later, we’re sitting in a booth at Mel’s Drive-In diner, coffee, french fries, onion rings, tater tots, and mozzarella sticks on the table in front of us.

The only way to celebrate life is with a side of cardiac arrest, obviously.

“So, Thumbelina, what brought you to your death today?” he asks with a french fry halfway to his mouth. I got so caught up watching his big, full lips wrapping around the fry that I almost didn’t hear his question. He smiles, knowing I’m staring at him, and I actually have to fight off a blush. Blushing over his mouth while talking about my choice of suicide: super, great, fun.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit of a personal question for two strangers?” I remark.

“Hell no. I think it’s the perfect question for strangers. I don’t like people. I don’t open up to people. I don’t talk about personal shit. My friends don’t know jackshit about my emotions. Half the time, I don’t even think I have emotions. But today, I feel like being open with a stranger. A stranger who I feel more connected to than anyone in my life for some reason.” He pauses, considering his next words as he watches me. I feel both terrified and alive under his scrutiny.

“I think there’s a reason. There’s a reason we were both there at the same moment. There’s a reason why you of all people showed up at that moment, and there’s a reason we both feel this connection. We’re strangers but we’re not. You feel that too, don’t you? That’s why you’re sitting here, trusting me, on the worst day of your life.”

“What makes you think this is the worst day of my life?” I ask, probably a bit more sharply than I’d meant to, furrowing my eyebrows.

“Well, it would have to be, wouldn’t it? To consider doing what you went there to do?” he asks. I think he really wants to know. It must be the worst day of his life, if that’s how he feels. After taking a few moments to think about it, I decide he’s right. There’s a connection between us, and though we’re strangers, unloading might not be the worst thing in the world.

“No, today isn’t the worst day of my life,” I say on a heavy exhale as I toy with a fry. Clearing my throat, I continue. “In fact, my life has been a series of worst days. Every single one was the worst it could get, or so I thought, but it only got worse. Today was the culmination of that. Today was the day I decided to finally release it all. It wasn’t the first time, and I honestly don’t know if it’ll be the last,” I tell him, opening up the wounds I try so hard to keep cauterized.

He tilts his head and looks at me in that assessing way I’m starting to think is his signature. He almost looks angry at my admission, which catches me off guard. At least it’s not pity. He’s quiet for so long, I’m half worried he might leave. Finally, he speaks, and it sounds like the words are being cleaved from his soul.

“I’ve had some fucked-up days. Horrible shit has happened to me, but I’ve always pushed through. I’ve never wanted to quit. Never.” He shakes his head, maybe in disbelief?

“Today was my worst day. Not because something happened, but because of what’s going to happen. I have to join a world I don’t want to be in. I have to become someone I don’t want to become, and I don’t want to be here for that. I’m not sure I can survive what’s waiting for me. I don’t want to fail, let my family down, but I don’t think I can do it. This morning gave me clarity, though. While I was standing up there, I realized it’s the coward’s way out, to walk away from something, from a future, because you don’t think you can handle it.” He shrugs. “I was walking away from my future, and you want to walk away from your past.”

I ponder that. God, I have so many questions. I want to know what’s expected of him, what exactly he’s walking away from. I want to know what future could be so bad, you’d be willing to quit life altogether to avoid it. I’m just not sure I have the right to ask when I know damn well, stranger or not, I won’t be going into the specifics of my past.

“I suppose you’re right. It’s my past I’m trying to escape. No matter what I do or how hard I try, I can’t get rid of it. It’s the heaviest weight and I’m so tired of carrying it. I wish I was afraid of my future, but I’m not. I want so badly to have one, to dream and see happiness and joy ahead of me, but my past makes everything…. black, dark, unachievable,” I state quietly, feeling old wounds ripping open inside me.

He takes a long sip of his coffee, maintaining eye contact, probably thinking of how to appropriately respond to that clusterfuck I just unloaded onto him. I want to say something, to fill the silence, remove the heavy weight of the conversation, distract him from my ugly insides, but the waitress interrupts to refill our coffee cups.

“Hey ma’am, do you have some paper and a pen?” he asks, flashing a full-mouthed, beautiful smile. If I was her, I’d run to Kinko’s for paper if I didn’t have it, just to have him smile at me again.

“Yeah, sure doll, be right back,” she grins, shooting him a wink.

I look at him questioningly, but all he does is smile mischievously. Not the response I thought I’d get to my dark, ugly confession but sure, okay, we’re just rolling with the punches today. A few moments later, she’s back with a small yellow notepad and a pencil.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“We’re giving you a future,” he states with determination as he flips through the notepad, settling on a blank sheet.

“Umm, what does that mean?” I question as he starts to jot things down. I watch him write a few words, trying to read them upside down. He catches me and tilts it out of view, then looks up, full gorgeous grin on display.

“Give me a reason to live. Not just something simple; it can’t be for anyone else, either. Living because dying will make your mom sad isn’t a reason to really live. You can’t live to control other people’s feelings. Pick things solely for you, things that make you feel alive: a future that brings you joy and gets rid of the darkness. Unless it’s a kid -- do you have a kid to live for? If you say yes and you were about to jump off that bridge, I don’t think we can be friends anymore, Thumbelina,” he says flatly.

“No!” I quickly shake my head, heart racing. God, that would be so sad. “No, Redwood, I don’t have any kids.” Swallowing, I fight the urge to ask, but fail epically as my curiosity wins out. “Do you?”

Do you have kids? A wife? Girlfriend?

“No, Thumbelina, I don’t have kids,” he quirks a half-smile, and the butterflies flip around more in my belly. “I’m single and unattached. Now, stop postponing, give me a reason. What are things to live for, things you want to do to bring yourself joy?”

I think about his question for a few minutes. I like his intention and this game, even if it is a bit silly. I want to give him something real, something honest.

Things that bring me joy.

I close my eyes and think of all my reasons to stay. They’re reasons I’ve come up with before, ones that brought me happiness in the now but weren’t big enough reasons to keep going. They brought me smiles but not a future. Rainbows, foggy mornings, coffee…. What do I want out of life? If I could have a future that wasn’t so dark, what would bring me joy?

“If I had a future that was bright and not—” I break off, almost choking on my words. “Not so dark, I’d want to go to college, get my degree.” It’s something I’ve always wanted to do. I wanted to be a successful business owner with a solid education behind me, but when it was time to apply to college, it just felt too big, too scary. There were too many ways I could fail, too many people to disappoint.

He starts the list without any question. “Okay, when you graduate, what are you going to do? What school are you going to go to?” I notice that he says everything like it’s a sure thing. A statement. A future. My future.

“A degree in business, and San Francisco State.” He jots those down as well.

“What else? What do you want to do that you haven’t done? Don’t quit on me now, Thumbelina. I know you’ve got big dreams in that beautiful head of yours,” he murmurs.

Beautiful.

My fingers shake and I have to tuck them under my legs to hide the tremble. No one’s ever called me beautiful before. “I’ve always wanted to volunteer. I feel like I have so much to give, but I’ve been too scared to try. I’m not always a sunshiny person and I’ve never wanted to bring anyone else down,” I mumble, tipping my shoulders up in a vain attempt to hide.

He cocks his head to the side, almost animal-like, again trying to see inside of my soul, as if it’s not already sitting on this table next to the fries, waiting for him to devour.

“I don’t buy that shit for a second. You have so much compassion in you that it radiates off your skin like sunlight. You are a sunshiny person, you’re just weighed down by bullshit. You’re going to let the bullshit go and work on a bright ass future. Tell me, Thumbelina. Tell me all your dreams, mi peque?o sol .”

Mi peque?o sol. My little sun.

The way he looks at me, right then and there, as if saying my dreams and putting them on a memo pad is the way to make my future happen, past baggage be damned, fills me with an overwhelming feeling of possibility.

Desire for an honest to God future courses through my veins. I can’t fight the smile that takes over my face as sunshine begins to seep through the dark clouds of my mind.

Suddenly, I see all sorts of possibilities.

We went back and forth for the next few hours, talking about my future and my weird ideas for life. He shared some of his with me, but I noticed he was reluctant to give much information at all, always diverting the topic back to me.

We shared carbs and coffee, laughing and smiling as if we didn’t just meet a few hours ago under literal life and death circumstances.

I found myself so happy and content with him, this nameless stranger sitting across from me, helping me sort out my hopes and dreams, giving me a future. It should’ve felt strange, but instead, something huge was shifting in my world.

We finished off my list of reasons for a future full of joy and decided to order milkshakes. Neither of us seemed to want to go; I’d have been happy to sit and talk to him all day.

“What are your reasons for living, Redwood?” I ask as the waitress delivers our shakes, his Snickers flavored, mine strawberry.

“I already have my reasons for the future. I’ve always had hopes and dreams. Wanting a future isn’t my problem; it’s the future that’s being forced on me that I don’t want. Honestly, I don’t need a list of reasons. Today, when I was standing out on that ledge, I knew I didn’t want to be there. I knew all the people who’d miss and mourn me; my brothers would be devastated. I knew all those things. but I stayed there because I was scared.” Dropping a straw into my shake, he slides in it my direction before doing the same to his.

“To be honest, when I got the news yesterday, I drank way too fucking much, and I let myself spiral. I let the anger of my situation, the frustration of feeling like my life isn’t mine anymore, push me over the edge. That edge is exactly where I found myself at 5:00 am today. It’s where you found me, and do you want to know the craziest part?” he asks with a look of awe that confuses me.

“What?′ I say, leaning forward.

“When you showed up, I was asking God, or the universe, or whoever the fuck was listening, for a sign. I wanted one thing to give me a sign that I’d made the wrong choice, that I’d get through what’s in store for me, that even though this isn’t what I want, that I’ll survive it. You showed up at that exact moment, Thumbelina.” His throats works a heavy swallow as he grips his glass, tight enough that I begin to worry it’ll crack.

“It could’ve been anyone. It could’ve been a cop, or some angry commuter. It could’ve been a bird shitting on my shoe. It could’ve been any sign, and I would’ve taken it, because I’m not ready to go, but it wasn’t any of those things. It was you. It was you and it was me, and I have to believe that whoever the fuck is out there made that happen for us. We saved each other so you can fight your past for a future, and I can fight my future for a life. That’s my reason. I don’t need a list; I got my answer today.” He finishes his thoughts with a massive, heartwarming smile.

I can’t help but listen, enthralled by how positive he is. He said it was the worst day of his life, yet here he is, being fifty shades of philosophical and so damn sure of not only his future, but mine too.

I can’t help but be in awe of him, this beautiful, skyscraper of a man, covered in tattoos with a hard as hell exterior, spouting about signs, dreams, and futures like he’s meant to.

“Who the hell are you?” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion.

He smiles at me with his mega-watt, panty-melting smile. “I’m a stranger, Thumbelina. I’m exactly who and where I should be.”

“Can you tell me anything about yourself? What’s your real name? Am I ever going to see you again?” I practically beg.

Please say yes. This can’t be it.

His smile fades as quickly as it arrived, and he turns to look out the window, onto the busy street. He stays quiet for a few minutes, his jaw starting to flex and tick. I don’t understand what just happened. I know he said we’re strangers, but it sure as hell doesn’t feel that way anymore. I’ve never had a connection with someone like this.

He finally looks back at me with a heavy grimace etched on his perfect face. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetheart. My life is no place for someone with such a beautiful future ahead of them. I think we should just keep our names as is: Thumbelina and Redwood. Anonymity. Strangers.”

Sweetheart.

“Oh,” I whisper, feeling completely defeated. My heart, the thing I try to keep from feeling anything, cracks. He grabs my hand from the table and gives it a squeeze.

“I know,” he murmurs. “I feel it too. I wish this wasn’t it. I wish the cosmos dropped you in my life for more than just saving it, but I mean it when I say your future is too bright to be brought down by mine. What’s in store for me isn’t as pretty as you deserve, mi peque?o sol , and damn if I’m bringing you down with me,” he says with a half-smile that I think he intends to be reassuring. I squeeze his hand back, fighting my ridiculous emotional response to him.

I clear my throat from the ball currently restricting my airway. “Are you going to keep fighting for a better future, Redwood?”

“Yeah, Thumbelina, I am,” he whispers.

Still holding hands, eyes locked, I can’t help but notice when his gaze drops down to my mouth. Out of instinct, I lick my dry lips, and he follows the movement. Without any hesitation, he leans his large body across the small table and I find myself mirroring his movements.

He’s going to kiss me. Yes, yes, yes. Kiss me.

My eyes drift shut and I lean in a bit further. His breath skates across my mouth. My body shivers at the feeling, all excitement and nerves. This will be it, my first real kiss. My first real kiss with him.

Then, his phone rings, and just as quickly as his lips hovered over mine, they disappear. I instantly mourn the loss of his mouth, of his warmth. He lets out an annoyed growl, releases my hand, and answers his phone. I listen to one side of the conversation; whatever’s being said on the other end sobers him quickly.

When he hangs up, he looks down at his phone, clearly reading whatever messages he’d been ignoring.

“Sorry, that was my brother. I got a message a while ago that your car is ready.”

He drops his phone and glances back down at our lists. Pulling off the top piece, he hands it to me, a small smile playing on his beautiful, kissable mouth. He looks down at the empty pad again and his smile widens. Redwood hides it from me and scribbles something quickly, then tears it out and folds it up. For a brief second, I get excited, thinking it’s his number. That thought goes up in smoke as he pulls out his wallet, drops some cash on the table, and tucks the note inside his wallet.

“Let’s get out of here, Thumbelina. We’ve got futures to live.” He grabs my hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world and tugs me along. I tuck my list into my hoodie pocket and follow him out of our cozy little diner nest and into the future.

He drives us to the mechanic shop, and I can’t help but feel sweaty and anxious the whole way. I don’t want this to be the end. Not at all. I don’t want this to be goodbye.

The mood sobers up pretty quickly during the drive which, sadly, is extremely short. When we arrive at the mechanic’s shop, Redwood hops out and does one of those bro shakes with a shorter Hispanic man. Redwood waves me out of the car, and hesitantly, I walk toward them.

“Vinny, this is Thumbelina. Thumbelina this is Vinny.” I laugh at that, at the idea of our pseudonyms being actual names, but decide to go along with it.

“Uh, okay cool,” Vinny says awkwardly, his brows pinched. “Hey, girl. Your car is ready. It was a quick fix and my locksmith hooked you up with a new key and fob. You’re all set.” Vinny hands me the new keys, gesturing to my car sitting the parking lot.

My heart drops as the events of today come crashing back in.

“Oh shit, I just realized my wallet was stolen,” I rush out, trying to shove the keys back at Vinny while I figure out how to handle this with no phone to call for help. I guess I could call my parents, but then they’d know where I was this morning and what ha—

“Don’t worry about it, beautiful . Vinny owed me a favor,” Redwood says, pulling me out of my panicked spiral. He slaps Vinny on the shoulder in thanks, accepts the offered keys back, and places them in my shaky hand.

“Nice to meet you, Thumbelina. Enjoy your ride,” Vinny says with a small wave as he walks back into the garage. I want to thank him, smile, say something kind, but I can’t. I can’t think about anything else but…

This is it. I wipe my sweaty palms down my yoga pants, never taking my eyes off my feet. I can’t look up at him. I’m too afraid he’ll see the emotions swirling in my eyes at the thought of losing him.

Losing him? He isn’t yours to lose, Ella.

Before I can say anything stupid, like beg him to change his mind, he places two fingers under my chin and guides my face up to look up at him.

With a serious expression and a quiet voice, he says, “You saved my life today, Thumbelina, and I mean that. I’m not going to waste the gift you gave me today. I fucking saved your life, too, so you owe me. Don’t you dare give up before you’ve had a chance to finish that long-ass list. It’s going to take you years to finish, and I know that by the time you do, your life will be so full of joy, you won’t see your past anymore. There will be no more darkness. Fill it with fucking sunshine. Promise me ,” he demands.

I swallow through the huge lump in my throat and jerk a shaky nod, his fingers still grasping my chin. “I promise,” I whisper.

Try as I might, I can’t fight the tear that escapes the side of my eye. He reaches his free hand up to wipe it away, as if he was meant to.

Meant to .

“I don’t want to do this, but I have to walk away,” he grits out. “I have to because it’s what’s best for our futures. The universe brought us together today, and it will bring us together again if it’s meant to be. When the timing is right, we’ll be back. Do you believe me?” he asks quietly, searching my eyes for my answer.

Do I? I want to.

God, do I want to believe that.

Future.

Joy.

Sunshine.

I trust you.

“Yes, but I don’t want to meet on another bridge,” I sigh with a small, forced smile.

Kiss me, please.

He stares into my eyes and gives me a huge smile, one just for me, and pulls me into a hug. We hold onto each other for what feels like forever, just like on the bridge, neither of us wanting to let go. Finally, after what could be hours, or maybe just minutes, he releases a heavy breath. I feel his lips on the crown of my head for a long, hard kiss. My eyes burn. This is it.

“Take care of yourself, Thumbelina. Thank you for making the worst day of my life the best,” he murmurs into my hair. With one last squeeze, he releases me, takes a step back, and walks away, leaving me with…

Everything.

7 Months Later

Seven months ago, my life changed forever.

The day I walked out onto the bridge, ready to end it all, and fell face-first into a beautiful giant turned my life upside down and right-side up. I meant it when I said he gave me everything. Everything except him, of course.

It’s been months, and fate never brought us back together. It did, however, bring me to my list. My list of a joy-filled future, one I’m intent on fulfilling, even the last entries Redwood added. He couldn’t have known, but those are the hardest ones for me. Kismet, though, right? They’re difficult, and they’re on my joy bucket list, so they’re goals I’m working towards. I still have extremely hard days, but I’m actively working on finding the sunshine he believed was inside me.

I’m trying, so damn hard .

That day, when I got home after he left, was nuts, to say the least. In the chaos of my morning, and the crazy whirlwind of my afternoon, I forgot a few huge, key facts.

My letters being number one. The damn letters. My goodbyes.

Alyssa had found them and, thank God, she only read hers. She’d gone back to bed after the whole nightmare incident and, since she works nights, she was asleep until noon. She’d only found her letter a few hours before I got home.

In the meantime, however, she’d called the police, who set up a search. She’d called my parents, who were out of the city for the day. They’d driven back in absolute hysteria but never made it to their letters. Instead, they went straight to the police station to meet with a detective.

When I got home, the cops were there with Alyssa. She was a sobbing mess, understandably so. The police questioned me, and it was heavily suggested, if not basically required, that I go to the hospital for a psychiatric evaluation. I fought it tooth and nail, but ultimately relented to my parents’ pleas. I ripped up the remaining letters before anyone found them and voluntarily went to the hospital.

It was insane to me to think that going to the psych ward was necessary, given how utterly amazing my day turned out, but when I realized how badly it started, I figured talking to someone couldn’t hurt. I couldn’t achieve anything on my list if the weight of my past still rose up to drag me back down.

I stayed there for a week, until I was deemed mentally stable. The only medicine I was given was a prescription for anti-anxiety pills. The doctors decided against anything potentially lethal, given my history, even though overdosing was never a possibility. I went back to therapy and joined a support group for suicide survivors. These were choices I’d made.

I chose life, and, in choosing life, I chose to get help.

At my first meeting, I ran into an old friend. Well, he’s more than a friend. He’s my past. He, at one point, was the only one keeping me alive, above water. In the darkest moments of my life, he was my tether. We went through hell together, and then we were separated.

I had no idea I’d ever see him again, and I was terrified of how he’d react if we crossed paths. To my surprise, our friendship blossomed into someone I can’t live without. I’m not sure what we used to be to each other, but it’s very different from what we are now. Now, he’s just as much my tether to sanity and safety as I am for him.

Hunter.

I realized in meeting Redwood and talking things out with him, truly opening up, that there’s healing in asking for help. I don’t have to be alone. Opening up to people means letting them in, and although it’s scary, it’s healing, too. I still haven’t opened up to anyone about certain parts of my dark history, but it’s a step in the right direction. Hunter is here for that. He’s the only one in the world who knows what I went through, because he was there, going through it with me.

Well, he’s not the only one, but we stay the hell away from that topic. From them.

The support group helps. I’ve been going once a week. We don’t focus on the past, only on the future, which has been extremely helpful in getting to my joy. I even shared my experience on the bridge, the beautiful man who saved my life, and the list he helped me create. The woman in charge loved the idea and make a Joy List one week as an exercise. I even added some more to mine.

I’ve begun to knock some items off my list in recent months. I was accepted to San Francisco State’s business program. I’ve started to do some volunteer work. Not a single day goes by that I don’t think of him. Redwood.

As much as I loved our whole hidden identity thing we had going on, I wish I knew his real name. I wish I knew more about him. Above all else, I wish I could see him again, make sure he’s okay. Every day, I worry he went back to finish the job. l check newspapers and local Facebook pages to make sure I don’t see anything about a man meeting his description having lost his life. I hope he’s happy, that his future, even if it was forced upon him, isn’t as bad as he was afraid it would be. I hope he’s found sunshine, that he still thinks about me, at least half as much as I think about him.

Being busy has helped me stay the course toward the future I’ve always wanted but never allowed myself to dream of. Now that school has started, things are going to get so much busier, and to be honest, I’m here for it.

I love being busy, keeping my mind focused on goals rather than sitting around idly. My depression always gets the best of me when I’m stagnant, alone, lost in my own thoughts. Anxiety and depression never go away completely. It’s something that I’m going to battle with my entire life. All I can do is cope and keep moving forward.

I can’t let it get as bad as it used to be, let it get to the point of suffocation, where it felt as though my only way to escape was death.

I work daily to keep my head above the metaphorical water.

I know it’s not a great tactic but leaning on Hunter has helped me beyond measure. Hunter struggles with a lot of the same issues, and we’ve become each other’s support systems once again, just like when we were kids. It was easy for us both to fall back into it. We push each other, support each other, and we keep each other in check.

Together, we’re healing.

I really don’t know where I would be without him. When one of us stumbles, the other picks us back up without judgment or question. He’s my life raft in the middle of the ocean. He may not be able to fully pull me towards the shore, but he’s keeping me afloat while I battle the waves.

After months of life-changing choices and hard work, I can honestly say I’ve never been more excited about my future, particularly as I take my seat in my first-ever college lecture. I feel so hopeful for my future, and the ugliness of my past is staying exactly where it needs to be: in the past.

I glance up at the big black chalkboard spanning most of the front of the classroom and smile at the words: Marketing 101. Class number one towards my big, sunshiny dreams. I allow myself a rare smile as I take in my surroundings.

I’m in freaking college. Holy shit, I did it!

The room quickly fills and almost every single chair is taken, which is wild to me. The lecture hall contains over 200 seats. The enormity of it fills my stomach with butterflies of both nerves and excitement.

I’m so distracted by my surroundings, I don’t notice someone sitting down to my right until I hear a throat clear next to me. I jolt from of my perusal and glance over to see where the noise came from. Instantly, my mind is overtaken by a bright smile and big, beautiful eyes looking back at me.

“Hi, I’m Drew...”