Speechless

Breathe in. Breathe out. Take each breath in tune with the sunlight, the stuff that filters in on strands and wisps in the air. The gold and fair colours that slip in, past the still dew-damp branches of the coniferous trees that stretch desperately higher than the hospital roof, as if racing to the sun. My hands are held out against the grain of the wind, fingertips tickled by rain, invisible in the first morning sunlight. The light dancing in my palms would hardly seem real, if it wasn’t for the warmth in my skin, the warmth of the sun’s sweet embrace. I would hug it back, if it were not so far away. My legs itch and long with a certain hiraeth, wishing to step forwards, if not only just a few feet. A few feet forwards, to where the guardrail stands, cold and stiff in contrast to the few sun-strands touching the roof. I would obey, if not for the risk of dampening my hospital gown in the morning rain. For now, the safety of the doorway awning is close enough.

Rust-tinged threads slide along my cheek, pushed into their dancing motions by the wind. They wanted to be included, i suppose, and lept from atop my head to join in the morning surreality. I push them back, combed nicely behind my ear. I shouldn’t be up here, with the wind and sun and rain. Simply standing by the door alone is a risk, for someone like me. The dampness, clinging to the air as it does, is bad for my lungs. An invader, it is; It does all but benefit me now. Though, now, i suppose, it doesn’t matter.

Twenty nine. Twenty nine point five eight percent, to be exact. A survival rate. A ticking time bomb. That’s what it is, that’s what it’s made me. A number on a chart, lasting out futily until the number dwindles down to a pathetic zero. Pull the plug, swath my face in delicate linen, gentle, respectable, a courtesy; then roll me in the fire. Up in flames, the coals will burn, burn, until the ashes are left to glow alone, like sunlight filtering through the trees. The choices i make now matter less than that of a child, unable to decide their shoe colour. Either way, i’ll end up in a parlour. Not as a guest, but as the main attraction of a solemn event.

I finally take a step out, towards the height, the peak of the drop. I’m Face to face with pine branches, like hands eagerly beckoning me closer, towards prickly hugs coupled with growing sunlight. I brace the bars, the long-rusted steel, polished in a way that pretends to look well-dressed. I replace my warm sun hugs with cold, and chill. I choose that. I can choose that, at least. My choices won’t affect anything, though. The result will always be the same; whether it’s now or later, my destination is the same. I could go now, fail to be Peter Pan in the fresh morning air. Drift to the bottom like a swallow feather, graceful, fragile, and settle on the pavement below. My home, it could be, until the sirens take me away. No more Bea.

Poor thing, They’ll say. I feel bad for her, They’ll say. Fools they’ll be. I’ll be free.

Should i, shouldn’t i? Would i, could i? Can i even bring myself to follow through? I don’t know. I don’t know anything. The feeling of the concrete against my head as i hit, the feeling of wind under my arms, adrenaline pumping in my veins. I don’t know. It’ll be better than the stiff bed, i’d assume. Better than the drip drip drip, into my veins. Better than the good morning, i have your results. Quick, done for and over. I want that, so I close my eyes.

I fall, and i fall quick. I feel like a bird, air whizzing by. It doesn’t have a care in the world, it does what it wants, goes where it wants. I feel almost jealous. The tops of the trees shrink ever faster, further and further from my reach, further and further from the warm sun. I hold my breath, i know I’m close to the release, close to the freedom. I can hear them screaming now. Someone wants to catch me, wants to try. I close i my eyes, relax, accept my fate and-

A hand on my shoulder shakes me back. Back to the railing. Back to the roof. I’m teetering dangerously close, my nose tip-touching the pine branches. I turn, calm, disappointed, and light-headed. Isi. He’s Here to stop me. I prepare for a chiding, my hands quivering at my sides. Though, i suppose, it’s not because of him. My eyes meet his, separated by only his rain speckled glasses. Sympathy. That i recognize in his eyes, though only as another form of pity i don’t want. I stare longer, as he says so many things with absolutely no words, plagued by silence. Understanding. That’s there too. It’s new to me. It catches me off guard, and makes me take a step back, to which he responds to with a firmer grip.

I want to speak, but don’t at the same time, letting the silence fill in for me. I already spoke earlier. We both did. And we spoke loud. We grit teeth and clenched fists, and shook the whole building to it’s core. So much was said, but i feel like we said nothing at all under all the yelling. I should apologize, i know that. It’s on the tip of my tongue, stuck there like a cat, but i can’t get it out. Before i can, Isi beats me to it, with a hug. It’s soft. It’s desperate. He’s pleading, apologizing without words, but also begging me. Don’t jump. It’s all i hear, all i feel in his arms. I hug him back, a gentle reassurance. We stand there, apologizing with our touch for more than enough time. We’re both too sappy to let go.

He does pull away, eventually, but reluctantly. He takes my hand, though, soft and comforting. He pulls me back towards the stairs, back to the battlefield. He can feel me shaking, i’m sure. Shaking with a fear unknown to me, but all too familiar to him. He urges me anyways, back through the door, back down the stairs. He is with the whole time, and i can’t help but feel thankful. I suppose it’s worth it. The fight, i mean. Twenty nine point five eight percent. I’ll make it work. I’ll take that bet. For Isi, and for myself, i’ll make that work.

I breathe in. I breathe out. I take each breath in tune with each step forwards. If i keep breathing, i’ll keep moving. And i intend to move far.