{tw: suicide, suicidal thoughts, mentions of self harm, mentions of physical and emotional abuse, suicide, death}

NOTE: THIS IS NOT MEANT TO ROMANTICIZE SUICIDE IN ANY WAY. I WROTE THIS WITH THE INTENTION TO SHOW HOW DIFFICULT IT IS TO TALK PEOPLE DOWN FROM A PLACE OF NO RETURN, AND THAT SOMETIMES PEOPLE DONT WANT TO BE SAVED. SUICIDE ISNT PRETTY. ITS MESSY AND PAINFUL FOR ALL PARTIES INVOLVED. AND ONE RANDOM STRANGER USUALLY ISNT ENOUGH TO STOP SOMEONE, BECAUSE THAT GLORIFIES FHE ISSUE AND MAKES IT SEEM LIKE IF YOU TRY TO KILL YOURSELF THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE WILL SAVE YOU. THEY WONT. LIFE DOESNT WORK LIKE THAT.
Sorry if it sounded like I'm yelling, but I try really hard to not romanticize or lessen the realism of suicide, even though I'm sure I've done that before (cough, the desperate ones, cough.) If you're feeling suicidal or like there's no way out, call a suicide hotline or speak to someone who will listen. And if all else fails just stay alive. This has been my PSA

—

They say life is about the impact you make on the world. In Tyler's case, it was the crack in the concrete below him hat he was about to make.

The trafficked sidewalk below him didn't seem like the appropriate spot to jump, given Broadway Theatre was right across the street. Most of those people probably had enough on their place and didn't need to see a man falling to his death today, but Tyler was so tired. If anything else, he always had a flair for the dramatic.

Just below his feet, several dozen feet down, Broadway Street moved with life, unaware of just what was about to happen. None of them knew that in a few seconds- or minutes, depending on how fast it took for him to work up he courage- they would watch someone reach Broadway in a different way.

The view from the top of the Gensler building would be breathtaking on a good day, which were scarce for Tyler lately. He'd like to consider his last day alive a good one, perspectively of course.

Tyler wasn't high, compared to other buildings, but he was high enough that he could see where magenta met metal on the skyline. Orange and pink color reflected off of the buildings, splashes of blue and purple melting into the heavy smog that clung like a fog in the atmosphere. The sunset cut through the darkness that encompassed the city.

Even with the beautiful view in front of him, he knew it wouldn't last long. Eventually, the empty blackness of midnight would return, and with midnight came those thoughts.

Tyler wasn't high, compared to other buildings, but he was high enough.

His shoes sat beside him, a weird Japanese tradition he found online. He didn't know why he had the impulse to do it, but he did. It just felt... right. Like taking off his shoes as neatly as he did was a last act of normalcy for him, before he took the literal final plunge.

"Don't."

Tyler groaned internally, not bothering to look at whoever was standing behind him. People in New York had a habit of showing up at the wrong place, wrong time. "Leave me alone, you fucking pedestrian. There's nothing to see here."

"I won't leave until I know you won't jump."

"Well, then I hope you enjoy the view of my body on the concrete below, because there's no way I'm walking away alive." He could see someone walking up to him from his peripheral, so he turned his head just enough to look at the stranger.

It was a boy no older than eighteen, with bright green curly hair and dark, hooded eyes that were hidden by thin, wiry frame glasses. Even though it was the middle of June, he wore jeans and a sweatshirt of a band Tyler had never heard of. Even from the considerable distance, he could see the gauges in his ears and the piercing on his nose.

Great, Tyler thought. The Modern Rocky Horror Picture Show is definitely going to save my life.

"What about your family?"

Tyler snorted. "What family? My parents hate my guts, have even before I transitioned, and I haven't talked to any of my siblings in years because they've been brainwashed to think that I'm confused and a mistake. Which was partially true, now that I think about it."

"My youth pastor used to say that God didn't make mistakes. You are the way you are," Josh offered, as a semblance of help. Tyler appreciated, but it didn't help very much.

"Well, your youth pastor has clearly never met me before. I'm a trashy, lowlife college dropout in the city that never sleeps because no one in this godforsaken place has time to do so. This is where people succeed, but not me. Nothing about me is special. I have nothing new to offer the world. Everything I have to say has been said before dozens of times. The world will keep spinning when I'm gone, so what does it matter if I check out early? Now skedaddle, kid, before you see your first dead body."

The stranger did not, in fact, skedaddle. Instead, he scooted closer.

"Why do you want to die so badly?" He asked.

Tyler turned fully then, his back now to the sky. He looked for a hint of deception in his voice, a glint or a quirk that would show that he didn't really care. Maybe he was a person who just wanted to be someone who pretended to try, just to say 'oh well, now there's a dead boy on Broadway street.'

There was nothing but honest curiosity and pure, innocent need to help. It sort of scared Tyler.

"Because life is a losing battle, pal. And I'm about to win the war."

Tyler jolted ever so slightly away when the boy stepped closer, the heels of his shoes hanging over the edge of the rooftop. The strange flinched and took a step back so there was about two yards between the two.

"Sorry, didn't mean to spook you."

That's when Tyler's curiosity was peaked. "You're not from here, are ya?"

"Nope," the stranger chimed. "Born and raised in Colombia, Ohio. I'm here for college."

"Oh, yeah? Which one?"

"I'm going to Pratt Institute starting the fall. I'm studying to be a drummer. Do you like music?"

Tyler shrugged. "I, uh, played in a band for a couple years in high school."

"Like, in band or a band?"

"A band." He didn't understand the difference.

"Cool!"

Tyler couldn't believe what his ears just picked up as actual fucking sounds from this person's actual fucking mouth. This short, dorky looking ball of adorable- even though Tyler would never say that out loud, he was about to die, for fuck's sake- who apparently drives a fucking Prius considering that was the only other car on the roof besides his, wanted to save him. He was chatting him up with someone who's trying to kill themselves yet keeps getting rudely interrupted. And Tyler thought he was a freak.

"What's your name?" The stranger asked.

Tyler drawled back, "I'm not allowed to talk to strangers."

"Well, I guess I'll tell you my name. I'm Josh."

He still wanted to die, but now it was out of pure frustration. Why did this guy care so much?

"How's someone like you going to cure decades of ignored childhood trauma and untreated mental health issues within twenty minutes?" He joked.

Josh shrugged. "Let me buy you a coffee and maybe I can show you."

Tyler shook his head, even though he was tempted.

For some ungodly reason, he didn't anticipate someone trying to stop him. This guy was cute, sure, but a cute guy wasn't the cure of his pains and suffering. He didn't want to mess up this kid's life with his own issues. Josh didn't deserve that.

He could see a crowd gathering at the bottom of the building, probably waiting for the back to open. For a moment, he thought about not jumping.

Each time he did, images of bruises and cuts and bullies jammed themselves into the front of his mind, demanding his attention over saving his own life. He could still hear their screams, the yelling, the glass breaking.

His parents weren't abusive, per-say. Sure, they beat Tyler and his siblings when they did things wrong- sometimes just for the he'll of it too- but Tyler didn't see that as abuse. In his own twisted mind, he saw it as normalcy. He was a bad kid. He deserved it.

The beatings stopped when Jay, the youngest of the four, was old enough to remember what they did to them and accidentally told his teachers when they asked about his bruises, ending up with all of them being sent to child services. They weren't taken away. Looking back, Tyler wondered if that was a good idea, to leave two well trained and PTSD- ridden veterans with four rebellious children.

Their run-in with child services permanently stopped the beatings and the fighting: like the time Tyler was thrown through the door leading to the backyard, breaking both his arm and the screen door. Or the time that Madison, who was only a year younger than him, was knocked out which a coffee pot, which shattered on her face and resulted in her getting seven stitches.

It didn't stop the threats, though, or the yelling. In fact, that never did stop. They probably never would. Tyler was sure his mother would outlive them all just to yell at them on their deathbeds.

But it wasn't abuse. His parents were veterans, both deploying more times than they could count. Tyler learned from personal experience that a lifetime of war makes for people who never leave the war, even when they're back home.

That made each room his mother or father stepped into a battlefield. As the oldest, Tyler had to protect his siblings from his parent's wrath. But by swallowing his pain, he threw up anger.

He acted out, drank underage, and did drugs. Tyler did anything he could to numb the pain his parents refused to acknowledge. He even sliced his own skin open just to feel something other than all that agony ripping him apart inside.

Nothing worked. The cuts healed, the drugs and alcohol faded away, and he was left as square one.

Get better, or pull the trigger.

It's not that easy to talk someone down. Tyler had first hand knowledge of that. He was no exception.

"Please?" The lilt in Josh's voice almost made him turn away. Almost.

"Look, kid, you don't even know me. You don't understand how fucked up I am inside. I get it, you're a good kid with good intentions, you want to save a life where you can. I've been there, and I know how it feels to be in your shoes, but I'm not- I don't- you can't save me. Nothing can, at this point. I'm a basket case, I've got some deep seated issues that festered and rotted me inside and out like a damn cabbage. Not even a therapist could help me with the negative voices in my head, so what difference is a kid fresh out of high school going to make?"

Josh had the audacity to look offended at his last comment. Tyler couldn't help it snicker.

"Nobody's beyond saving," Josh said.

Tyler shook his head. "Now, that's where you're wrong, my friend. I am beyond saving. The world doesn't deserve to have someone like me here to ruin other people's lives just because I exist. Just ask my parents, I'm sure they'll agree."

"Nobody is beyond saving," he repeated, taking a step closer. "Please, you don't have to do this."

His voice cracked at the end of his sentence, and he didn't realize he was crying until Josh pointed. Tyler put his hands out, pretending they were wings and he was about to fly for the first time. Josh started to move to stop him, but froze. He stared at Tyler with a look of shock in as his heels left the concrete, leaving him only on his toes.

"I don't have a choice."

His eyes fluttered closed, the last thing he saw being the Josh's face of pure terror before he leaned back. Just for a moment, he felt something brush the back of his t-shirt, but it vanished before the rooftop left the bottom of his feet.

He didn't even feel it when he hit the ground.