I sit down on the bench and look out over the horizon. My hands are shaking as the thoughts in my brain run wild.
If you weren’t here, the Bronze family would leave everyone alone.
You’re the one they want.
You’re the loose end.
They should have just killed me when they had the chance. They don’t want me here because they know I want answers.
Maybe I should just give up.
But what do I even mean by that?
I slowly stand up. I inch closer to the cliff edge. The horizon looks gorgeous from up here. I sit down on the cliff edge, my legs dangling off the edge.
Back here again.
I don’t want to die. I know that now. I just want all this pain to end.
I look down and notice the rocks at the bottom. If I fell, I would crack my skull and die instantly.
Am I doomed to a life of looking down and pondering my own death? Part of me thinks I might be. Part of me also thinks it’s my own fault. I shouldn’t have bothered coming back here.
But it was a good last attempt at life. I fell in love. I made so many friends. I was happy.
I was happy.
I can be happy again.
I just need to get up and breathe. Then try again.
Something deep inside me makes me back away from the cliff edge. I sit back down on my mother’s bench, my body trembling.
I can’t do this on my own anymore, Mum. I need you to tell me what to do. I need your help. You were always good at helping me solve my problems. Where are you now?
My heartbeat quickens when I spot a figure in the corner of my eye. It might be late at night, but it isn’t impossible that a dogwalker has simply gotten tired and decided to sit down on one of the benches.
But there isn’t a dog around him.
Suddenly, I hear a smash as the figure drops a glass bottle on the ground beneath him. I stop, aware of how harsh my breathing has become. I throw my hands into the pockets of my jacket in an attempt to get them to stop shaking. I watch the figure intensely. He bends down and goes to grab the bottle. I hear a sharp gasp as his hand pulls back. My eyes adjust so that I can make out the blood on his hand.
Something tells me to get out of here while I still can. Yet my body refuses to move.
“Fuck,” the figure whispers, clutching his hand. He clocks my presence and I freeze. He disregards me, and brings out another bottle from his bag as he sits down next to me. I don’t look at him. I simply stare at the horizon.
Why is he here?
“You know, it’s so hard to make out anything when it’s this dark. I’m surprised neither of us have fell off the cliff,” the man chuckles. He takes a swig of his bottle and turns to me. “You wanting a drink mate?”
“Ah, n- no you’re okay,” I stutter, taking my hands out of my pockets to fidget with them. The man looks frail, like a walking sag of skin that can talk. When he turns to face me, my heart sinks. There’s burn scars and a Chelsea smile on the right side of his face.
“I come here a lot,” the man says, but I don’t reply. I don’t know what to say. I want to ask why he’s sitting at my mother’s bench so late at night, but I bite my tongue.
“You seem familiar, are you a local?” he asks, facing the sea, the cliff edge a few steps away.
“My mother and I lived here for years, but I recently moved back myself,” I say quietly. I almost kick myself for giving so much away to a stranger. He could be anyone!
“Where is she now?” he asks, almost too quiet for me to hear. My throat closes up and I’m unable to speak.
