Duplicity [h.s]

92

tw: mentions of suicide and dark thoughts

Philadelphia
10:42PM

Harry Styles

It's a calm night in Philadelphia—the sky washes dark and chills quiet.

There's not a single star in the sky, not when you're in the heart of the city. Even on top of a building as high as this one, you can't see any stars. I couldn't seem to remember the last time I saw stars. Stars seem to be such a conventional thing, yet I can't seem to render the last time I looked up and noticed one. I've seen the moon, just never the stars.

"Where are the stars?" I murmur to myself, my head tossed back to the point I beheld an ache in my neck.

I raise my cigarette up and jam it between my lips, devoiding the tobacco smoke through the filter and letting it cascade down my throat. My eyes stay relished on the dark sky above me, my mind pondering into what could possibly be beyond all of this. Drawing the cigarette back down to my side, grey smoke drafts out between my lips and dissolves into the breezy air—almost as if it never existed.

The night's wind chills at this altitude, even in a tepid month like June. I could feel the air quiver through my clothes and glide against my skin like gentle fingernails. The frail feeling conveys a draft up my backbone, mingling with the fire in my chest every time I inhale more cigarette smoke.

My head falls forward, now staring down at a whole different scenery.

Street lights, vehicles, horns, and the tips of my Converse off the edge of the building.

The deadly sight didn't beckon any fright, and that's the problem. When I gaze down at a hundred-story drop, I didn't taste the bitterness of fear. Maybe I was just an adrenaline junky who wasn't afraid of heights, or maybe, just maybe, I didn't care much about life as I should.

Why else would standing on the edge of a building not make me feel sick?

The cars seem so diminutive from here, that's how high up I was standing. The streets rest quietly this late at night but I could still hear the echoes of car engines and police sirens knitting somewhere in the city. Smoking my cigarette, I stare down at my potential death.

One step—that's all it takes.

One step, twenty breezy seconds, and that's it. Just like that, it would all be over. Twenty-three years of this hell I've been living could just vanish with one single step. It's kinda sick when you think of it like that. Life puts you through so much hell, yet you can end it all so easily. It seems like a big setup, why else would it be so simple?

I haven't been feeling good tonight.

After the show, I sensed that familiar pit that wouldn't seem to ease up. It wasn't a panic attack, it was just the discomfort of aimless depression that was clinging on harder than usual. I tried to distract myself like I usually do; throwing myself into women until I exhaust myself down into depletion so I could sleep. Therefore I did the usual, take a random home and fuck them until my brain fell dormant and I'd be too fatigued to think. That's how my days go now.

Distractions—It's a type of science that will drive you mad.

I wake up and focus on what I need to do that day in order to keep my mind busy. I complete the task Malikai assigns, get high, play the gig, spot a chick in the crowd to take home, indulge in them until I could barely keep my eyes open, fall asleep, and do it all over again the next day. I can't pause, pausing is when you think. I do whatever I can to distract myself whether it's businesses, drugs, women, or shows and it still isn't enough. A troubled soul can't be diverted for long. Eventually, that darkness will seep through the cracks of your schedule and reem hellfire when you ignore it for too long.