Suicide.

Chapter 4

Chapter 4
Maybe.

He grabs my other hand and pulls me up onto the surface. I dont know how he can support my body weight. I stumble. He pants, his blue eyes are wide and his hood is over his head, the fluff of his brown hair peeking out slightly. I feel like my toes are freezing in my sneakers and that they'll slowly fall off. One. By. One. I was so happy about my death earlier that I didn't care about my fresh scars from last night being on display. I now regret wearing denim shorts as he stares at the deep gashes. I feel like a drill is stabbing my brain, thriving through.

"Should've let go..."
I whispered. A frown crawls onto his sharp features. Despite his expression, he looks more afraid than angry. He slaps me. Hard, but not cruelly. He slaps me like a gust of wind that's too strong. He slaps me but not hard enough to leave a bruise. He slaps me just right, tinting my pale cheek with crimson color.
"YOU COULD HAVE DIED!"
He yelled, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me as if he wants to shudder the sense into me.

"Are you insane?!" He shouted, moving closer to my face as his breath grazes my skin. I find myself sucking in my stomach, a habit I often did.

"Maybe..." I whispered, my gaze shifting to the waters.
"What's your name?"
He said. Of course he didn't know me, what was I expecting? He's the popular guy with all the fame and abs...oh abs. I realized I was staring at his stomach, my heart in my throat. No wonder he was such a heartthrob, he's prettier than the bridge we stood upon. I must he losing my mind, I haven't even answered his question.
"Emilie...Emilie...Butterscotch."
My voice is quieter than I intended. He was so hot that it was fiddling with my brain.

I tell myself that he's a player, he's not worth swooning over. My stomach is still sucked in and I'm looking into his oceanic eyes like the hormornal teen I am.
Idiot...

"I've seen you before..."
He muttered. He seriously had no idea we went to the same school and had the yearly sports day with the students of year 11 together.
"Your homeroom's next door..."
My voice is still quiet. Just like a game of cat and mouse.
"Why..."
I dont need him to continue. I dont need him to explain. I knew what he was talking about.
Why did you attempt, Emilie?
He says it like he cares about me despite us just meeting mere minutes ago.

"Why are you here? School's out, it's 7'o clock in the morning."
I dont bother answering his previous question. Speaking of my pain aloud would make me sob like a child and I wasnt going to sob in front of him.