Jump Then Fall [BoyxBoy]

Chapter One - Echo.

CHAPTER ONE. Echo.

Tonight,  I was beyond tempted, more than ever before.

This was no longer an empty threat, no longer an idea in the dark recesses of my mind. This empty feeling inside of me had taken over, and my thoughts of suicide were now a reality. It was about 3 A.M., and even though Navy Pier closed at midnight, getting out there was no problem at that time of morning. It was so quiet, so peaceful. I believe that 3 A.M. is the darkest time of night by far, the perfect balancing point between sunset and sunrise. Not too many people roaming the streets, not too many cars passing by, just uninterrupted silence. The ultimate perfection in the darkness of night. I had walked along the dock many times before at night, letting the icy cold waves of Lake Michigan call out to me. Asking me to finally have the guts to jump in. To finally throw myself over the edge an let the dark hypnotic waves embrace me, drowning out my sorrows for the last time. I walked in silence, tears rolling down my cheeks non stop. But I wasn't crying, The tears were there, but the emotion was all gone. The very act of crying was a waste to me at this point, because all the tears my body could ever produce could in no way justify the life that I've lived, or the things I've been asked to endure. Death was my only escape. At sixteen-years-old there wasn't much else I could do. I couldn't move away, I couldn't start my life over again someplace else. I couldn't plead my case to anyone without them treating me like just a kid, the whole uphill battle would be in vain. I was two years from even having a minimal say in what society sees as 'right and wrong'. I had nothing left for them to take except for my life, and I refused to let them have it. I'd rather die by my own actions, on my own terms, and at my own time. It was the only bit of control I had left.

“Justin's just a dork,” they all said.

“Justin's just a kid, what he says doesn't matter.” they said.

The kids in school teased me, I didn't have a friend in the world. I used to be labeled as a pretty boy. The blue eyed, brown haired show off who was too wrapped up in his looks to care about anybody else. Which was totally untrue, but I suppose they needed to have some reason to hate me. That was one of them. By the time I got to the seventh or eighth grade, they stopped labelling me at all. The hatred had just refined itself somehow, and became more general, they didn't even need a reason anymore. No parties, no after school hang outs, nothing. Actually, I did have one friend, one close friend who I loved dearly. His name was Sonny, he was my age, and one of the sweetest most adorable people to ever walk this Earth. But like me, our beloved Lord and Savior decided to deal him a bad hand in life. He was stuck in a hospital, struggling with terminal cancer. Since he was first admitted, I've watched him change and deteriorate into something else. He was skinny, weak, sickly. He had lost his hair, and his once beautiful tan had become pale and faded. But no matter what happened, his eyes always kept their shine. He was always happy to see me visit, and he always had a warm smile waiting for me, no matter how bad he felt. I held back every possible tear when I went to see him, feeling helpless and alone. But I greeted him with the same smile he gave me, I was strong for him, and he was strong for me. But I knew one day it would be over. No more hospital visits, no more long hugs, no more long matches of video games on his room's TV set. Soon he'd be gone. This beautiful person would be gone forever, and he'd be leaving all the perverts, deviots, killers, rapists, thieves and every other kind of low life scum ever to inhabit the Earth behind. Why would heaven choose to take such a beautiful angel away from us, when there are so few left in this world? Sonny was my best friend, but he wouldn't be around forever, and the way I felt that night; I envied him.

My father was an abusive son of a bitch. Whatever words he couldn't use to hurt me with, he made up for with his fists. My parents finally divorced, putting a stop to the beatings once and for all, but at what price. My mother and I didn't have enough money to support ourselves, and I was so tired of going to bed hungry. We had enough to put a roof over our heads, and maybe pay the bills every two months or so, but that was it. My mother always seemed to have enough left over money from her paycheck to buy alcohol though. Funny how that worked out every week. How many times was I going to have to put her to bed? How many times was I going to have to clean up the mess she made in the bathroom after drinking too much and passing out? How many times did I have to call her into work sick, or cover her up on the couch, or listen to her cry about how poor and unfortunate we were? I just couldn't handle it anymore.