Letters To Suicidal

e i g h t

Kyler couldn't take it anymore.

He stood up from his seat, the screeching sound of his chair against wood putting everybody to silence. The other teenagers have been busy chatting away and stuffing food into their mouth. They all stared at Kyler as he stood in front of them, his hands clenched into fists, his head hung low.

They couldn't see his face - but he had his face scrunched up into so many different faces. Hurt. Longing. Disappointment. Anger. Sadness. Worry. He felt so many things that he couldn't take it anymore. He ran to the door, and the moment he stepped out of the old house, he got on his tiny bicycle and pedaled all the way to the park.

He knew it was hopeless. He knew that he should stop going there, but whenever he didn't check, he'd think of the girl. What if she left a note? He'd miss it, and the next day it might be gone. And whenever he saw that there was nothing there, he'd have a sudden surge of disappointment that just made everything worse.

He closed his eyes. It was already December 29. Christmas passed by in a blur. It wasn't jolly or merry. He couldn't even force himself to smile whenever he said "Merry Christmas!". After he'd received and given presents, he crept back into his room and lied down on his bed, his mind wandering about.

It was past eight in the evening and he was just sitting on the curb of the sidewalk. The tip of his boots were deep under the dirty snow. His jacket felt too thin to wear outside the house. He couldn't feel his fingers. He was thinking of going back home and explaining shortly to his friends.

And then he heard them.

The footsteps were so soft that if it weren't for the fact that almost nobody was out on the streets because of the freezing cold, he wouldn't be able to hear them. He twisted around from his position to look at whoever it was.

He would have regretted his decision of going out if he hadn't seen her chestnut brown hair and green eyes. Freckles adorned her cheeks, her lips pursed in an "O" as she stared at him in shock. A small, thick hoodie was wrapped around her waist. Her face looked pale and distraught. She looked so small and fragile. So much that Kyler couldn't even wrap his arms around her because he felt like he would break her.

He stood up and nearly ran to her, just because he couldn't help it anymore. He stood in front of her as she began to tighten her grip around the satchel she was holding. It was so quiet - and then his boots skidded on the gravel and his hands shot up to hold her shoulders.

***

Eumee dropped the satchel she was holding when she felt his hands on her shoulders. His hands were big and cold, she even felt how rough they were through the thin fabric of her clothes. She hadn't expected to see him. She thought she'd never see him again. She though of just leaving the satchel on the wall, and hope for the better that he'd check inside and see her letters.

But she felt ridiculously happy when she saw him.

His grey eyes were staring at her. She stayed still, her eyes taking in all of his features. His hair, his eyes, the little, unnoticeable stubble on his chin. His pale lips that were turning a light shade of blue, his breathes that came out ragged and unsteady. He was so close to her, she could reach out and touch his face.

And she did.

And when her small hands came in contact with his face, she felt her eyes grow hot. Kyler looked surprised when he felt her soft hands. He became petrified - paralyzed in place as he savored her touch.

They stayed that way until his mouth opened, and a small bubble of laughter escaped his lips. He closed his eyes and pulled her closer, his nose touching the tip of her own until he leaned his head on her shoulders, and she pulled her hands down to his chest.

"It's you," he whispered, his voice sounding as if he'd struck gold. "It's you."

I CAN'T. I LOVE KYLER TOO MUCH NOW. I'M SORRY. I'M ON THE FEELS TRAIN FOR MY OWN CHARACTER. HOW DARE I MAKE EUMEE MUTE. I JUST CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE.

I AM NOT CALM.

Woooooh. Okay. OMFG THIS IS ENDING IN LIKE TWO CHAPTERS. Hah, sorry for bursting that out but after all this support with Letters To Suicidal I just. It's like. Bloop. But like, I'm thinking of posting a longer version of LTS, like, a real novel. What do you think? Shall I or shall I not?

- aubrey