Lifeline

Chapter One

11:43- November 21st, 2010 Manhattan, New York

Such a typical thing of me to do. I should be on a flight back to Australia, getting ready to prepare for thanksgiving with my family pretty soon. Instead, I'm siting before my desk at near midnight, sipping a coffee waiting for another call. I work at a crisis hotline. It's a place you contact when having anxiety issues, depression, self harming, suicidal thoughts, and or contemplating suicide. We do our best to talk you out of it and get you proper help. Every soul I've spoken to I've saved. All one thousand-twenty six of them. Not an average twenty-three year old, I know exactly what these people go through each day. That's why I feel like it's my duty to help. As I tucked my fuchsia pink lock behind my ear, my headset ring letting me know I had a call. It's been exactly fourteen minutes since my last one.

"If this is a medical emergency, please hang up and dial 9-1-1." I speak soothingly to whomever is on the other end of the line.

"Um, this is the hotline you call when you need help, correct?" A husky voice spoke barely audible.. by the sounds of it he's been crying.

"Yes, My name is Azalea and I'm here to help you this evening well, almost morning. May I ask why you're calling? Oh and don't forget to mention your name." I smiled blushing in embarrassment awaiting for the person to answer.

"Azalea? What type of name is that? You must not be from America." He smirked.

Good! A good reaction, it's easier to talk him out of whatever's going on if he's in a good state at the moment.

"You still haven't answered my question."

"I'm Christopher, and I'm trying to figure out a reason not to end my life right now you understand?" He began to cough, and his voice sounded forced. He must be smoking.

"Christopher are you smoking? You know that's not healthy." Kicking my feet up on the desk I state calmly. One thing I learned is to be calm. Firmness can result in conflict.

"Yes, I'm smoking. And for your information, it's medical marijuana so therefore it is healthy for me.." He laughed a little coughing once again causing me to sigh.

"How old are you Christopher?"

"I'm twenty-one.."

This will be easier to talk to him, due fact that we're in the same age pool.

"Do you see a therapist? And if so is it helping?"

"No.."

"A psychiatrist?" I huffed out hopefully.

"Yes, I take an antidepressant called citilopram."

"Do you mind telling me what's going on through your mind?" I say, accidentally letting my Australian accent resurface.

"Your accent is beautiful.." He complimented causing me to blush.

"You're soul is beautiful."

I could hear the pain in his voice and it wasn't pleasant. All I wanted was to help end it. I'm feigning for it to end it's long rein over his shoulders.

"Well Azalea, I fucked up. Simple as that. Everyone makes mistakes, but if you living the life I'm living you're held accountable for every little fucking detail. Almost two years ago I made the most horrendous mistake of my life. And I'll forever regret it. It wasn't my intention for what happened to happen but I blacked out. Ever since this incident, my life went down the drain. The entire world hated me, just like they still do in a way. I can't explain the emotions and how depressed I became. Everyone literally wanted me dead, to kill myself, or rot in hell probably the mix of the three. Either or this mistake will forever haunt me. I'm only human. Here it is, late November of 2010, almost nothing's changed. I took a break from everything, and tried to do allot of self reevaluation. The more time on my hands to myself, the worse this depression grew. Nothing's working man. Now I'm sitting here with this loaded gun, playing Russian roulette with myself. Life isn't for me. Everyone wants me dead, maybe I should make everyone happy for once.."