Are you okay?

00:14AM

"You don't feel anything?" He questioned, his head titled slightly to the side as he glanced at me, "Or you don't know how you feel?"

I stumbled over a response, temporarily stunned as I took in his words. Out of all the responses he could have had, I didn't expect him to try and understand me. No one ever did. They all just threw useless suggestions at me until eventually I stopped confiding and began conforming to the expectations everyone had for me.

Even with Theo, unknowingly I'd stopped telling him everything like I'd used to, now only picking and choosing certain parts, because no matter how much he tried to, he could never understand why and how I felt the way I did. It was always the over-repeated phrases that have never helped anyone, an ignorant ear rather than a helping hand – but I couldn't blame him.

It was difficult to relate to or understand a situation if you had never been in anything similar, and despite his good intentions it was made clear in all of our conversations that Theo was one of the lucky few humans who had been blessed with mental stability.

"Maybe both... but then at the same time, neither," I mumbled, sighing as I dropped my head into my hands, "I don't know what I feel – how to explain this numbness inside of me. I don't even make sense to myself anymore."

He ruminated silently for a few seconds, his gaze lingering on our surroundings before returning back to me. "Is that why you were going to jump?"

"It's part of why." I mumbled vaguely, breaking his gaze. "Everything that's happened to me throughout my entire life is why."

"As much as I'd love to hear your life story, I don't think you'd be willing to share it with me," he remarked, and I hummed shortly in agreement, "But I do think you should talk; about how you feel or anything you want really. It's not healthy to keep it all inside, and who better to tell than a stranger?"

I found slight comfort in his words, sending him a weak smile at his compassion. At the very least I'd expected him to write me off as crazy, or treat me differently, not react with such respectful nonchalance as though we were having a chat about the weather. Perhaps he was just intrigued: a normal boy with a normal life taking interest in an abnormal girl.

"Well," I started shakily, "In case it wasn't clear enough, I have depression."

"I would never have guessed."

I smiled softly. "I know I shouldn't self-diagnose, but in my case I think it's pretty clear. I don't exactly know when it started, all I know is this feeling has never really stopped." Whenever I think back upon seemingly happy moments in my life, I was never truly happy. Birthdays, Christmas, things that I should look back fondly on; yet all I remember is the persistent feeling of melancholy lingering behind every smile.

"I don't even necessarily want to die- I just don't want to feel this- this unending pain. I'm so tired of being tired all the time and repeating this ceaseless cycle of being alive yet not living every single day and it's so draining," I rambled, fiddling with my fingers as I spoke to avoid the intense gaze of the stranger. I could feel his eyes on the side of my head as I went on, too anxious of what I would see if I turned to look into them. "I don't even want to die, but death seems like the only way out of everything."

Hesitantly, I finally met his eyes, astounded once again by how non-judgmental he appeared. The lights around us cast shadows below his cheekbones, highlighting them as he nodded understandingly, the subtle movement emphasising his ethereal allure.

"Can I ask you something else?" He asked tentatively, breaking the silence that had fallen around us as I glanced away again. The night sky had swallowed up the daytime and taken away the noise with it too, leaving behind the tranquil tones of nothingness. The overhead wires were camouflaged into the dark indigo undertones of the sky, the few lights along the platform managing to illuminate the two of us, casting shadows onto the ground below.

"Only if I can ask one too," I countered, figuring I may as well find out something about the kind-hearted stranger. His smile dropped momentarily, his jaw tensing at my words as his aristocratic features seemed to freeze for a split second before he nodded tersely, returning to his usual expression so quickly I almost thought I'd imagined his apprehension.

"What are you going to do now?"

I blinked at his question, my eyes flicking back up to his as the realisation hit me that I had no idea. I didn't think my attempt wouldn't work, and I certainly didn't expect to be stopped by a stranger, so I hadn't planned this far ahead.

"Why do you ask?" I countered, deflecting the question back to him, "Not to be rude, but why do you even care so much in the first place?" He could have left after stopping me, but he chose to stick around and stay with me - something few people would do if ever put in his position.

"I just- I want to make sure you stay alive." He spoke with such sincerity for a second I was mesmerised by his words, before motioning for him to explain further. "I don't want to walk away tonight then wake up tomorrow morning and hear a story on the news saying a teenage girl committed suicide on a nearby railway."

It was relieving to know he had no ulterior motives, and despite being male and seemingly older than me, I didn't feel threatened by his presence; rather I felt an air of safety circulating around him. I nodded grimly, understanding his good intentions and his discreet way of indirectly asking, are you going to try and kill yourself again?

"I don't know what I'm going to do now." I sighed in regards to his prior question, "I don't know if I have the willpower to try again, or if I have the strength to go back to my house and carry on with everyday life, or if I reach out for help or find another quick way to die- I don't know."

"Anyways," I spoke quickly, clasping my hands together as I sat up straight, not wanting him to dwell on my words, "Time for my question."

He smiled, and perhaps it was just the lighting, or the slight tensing of his jaw, but it seemed... forced, like he was trying to keep his reluctance at bay in order to avoid arousing any suspicion. "Ask away."

It was only then I realised I had absolutely no idea what to ask.

"Umm..." I trailed off, sending him a sheepish grin while I racked my brain for something to say, choosing the most obvious question as I blurted, "What's your name?"

Just as he opened his mouth to speak he was cut off by the sound of an approaching train, causing a new idea to begin brewing within my brain as I stood up upon seeing the train lights approaching. I picked up my rucksack sat by my feet, swinging it over my shoulder and then took a step, only to be stopped by a gentle yet vice grip on my wrist.

"Don't tell me you're about to try and jump again." His dark, now stormy, eyes clouded with consternation, apprising through my own as I shook my head, realising what this must look like to him.

"I'm not." He raised his eyebrows at me, unconvinced as he stood up too, his hold on my wrist loosening ever so slightly. "I won't, I promise, okay? I'm just going to board the train, that's all."

I must have taken a few steps before I saw his shadow still next to mine and the gentle tap of his footsteps following after me as the train came to a cranking stop at the platform edge. "You're coming with me?"

"Of course," he answered as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Do you even know where it's going?" He asked beside me, taking larger strides so that he was slightly nearer to the platform edge than I was.

"Do I need to?" I shrugged blithely, stepping past the yellow platform line and onto the train as the stranger followed my actions. I strolled past a few seats, all of them empty due to the late time, before sitting down and dumping my rucksack on the seat next to me.

"So is this your thing? Going on trains that lead to unknown destinations?"

"Yep," I responded, shooting him a brief glance as he sat down opposite me, before pulling my phone out of my pocket to see a string of messages from Theo, all of them in capitals as more streamed through. I silently scolded myself for leaving him so abruptly, but then again it's not like I had been planning on dealing with the repercussions. I wasn't even meant to be here.

"Why?"

I paused, slipping my phone back into my pocket and making a mental reminder to reply back to Theo later, before pondering over the stranger's question. "I like the idea of escaping the mess for a while. Running away and then returning back to the rubble."

"And how long do you escape for? A night, a day, a week?"

"If only I could..." I smiled wryly, shaking my head, "Just a few hours; before dawn I'm usually back at my house. Why? Are you planning on sticking with me for that long?"

"Maybe." He sent me a fleeting grin that faded with his next words. "Just until I'm sure you won't attempt suicide again."

I sighed, dropping my head back as I slumped slightly in the train seat, crossing one leg over the other as I voiced my thoughts. "You probably think I'm crazy, don't you?"

He shook his head, his eyebrows slightly furrowed. "I don't think you're crazy at all. Hurt? Yes. But crazy? No."

I shot him an incredulous look. "So attempting suicide doesn't make me crazy?"

"It makes you strong."

He quickly continued upon seeing the disbelieving look on my face. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not condoning suicide in any way, but to go through so much to the extent it makes you lose the will to live- and then to carry on living despite a change in your plans: that takes strength."

I broke away from his gaze, sitting up as I ran a hand through my hair, pushing my curls back. "Why are you so positive?"

"Why are you so negative?" he shot back without missing a beat. My eyes snapped up to his, taking in the questions swimming within the dark brown depths before I exhaled sharply.

"I'm not negative: I'm realistic."

What was the point in focusing on the positives when the bad clearly outweighed the good? Having high expectations and hopes only led to getting hurt, something I'd already had enough of to last a lifetime.

It hurts to hope for the impossible, and it hurts to wish against the inevitable. Pain is going to find us all either way, and I'd rather face it head on than have it ambush me when I least expected it.

"So what if a good thing happened to you?" he began, leaning forward in his seat, "Let's say, for example, meeting me tonight." I scoffed, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips at his charm. "Do you still expect the worst, or could you try having a little hope that something good might happen?"

Staring at him now, a carefree grin across his face as I fought back my own smile, it would be so easy to agree with him - but I couldn't. "The second I have hope is the second that things go wrong. If I get my hopes up, and start thinking that tonight's going to be great-"

"Then it will be great." He stated, matter-of-factly.

"-then it will be the complete opposite." I corrected, shaking my head.

See, life loved to throw things at me, like my suffering was entertainment for the universe to find pleasure in. Life loved to build my hopes up and then crush them right back down; whenever something good happened, it was usually too good, as though life was mocking me, itching to hit me with an attack the minute I felt like I could rest. Call me cynical, but I dreaded happy moments, because as blissfully as they came, they would be utterly destroyed when I'd least expect it, until I lost parts of myself I had never even realised I'd had until they were gone.

I don't know what sort of cruel joke life decided to play on me, but I was starting to stumble from the amount of hits I was taking, and I couldn't afford any more - hence why I couldn't risk being positive, even for just one night. That's if this guy even stays with me for the whole night - I wouldn't be surprised if he made an excuse half an hour later about needing to go somewhere and leave.

"Who hurt you?" he questioned softly. "Who or what happened that made you so..."

"Cynical?"

"Scared."

I stared back at him quizzically. "What do you mean?"

"Scared of being happy."

I stayed silent, his potent eyes fixated on me as I pulled out my journal from my rucksack and stared at the blank sheet of paper, anything to stop myself from gazing into his chocolate pools of concern.

"I'm not," I muttered stubbornly, "I just don't see the point in willingly getting hurt." Allowing myself to be happy would be futile when I already know bad things are yet to come. "When you're happy, your walls are down and you're defenceless; the perfect opportunity for Life to attack you with lashings of pain."

"But why is getting hurt the first thing you connote with happiness?"

"Because every single time I've been happy, I've been hurt. Every single time I've had my hopes up or I've had high expectations, I've been hurt."

"But if you consciously avoid something because it might hurt you, doesn't that make you scared of it?"

His tone of voice let on that he knew he was right - and despite my denial, so did I.

"Can we just drop this now?" I asked in a small voice, tapping my pen against the page, "I just- I don't want to talk right now."

"Okay. But just know I'm here, whether you want to talk, or not to talk, I'm here."

I finally looked back up at him then, watching as he reached to grab something out of his own rucksack, rustling around a fair bit. A few clinking sounds resonated through the train as he continued to rummage through his bag, before he pulled out the book he had been reading when I'd first spotted him.

Conscious of my staring, I glanced back down at my page, feeling him cast me one last lingering glance before sighing and turning away. I slowed down my tapping, letting my pen sit between the pages of my journal before closing it.

No one knew these things about me – how I truly felt inside – and yet twenty minutes into meeting a completely random person, who I knew absolutely nothing about, he had managed to get me to open up about things I would never even dare mention to Theo, or anyone else for that matter.

I ducked my head down slightly, letting my curls shield me from the glaring lights as I felt the first tear fall, rolling down my cheeks and landing softly atop of my journal. He'd read me so easily, speaking aloud the questions I'd always tried to run from - and although I hated it, I needed to hear it.

The truth does heal... but it also hurts.