The blank white walls scream under the flickering fluorescent light. Such an empty space. But there she finds him. Grant never liked much in the way of decorations. He says the vagueness calms him. But now, he does not seem calm. Surrounded by his knives, on the balcony of the bleak apartment, single blade in hand, blood... everywhere. Had he tried to kill himself? She could not tell. He did not appear mortally wounded, and yet, he shook as if with freezing cold... though it was an American mid-June. As disturbing as the sight was, Hannah could not say she was surprised. She knew of his past and his struggles. Though she had never seen it with her own eyes, she was more than aware of his self destructive tendencies. They were lovers after all. So she crouched down and leaned her weight against him, all while subtly checking the deepness of his wounds. The knife fell with a clang to the cooling pavement of the balcony - the sun long past in its path. Curling in on himself, he began to sob. She pressed his head to the side of her own, and he draped a bleeding arm over her shoulder.
"I almost did it," he choked out around a mouthful of saliva.
She hummed, stroking his back. "I'm here now."
"But I almost-"
"Shhh, it's alright now. You're safe now."
"I'm not sure that I'm ever safe."
"Are you thinking about your father?"
A curt nod.
"Honey..." She kissed his ear, short and sweet. It seemed she was the only person who could truly touch him. The two had had this conversation many times before, which was why so few words were necessary. But this time there was blood everywhere. And it seemed that gravity was all the more real. Especially up on the balcony, where a brief look out over the city told of how deadly a fall could be.
She held him. Mortality was real, but so was love. At times Hannah wondered which was stronger. Could love save Grant? Could she somehow replace all the years of torment and trauma that plagued his mind? It did not seem so. Not that she had truly tried. Not that she should. But perhaps to fall in love was more appealing than facing one's own mortality. Hannah hoped so. After all, he did not express desire to end his life in the presence of her. He clung to her, and long after the tears had dried, allowed her to tend to his wounds.
It seemed life was but an outrageous dream. Was love outrageous? Grant could not decide. If he felt so strongly in his distaste for living, then why did it suddenly all change in the presence of Hannah? Yes, it was most certainly outrageous. He should have ended there. He wanted to end there. And yet he did not. Because his heart fluttered and turned soft around her, lighting a spark in the void his chest had been for a long time. Perhaps a soul had once been there. After everything, Grant was but a hollow body. And so, love was a miracle. It gave life in the face of death. No, forced it. It wrenched open a dead heart to feel when it had not allowed itself to feel. Love offered a soft hand. So if life was an outrageous dream, and love just as bold, then death seemed but just an illusion - as outrageous as life.
Life was dulling pain, and death was dulling pain, but love was the breath of it all.
