Personal Narrative: Where Are You Again

the very beginning
The wind caresses my hair around my face as I look down from the top of the swaying bridge over the Yuba River, ready to leap and never look back. I close my eye and feel a single hot tear slide down my goosebumped face. Everything seems to stop for just a moment, a single, beautiful moment where I feel like I can fly. Where I feel safe. Protected. But the moment always passes, and it flies away as quickly as it came. I turn to my mission and look down. The rushing river beckons to me. My final resting place. I take a deep breath. My knees bend and… “Skylar?” I hear a deep voice behind me. Shit, the cops are probably here again. I turn, ready to sprint away like always. But the voice behind me is not an officer.
This doesn’t make sense. It’s three in the morning on a desolate trail that barely anyone knows about. Why would he be here, looking at me with those assaulting eyes that make me feel like the earth is spinning a million miles an hour faster? I lean back on the railing. “Look, Skylar. I knew something was going on. I don’t really know you but…” He drifts off, his voice breaking. He takes a step towards me, making it so there are only about six inches between us. “You’re more than this, Sky. You always have been.” My eyes soften and blur his face. All I can make out in the next five seconds is him sweeping me into his arms, away from the bridge I was so close to jumping from. I feel a sob rise and try to hide it, but it’s pointless. My chest shakes slightly. “It’s okay now. Let it out,” he soothes. I do. I lose it. I cry and scream and listen to his steady breaths. The screams echo in the desolate forest. His heartbeat pounds in my ear. My waterfall of salty tears turns to a light trickle, and I finally look him in the eye. I see his cheeks are wet as well. I almost ask what’s wrong, but he gives me the slightest shake of his
It brings chills all over my body, and my cheeks feel hot and red. Is this what being alive feels like? “Skylar,” he says again. Damn. “Why? Why did you come here of all places? Why tonight? Why in general?” he looks at me with a look of caring. He wants to know. But does he really? I’m difficult. I’m high maintenance and I have a lot of problems. He doesn’t want to get involved. Does he? He clearly sees the wheels turning in my head. He lets out a small laugh and says, “What’s going on in that pretty little mind?” That’s enough to make me talk. “I came here because I spend a million moments of my childhood here. It reminds me of simple times, where I felt okay, where I felt like I had a future,” I start. “I wanted my last moments to be happy, free.” “I don’t believe that I should be here. I don’t think I’m worth while. I don’t…” my voice trails off. “Why?” he asks. Why? It’s a simple question, but it has me thinking. Why do I feel this way? Why do I feel the need to pop pills and leap from bridges into frigid water? Why am I spilling my heart to a boy with beautiful eyes that I barely know? “I don’t know,” I