The Life Saver

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Hope you like the story and, if you do, please vote and let me a comment, ok?
I really would like to know what you think about it.

Special thanks to Mr. Rutger5 for helping me with the english stuff =*
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The Life Saver


What makes my nights so much darker? What turns me into a marionette of my inner feelings of self-destruction, of detachment from the world, from everything?

The answer is: I don’t know.

That’s what and how a person as depressed as me thinks. Genetically depressed. My life per se would be reason enough, not that I had wealth or physical problems, but my folks… If I wasn’t the shadow of a person, the mere memory of a human being, I’d be rebellious as a devil stuck in a box. Lucky for them, I was the first option.

Some people can get rid of this disease, using medicine, visiting shrinks… In my case it didn’t help, it was chronic and started really, really early. I was a “sad kid” as they called me and treatment was like doping a child and as soon as the effects wore off, there I was suffering again. As my parents were snobbish and shallow enough to not accept the fact that their only daughter would have to live in a clinic – not that I was cool with it either – I had an uninteresting and pale life until I was seventeen.
I decided I wasn’t making it to eighteen.

The day I was suppose to turn eighteen, my birthday, was the day I decided to end my life. Leave it all behind. Quit feeling so unwelcome in this world, so tired of trying to fit in, to never have strength enough to experience things, to live things.
So there I was, hiding my face under the cowl of my one size bigger sweatshirt, ignoring my turned off phone and the calls that I would be receiving on my birthday. Sitting at the counter of the café right in front of the huge building I chose to jump off, savoring my last breakfast and hearing music from my ipod.
My hands were shaking badly. The coffee tasted good but awkward. I figured I wasn’t brave enough to decide to do something like jumping off a building and still enjoy breakfast calmly. One song was over and then a very well-known riff came on. A shiver ran down my spine as I recognized Highway to Hell, from AC/DC. And just as I was scrambling to take my iPod off my pocket to change the track I felt someone touching my shoulder.
I almost jumped over the counter. There was a guy, standing right beside me and looking at me.


“Excuse me?” I said taking off the earplugs.

He grinned as if he was ashamed of repeating what he had just said. He looked kinda handsome too, with short brown hair and blue eyes.
“I just ask if you were alright” he said, obviously changing his speech. I frowned.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I spat and he stared at me surprised.

“I was sitting just there and saw you having problems holding your cup of coffee” he said pointing at the table behind me with his chin.

“And?” I lowered my cup and hid my shaky hands.

“Jesus, I was just trying to be nice” he said raising his hands in an apologetic way.

“Of course you were” I rolled my eyes. I was used to have guys hitting on me, but as always I wasn’t interested.

“No, I mean it. You’re not ok, I can clearly see it” he propped on his elbows over the counter and bent to look at me.

I cringed a little and focused on my iPod.
Damn. It can’t be so obvious.

“I don’t want to bother you, but would you like to have some company? I’m not hitting on you, I promise. You just seem to need it” he said bending even further to have a glimpse of my eyes. I slightly turn my face to the other side.

“I-I don’t know” I gasped.

“Oh, come on” he took advantage of my audible uncertainty and sat on the bench on my side “It’s just coffee, I promise.”

My first reaction was to get ready to get up. I would just pay the check and leave. But when I tried I remembered where I was going next, my whole body shook and I couldn’t get up yet. Like he had dissolved part of my resolution with that charismatic talk.

“So, what’s your name?” He said raising a hand to call the waitress and ordered a cup of coffee and donuts, then stared at me, beaming those big blue eyes. Ok, he wasn’t kinda handsome, he was really handsome. With a boyish and sloppy look, even being a well built and tall man, somewhere between 25 and 30 years old, I’d guess.

“Olivia” I said, trying to take my eyes off him. It doesn’t matter how cute he looked. I already met cute guys. It always ends up the same. They are never committed enough, I always think. But I know that the real problem is me. It always is.

“Mark” he answered raising up a hand.

I hesitate for an instant, then shook his hand. He looked to my white hand and my nails bitten and painted black like he was studying me and I withdrew it fast, putting it in my lap, over my iPod.

“Life isn’t being nice to you, is it?” He says with a soothing and understanding tone.

“How can you tell?” I answer slightly looking up to him but not letting our eyes cross. He’s frightening me.
The waitress brought his food, smiled tantalizingly at him and left. He didn’t return a full smile. It was more like a courtesy smile back.

“I knew many, many people like you. It’s easy for me to recognize” he said taking a sip of coffee, still looking at me.

“So you know what I’m like” I say dryly. Sarcastic.

“You are trying to decide if what you are going to do next is what you really want” he says looking away, like he is thinking far away, and there is more “And it will probably hurt you.”

I open my eyes wide and stare at him. He just looked at me and smiled, satisfied.

“Jeez, you are beautiful” he says and I look down again.

“Are you some kind of detective or something?” I ask.

“Kind of” he answers. I’m not looking to him, but I’m pretty sure he’s not taking his eyes off me.

“Oh…” I tried to take a sip of my coffee but figured I was shaking even worse, so I gave up.

“It means I’m right” he concludes.

“Are you?” I say renewing my resolve, determined that if I stood there that guy would figure it all out, and I wanted it over “You are indeed a great detective, but it doesn’t matter” I said standing up.

I just put 10 bucks on the counter and left the café. I overheard him saying something, like asking me to stay or something, but soon as I stormed out to the street I couldn’t hear him anymore. Nothing he could say would change my mind. I didn’t want to suffer anymore and even if we turned out being friends or something more, it wouldn’t last. And I was already so broken by my parents, broken for losing friends, for not being able to understand them, for never being happy as they are…
Thanks, Mark. Now I’m crying and that is your fault.

I rushed to the enormous commercial building and take my security card at hand. My father used to work here before becoming the politician he is today, and made it for me when I was just a kid, but I had already tried and it was still working.