Chapter Two

Marcus

Except I don't fall. I am yanked down and into a heap on top of a hard body. I am dazed for a moment; what has just happened? I try to sit up, but a strong handheld me down "please don't do it, "a voice beneath my body says beseechingly. I tug again as I try to sit up to look at the person behind the voice, but he refuses to let me go. "Please let go of me," I ask politely. "No," he answers, sighing, "I just want to sit up, please," I try again; he hesitates a bit, but he loosens his grip on me. I sit up, and so does he. He looks at me cautiously, afraid I'll spook and try to jump again. He sits up, and I finally get a good look at him; by God, he is good-looking. He has these vivid blue eyes that I feel are looking directly into my soul. He is tall, taller than my 5'8; he is probably 6' inches and some change. He stares back at me, waiting for me to say something, but I don't know how I feel, let alone what to say. Suddenly it occurs to me that I have failed at killing myself. Typical, I snort, and he looks puzzled I want to explain, but I don't know where to begin. "Why," he asks softly, and I shrug; he sighs and then tries again. "Will you please tell me how I can help because you really are too pretty to die" my eyes widen at that! No one has ever called me pretty before, and I have never thought of myself as particularly good-looking, and then it hit me.. He is just saying that to make sure I don't jump. "You don't have to be nice. I won't try to jump again …tonight," I let him know. It's nice of him to try and make me feel good; it really was, but I feel it's unnecessary since I wasn't going to kill myself tonight. Apparently, I have to find another day where I will hopefully be alone because it seems I am shit even at offing myself. I couldn't look at him; I feel too embarrassed and too ashamed to. He lifts my chin with his fingers forcing me to look at him. "I mean it, you are so pretty with those hazel eyes and that curly mop" he ruffles my hair, and I feel myself blush at the contact. It feels good to be touched by someone else. I lean into the touch and only realize when he pulls me almost to his lap. "Please tell me what I can do to make you feel better. How can I fix this for you?" he asks earnestly. I feel a lump in my throat, and I want to tell him there is nothing anyone can do that I was broken beyond repair but couldn't find my voice. I bury my face in his broad chest, and bawl like a baby for the second time tonight. He holds me as I cry and make comforting sounds which only make me cry harder. He rubs circles on my back until, eventually, I calm down. Great now, my eyes are puffy, and my face is wet and full of snot; he lets go of me for a second and fishes for a handkerchief. He gently wipes my face, and it feels embarrassingly good. When I have sufficiently calmed down, I turn to say thank you and almost cry again from the tender, sad look he is giving me. "Thank you. Sorry I got your shirt wet," I tell him shyly "it's nothing, and you don't have to thank me. Can I take you home? I think you need rest and maybe someone to talk to" I look away at that because how do I tell him that I had no home to go to or that I had no one I could talk to? I didn't need him knowing what a loser I was. "Or I could buy you coffee. How does that sound?' I nodded because I don't trust my mouth to form words.

   He stands up, offers me his hand, and pulls me up from the ground, and I can now see how much bigger he is than me and am a little intimidated. What if he is a serial killer? I laugh at the absurdity of worrying about being caught by a serial killer when I had just tried to off myself. "what? What's funny?" he asks me, looking puzzled, making me laugh even harder. He stares at me with increased puzzlement, and I try to compose myself. "I am trying to figure out if you are a serial killer…" he looks amused, but then he holds my hand, pulls me close, and starts walking towards the left side of the bridge. He didn't say a word until we reached where he has packed his SUV; he opens the door for me, and I hesitate. "I promise I am not a serial killer," he chuckles; somehow, this puts me at ease. He gets in, but before starting the car, he turns to me, "any preference on where to get coffee"? He asks. "Anywhere will be nice….So as long it's not fancy …I am not ….You know …dressed nicely," I stammer as I blush in shame. Now that we were in the car, he could clearly see my faded tattered clothes and how not clean I was. I see pity and sympathy cloud his face, and I want to die instantly. If only that was possible, I wouldn't find myself in this mess. "Tell you what. How about I take you to my place where we can have some food and chat?" he asks, looking like he was holding his breath, waiting for a reply. I hadn't had anything substantive to eat in days, so I couldn't physically turn down food. I nodded, and he gives me this wide smile that has my stomach in knots and starts the car. I really hope this is not another mistake I am about to make. We drive along the highway, moorland isn't a big town, and soon we are driving into a driveway to a two-story house. The car stops, and we both remain sitted for a while. I hope he is not about to change his mind because I was looking forward to something hot to eat. It has already been a shitty day, and a somewhat nice ending would be great. "Ready?' he asks. I nod, and he opens his door and then mine when I don't make a move to open it. It's not like I want to be treated like a princess, but the day has taken its toll on me, and at this point am barely functioning.

  I just want to inhale some food, maybe a hot shower, and a change of clothes though looking at him, I don't think anything of his will fit me, but at least the clothes would be clean. We get to the front door, and he fumbles a little with the keys before opening the door. He switches on the light, and I step inside. His house is very masculine, all beige and grey and stainless steel appliances in the big kitchen I can glimpse from the door. "Come on in, make yourself comfortable. I will just get changed, then I will get that coffee going," he tells me as he heads towards the stairs to what I assume is his bedroom. I sit wearily, and the comfortable couch almost has me dozing. "Here, have some coffee while the food warms. I hope you like lasagna. Do you want milk, cream, or sugar with your coffee?" he asks. I shake my head as I take the steaming cup from his outstretched hand. "So lasagna sounds good? It's all I have, but we can order a pizza or Chinese food; there is a nice restaurant down the road, and they stay open really late, "he rumbles on. I still his hand with mine, and he sits next to me. "Lasagna is fine" he flushes but nods in acknowledgment. We sit in silence as I sip the heavenly coffee until a beep from the kitchen interrupts our solitude. "Will be right back, "he says as he gets up to get what I assume is the lasagna from the beeping microwave.

   He comes back with a plate heaped with steaming lasagna, a garden salad, and my mouth waters. He hands me the plate and fork, and I cannot help but ask, "are you not eating?' "I already had my dinner hours ago," he says, taking a seat in the spot next to me. He watches as I inhale the delicious food. I know I should slow down and eat like a civilized human, but I am too hungry, and it's too good. He looks at me with slight amusement and concern; I figure that's better than pity. "You can ask, you know," I tell him. He looks away like he is embarrassed "ask what?' he asks, "what you want to ask. I can see the questions swirling in your eyes". I put my clean plate down, and I brace myself for the on slaughter of questions I am sure he has.

"Why did you want to end it?" he asks. I take a deep breath and think of the simplest answer to that complicated question. "Because I am tired, of being unloved, of suffering, of feeling depressed, am just tired, and I want it all to stop." The pity is back in his eyes. "Please don't," I say, "don't what?" he asks, "look at me like that" "like what? Like I share your pain? Like I care about how you feel?" before I could reply, he pulled me to him and gives me an awkward side hug." If you had one wish today, what would you wish for?" he asks. I don't even think about it because the need is deep in my bones "to be intimate with someone. To be held tight to…." Suddenly I realized I had just outed myself as a virgin.

   I am sure he has never met a bigger loser. "You want to have sex with someone? I get that. Sometimes intimacy is a healing balm. As a gay man, I don't know many places we can get you hooked up with a nice woman, but we could give it a shot?" he asks with that grin that just makes my insides melt. "Well, as it happens am also gay!" I beam at him. He laughs, and it's such a beautiful sound “how about that! So we find a gay club. You are up for it?" he looks so happy to be able to help. I almost don’t have the heart to tell him I am in no position to go out trawling for men. I am still too raw from all that has happened today. He sees my hesitation and looks at me in concern. "What is it? talk to me" "well, if I am being honest, I would rather just stay here for a while. Maybe if your boyfriend will be ok with it, you can give me a hug" by the time I finish talking, my whole face is red. I put my palms on my face in embarrassment. "He takes my hand off my face and holds them." Hey, no need to be embarrassed, ok. For the record, I don't have a boyfriend, and I would like nothing more than to hold you and take care of you tonight, ok "I nod but am still unable to look at him.”What's your name?" I look up, startled. I had forgotten we hadn't even introduced ourselves, yet here we are hours later. "I am Marcus; what's yours?” "My name is Simon, Marcus. And tonight, I will take care of you if you let me, ok?" I nod, and he smiles, which makes me believe everything will be fine.