Chapter 1
My crazy timetable was going to run me into the ground and when that day finally came, I would happily accept my fate. But until then, I was forced to keep up with my crazy, jam-packed timetable which had me teaching as many hours as possible so I could afford to keep up with practice, renting out the rink, costumes, competitions, and so much more.
Today was one of my less busy days yet it was nearly eleven when I left the rink to finally go home. The opportunity to teach another class after my practice finished had been too tempting for me to say no. And even though I desperately needed as much money as I could get to barely stay on top of everything, I resented myself for working such long hours today.
It was dark and cold, and I always found Brooklyn Bridge scary this late at night. Almost as soon as the sun went down, the bridge was crawling with alcoholics, drug addicts, and so much more than I could recognise or comprehend, but not tonight apparently.
Tonight, Brooklyn Bridge was completely deserted…except for one person.
He was dressed in all black and his hair was as dark as the night sky. If it wasn’t for the light tan sliver of skin of his neck visible in the moonlight, I might have very well driven by without even noticing him.
And if it wasn’t for the fact that he had climbed the railing on the side of the bridge and was now sitting on it with his legs dangling over the side, above the water, I would have probably continued driving without sparing him a second thought.
My breath was shaky as I pulled over and stepped out of my shabby little car.
“Hello? Are you okay?” I called out, wrapping my arms around myself when a shiver ran down my spine. The days had started to get warmer, but the nights were as chilly as ever, even with me wearing a thin sweater and a coat over the top of it. If I was cold, the man sat on the railing looking like he was ready to drop must be freezing. From what I could make out in the dark, he was wearing only a pair of jeans and a thin long-sleeved shirt. Nothing significant to protect him from the cold.
If he heard me, he didn’t react.
“Whatever you’re thinking of doing, please don’t do it.” I cautiously approached where he was sitting, not wanting to startle him and send him flying over the edge earlier than he intended. Hopefully, I could get him back over the other side but judging by the size of him–he was so much bigger now than I was standing closer–I wouldn’t be able to pull him over with sheer physical strength.
I had to talk him out of it and that worried me. If I failed, I would forever have this man’s life on my conscious, haunting me and reminding me that under my watch, a person had taken their life.
I lived life with a lot of things hanging over me and weighing me down, but I had a sick feeling that this wasn’t one of those things that I would simply be able to bear or put up with.
“What’s your name?” I asked even though my attempt felt futile. He had ignored me twice already, but I couldn’t just give up now.
Like the two times before, it was like he hadn’t heard me. Silence engulfed us for the longest moment but before I could try again, the big brute of a man finally turned his head. The movement was slow, and I couldn’t help but gasp when his eyes connected with mine.
They were beautiful. His eyes were a dark purple but as he glanced around, they appeared so much more vibrant when the moonlight hit it from the right angle. I couldn’t imagine how beautiful they would be in the sun.
And then there was the rest of him.
His skin tone was that beautiful sun-kissed tan so many girls used fake tan to achieve but never could, and they made his features appear so much darker and sharper. His eyebrows were neat but dark and arched daringly, the same colour as midnight black hair, tousled messily. As if all he did was run his fingers through him after rolling out of bed in the morning. The hollows of his cheeks were high, and his jaw sharp with the sprinkle of a five o’clock shadow decorating it.
This man was hands-down the most handsome, the most gorgeous man I had ever seen.
Scratch that. He was the most good-looking person I had ever seen.
However, as stunning as this man was, it wasn’t his unusual yet beautiful eyes that stunned me. It was the red around them. Far too red to be just from crying.
“Everyone calls me Cello,” he finally spoke, and I couldn’t help but note how perfectly pronounced each word and syllable were. His eyes told me he was high off his head, yet he spoke and sounded better than I did when I was sober.
It was either the darkness of the night playing tricks on my eyes, or this man got high on whatever substance he was on regularly.
“Is that because you play the cello?” I asked. The question was strange, but I did it deliberately. Whatever made Cello want to climb onto the railway and dangle his legs over it, he needed a distraction from it. If not, I feared what he would do.
Besides, with a name like that, this couldn’t be the first time someone had asked that question.
He shook his head, and I didn’t dare to pry. Maybe another time. When he wasn’t sitting on the railings and only moments away from dropping over the edge and plummeting to a harsh, cruel death.
“What’s wrong, Cello? Why are you sitting on the railing?” I asked in a small, gentle voice. The last thing I wanted to do was scare or startle him and set him over the edge. He was close enough as it was already.
“Because I can’t do it anymore,” he whispered so quietly that I barely heard him.
“Do what?”
I inched the slightest bit closer. First, it was a tiny step, and then when he didn’t flinch, I slowly covered the rest of the distance until I stood next to him. My hands shook as I leaned forward to rest my arms on the railing beside his hand. If Cello noticed it or cared, he didn’t give anything away.
“Life.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.
Cello was silent for a moment, and I wasn’t sure he heard me.
“Cello?” I called out to him, my tone shaky and cautious.
Even though my life wasn’t at stake here, I had never been more scared about anything in my life before.
“I’ve never spoken to anyone about my feelings before.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged.
“Have you got anyone to talk to, Cello?”
“I have more people to talk to than I need,” he chuckled lowly, but the sound was dark and heavy. “But every time I try or want to, my throat closes and I clam up. There’s so much I have to say, so much that I want to say to them, but I can’t. I try each time, but I just can’t.”
“Have you ever tried speaking to a stranger?”
“You mean, like a therapist?”
I nodded.
“I did, once.”
“What happened?”
“I sat in his chair for an hour and just listened to him ask me the same questions over and over again in different ways. I couldn’t say anything the entire time. I felt like such an idiot, but I just couldn’t talk to him. I couldn’t tell him how I feel or everything going on inside me.”
“Have you tried speaking to a stranger before?”
“A stranger?” He asked with a confused frown, but even sadder eyes.
It hurt to see someone look so broken and defeated, but I was determined to help him. Cello and I may be strangers, but we were linked now, and I was determined not to let anything happen to him. Not under my watch.
“Me.”
“We just met.”
“Even better,” I grinned, feigning excitement even though the dread was still so heavy in the pit of my stomach. “I’m a stranger.”
“I know, but what has that got to do with anything?”
“You’ve been talking to me this whole time. Did your throat feel like it was closing?”
He hesitated for a moment before answering, “No.”
“Did your mouth feel like it was going to clam shut?”
“No.”
“Then try me.”
Cello was silent for a moment as he regarded me. His eyes bore into my face, running all over it and watching me carefully. They lingered on my lips for a moment, and upon instinct, my tongue poked out to lick along the seams and wet it. It was embarrassing how dry they were right now, but dry lips were the least of my worries right now.
His stare wasn’t uncomfortable. On the contrary, it was warm, and I basked in it. Though Cello had a funny look in his eyes. I wanted to ask what was thinking about right now, but I didn’t want to push him.
“Are you an angel?”
“What?” I asked, confused.
“Are you an angel?” He repeated, his eyes fixed on me like he was seeing me in a whole new light.
“No. No, of course, not,” I spluttered, confused and unsure.
“If you’re not an angel then what’s your name?”
“Davina, but everyone calls me Vina.”
“Davina,” he murmured in a low, gravelly tone, testing my name on the tip of his tongue. I was ashamed that a shiver ran down my spine at the way he said it, and I forced myself to look away. “That’s a beautiful name. What does it mean?”
“It’s Filipino. It means Goddess.”
“That’s beautiful. Are you Filipino?”
“Yes, both my parents are.” Or were. My Amma had passed away when I was a child, but Cello didn’t need to know that. He already had enough on his mind as it was.
“I’m Italian. Well, half-Italian.”
“What is the other half of you made up of?”
“I don’t know,” Cello murmured and bowed his head. His hair fell into his eyes–the windows into his soul. “My mother died when I was young.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I only have one memory of her. Other than that, I don’t remember anything about her.” He shrugged, trying to pass it off like it wasn’t a big deal even though it was anything but.
I was silent for a moment, the feeling of my heart breaking for this stranger and everything he was struggling with almost too much to bear.
“Why don’t you come back on this side so we can talk?” I whispered, pleading with my eyes for him to agree. “Please, Cello.”
Cello lifted his head ever so slightly, and his eyes connected with mine once again. His devastating beauty knocked the air out of my lungs, and I had to remind myself to breathe.
“Okay.”
That single word sent a wave of relief over me, but it was quickly replaced with anxiety when he stood up with his arms braced on the railing behind him. For a moment, I thought he had changed his mind and was going to jump. Before I could scream out for him to stop, Cello reached his right arm around to grasp the railing behind his left hand, and he slowly swivelled around until he was facing me from the other side of the railing.
Okay, that was the hardest part done. He just needed to lift his leg over the railing and fall onto the other side which was the bridge. It was simple. He would do it in no time, but the microseconds that passed felt like hours. Days. Years.
I internally cheered and prayed for him, watching with wide, unblinking eyes as lifted his right leg and hooked it over the railing. He was tall and strong, so this was a piece of cake for him.
He pushed himself up to lift his other leg, but he stilled.
His hand slipped and his upper body was propelled backwards.
-
Layla Knight
07.04.2023
