Suicide Buddies

Desperation Is Always Fair Motive

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I had absolutely no idea why the hell I was doing what the hell I was doing.

But considering the fact I had nothing to lose, I went along with it. Worst comes to worst, I'd just have to burn my phone. Literally.

Merely a probable problem, though.

"Wait, who is this?" they—Haruki?—said.

"I should be asking you that," I said. "How'd you get this number?"

"Who are you?"

"I just asked you that."

"I already told you."

"Haruki's not a real name."

"Wh—first of all, it is, and second of all, are you a hotline counselor? You seem new."

I glared at the screen. "You called me, girl."

"I'm a guy."

"Sure."

"Excuse me—"

"I'm not a 'hotline counselor' or whatever that is, for your information." Unless a summer job at Camp Cowbell counts. I guessed it didn't, and even if it did, I got fired a month and a half in anyway. "And even if I was, you seem a bit off your rocker to help now. You're gonna kill yourself, after all."

My feet stepped down from the ledge, the combination of the wind and my redirected attention to the call guiding me away from my plans.

"You just said you're going to kill yourself," Haruki said.

"Yeah."

"You said your name is Angel?"

"Yup. Real name and everything."

A pause. "This is not a suicide hotline." 

It wasn't quite a question, but I still said, "Nope."

"But you said you're going to kill yourself."

I cleared my throat. "All right, we've both established we're done for this world."

Several more moments of pausing.

Haruki. Eighteen. Ready to die. I hate Fate as much as the next Greek hero, but even I couldn't argue with how strangely, humorously creepy and coincidental this was. Of all the wrong numbers to dial, he just happened to fuck up and get mine.

Very funny, haha. Jesus fucking Christ, I think I'm hallucinating.

"Listen," I sighed. "I'm sorry you want to die. But you've got the wrong number."

A longer pause. "I'm sorry you want to die, too."

I shrugged. "Eh. I wasn't long for this world anyway."

"Why? Drug problem?"

"What? No. Too much effort."

"Alcohol problem?"

"News flash, I'm eighteen, too."

"You could still have those at eighteen."

"Oh? Do you have a drug and alcohol problem?"

"No."

"There you go."

"That's because I know better."

"We're suicidal. I doubt either one of us knows better."

Another pause. Maybe I was hallucinating. "Good point." He said, "Why are you trying to kill yourself?"