White Lies

Chapter 1

"The easiest lie to tell is 'I'm fine.' The hardest part is remembering to believe it."

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The night sky was swarmed with clouds, its stars hidden by the beauty of the rain. What most would see as a loss, I found comforting—sometimes the earth has to cry too. No matter the weather, I loved driving with my arm out the window. The bliss swelled in my chest, clouding the judgment that roared in my ears.

Rain soaked my arm in painful bullets, thunder cried across the sky—all of it coming together like a storm both outside and within. I could handle the rain, and the sting the cold spread across my skin. But I was avoiding the turmoil inside like a plague—because that wasn't a fight I could win. And I would never willingly enter a battle I already knew I'd lose.

The car pulled to a halt, sending my heart plummeting. We had stopped at my favorite bridge—the one Caleb and I used to visit when we were little to throw rocks into the water. The bridge had been abandoned for years; no cars crossed it anymore. My favorite memories were spent laughing here, barefoot and breathless.

The rain had slowed to a gentle drizzle. I stepped out of the car, embracing the cold like a shielded blanket. I slid my feet forward toward the bridge's railing, my hands trembling as they touched the cold metal. Caleb always said the metal felt cold because no one ever held it. I laughed at the stupidity of the saying, but we where only twelve at the time.

With shaking hands, I pushed myself up onto the railing, setting myself on it, legs dangling over the edge. I looked out at the city as the night enveloped it in its velvety embrace, shrouding the streets in an eerie silence broken only by the distant sounds of passing cars.

I perched myself comfortably on the cold metal. My gaze drifted over the water—the amount of memories that swam beneath those currents made me jealous that I wasn't part of them. The city lights twinkled in the distance, reminding me of the world out there... a world I felt completely disconnected from.

The weight of my worries pressed down on my shoulders, slowly suffocating me with their intensity.
"I'm fine."
The words slipped from my mouth, barely audible. They didn't reach my ears, didn't touch me. They meant nothing anymore. My voice fell flat before me, hollow. I was starting to lose the point of saying them at all. They meant more to the people around me than they ever had to me. I was a shadow to my own movements.

Steps creaked across the bridge.
My eyes snapped toward the sound, fear crawling up my spine, digging its nails into my back.

A figure stood at the far end, leaning against the railing, head hanging between broad shoulders. Even in that slouched position, I could tell he was tall. His posture was tense, like he could feel my eyes on him. He had broad shoulders and a stillness that unnerved me. I couldn't make out much of his face—the light didn't dare reach that far.

I held his gaze, or what I thought was his gaze. My voice caught in my throat. Fear still held me—but now, it had me in a chokehold, stealing my breath.

"Are you going to jump?"
His voice hung the words in the air like he was placing stars there.

There had been moments when I thought about it—fleeting, bitter moments that slipped through the cracks late at night—but I had never truly wanted to do it. Not like this. Not here.

I sat on this bridge that cradled my childhood, the wood beneath me worn soft by years of summer feet and whispered secrets. It held my last memories of Caleb like an old friend keeping them safe. I would never tarnish the love I felt here. Not with this.

"No," I whispered to the night, more to myself than anyone else. "I won't."

I hadn't realized I was holding my breath until it broke out of me all at once, forcing air back into my lungs like a sudden wave hitting the shore. My chest ached from the tightness I hadn't noticed building.

The moon hung low, casting a pale, reluctant light. Not enough to show me his face, but enough to shape him in shadows. His silhouette moved—slow, careful, like approaching a wounded animal.

He stepped closer until he was leaning against the opposite railing, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket like he wasn't sure what to do with them. I climbed down from where I'd perched myself and leaned against the railing too, mirroring him. The distance between us felt like both a safety net and a dare.

His features blurred with the dark, but even without seeing him clearly, I could tell he was staring at me. The moon didn't dare look him in the eyes—and honestly, neither did I.

"Are you okay?"
His voice broke the silence, carrying those words like they were made of glass—too fragile, too heavy with meaning. There was too much emotion behind them, and it settled on me like an unwelcome weight.

"No," I said, sharper than I meant to. "I don't think I'm okay. To be fair... who is?"
The words slipped out rough, more of an accusation than the self-aware joke I'd intended.

But he didn't flinch. Didn't get offended. No.

He just nodded, slow and steady, like he understood exactly what it felt like to walk this bridge alone... far too often.

For a second, neither of us said anything. The night pressed in around us, thick with unsaid things and shared ghosts.

Somewhere in the distance, a car passed on the highway below, its headlights slicing through the trees before disappearing again.

And still, he stayed.
I realized how bizarre the situation was: I was a woman, alone on a bridge, with a man I wouldn't be able to identify if something were to happen.

"I'm not a murderer," he said, a hint of humor behind his voice.

"To be fair, a murderer would say that too," I replied, letting out a laugh—not one forced or shaped to please the people around me, but real.

He laughed with me, a rich sound from deep in his chest. The sound rang my ears sending shivers up my spine. His laugh was not polite he did not place it there to comfort me, it was natural.

"Fair," he said, lifting his hands in defense, still smiling. We stood for a moment longer before leaving still not knowing who he was I walked away just happy he did not kill me. 

 Maybe he wasn't a murderer. Maybe he was just a guy who laughed like the world hadn't broken him yet—and for reasons I didn't understand, that made me want to sit on that bridge a little longer. Just... not close enough to make it weird.

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