Not Another Suicide Story (Dalton Rapattoni)

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The wind was strong enough to hold me up as I tipped precariously over the low cliff. Water and rocks below held comfort to my aching heart. One wrong move or change in the winds direction would send me plumeting to the stones below. I leaned back and stepped away from my perch and sighed. I clenched my hands and felt the familar burn in my arms. I loved and loathed the feeling equally. I closed my eyes as the sun slid away leaving the moon in its place. I always enjoyed the night more than the day, it held a certain ambiance. It was soothing, and it helped me relax. After a few more minutes I got into my beat up old car and drove to the bar I worked at. I was young to be working there, but I looked old enough. 

"Hey! Your late Ace. Go get changed, you have a meeting with some dude in the back." I flipped Tony off but did as he asked and changed. I moved towards the private lounge and sat at the table with a younger looking man. He was thirty at the most. 

"Hey, I'm Ace. So what can I help you with..." I paused and waited for his name. He smiled at me and shook my hand. 

"James, Jordan James. Odd name, but don't laugh. Anyway, Tony thinks you can manage an open bar for a big time wedding. I need you ready for tomorrow evening. Now, I know its short notice, but you've have been highly reccomended." I gaped at the request but knew that I'd have my ass thrown out of the bar if I refuses. Tony would kill me. I pulled a pad out of my back pocket and started joting down the different liquors. Once we finished the consultation he left and I went to stock the van for tomorrow. 

"What a pain in the ass. I'll see you Sunday guys!" On that note, I pulled away after jolting my car to life and drove to my even worse apartment. Prostitutes lined up and down the block, gang members leaning against the building whistling, smack talking and dealing drugs. I shuffled into the complex and up the stairs with my head down, avoiding the people screwing on the stairs and agaisnt the walls. My run down apartment was small but cozy. I stripped down and changed into my pyjamas and crawled into my creeky bed, hoping tomorrow would be better. My fingers traced the slim, pale scars that lined my arms. Some were pink, fresh and stinging, others were very faint. I smiled slightly before reaching for my razor and slicing a few more, one a little deeper than I would have liked. 

"Shit." I rushed into the kitchen for ice and papertowel. I dapped the cuts a few times to stop the bleeding, leaving the ice on the deeper one longer than the others. I proceeded to clean them and bandage them. Damn me. I really need to watch the pressure from now on, that one was way too close. I fell into an easy sleep. Dreaming of my mystery singer, and the soothing sound of his voice.

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