The Girl On My Roof

Epilouge

What have I done?

That was all that can go through my head as I pound my fist against the solid glass of my window.

Keys. The keys are downstairs. I need them - quickly. I take a deep breath in and push myself away from the pane, before nearly collapsing down the stairs, and sliding into the kitchen. Dad takes a sidewards, confused glimpse at me but I am already long gone. I feel like I'm running away from something important. Running sometimes helps me - I used to go for jogs with Mother. But now running helps me get away from the truth. I am running from the truth.

I fumble with the keys and attempt to unlock the window, when my Father's voice calls out below me, "Darling, are you okay?"

His voice is shaky, as usual. He's an emotional wreck. Not worth my time anymore. 

The window latches open, and I feel as though I can smash it with my force as I barge through towards my neighbour.

What on earth have I done to the poor man?

He was young - sweet and young. Never did anything to hurt a soul. I pushed him... I pushed him off the ledge into self-hatred.

The roofs which connected us, the same roofs which we sat at over ten years ago and played Pokémon, are slippy and terrifying. Not far, I think, not far until I'm next to him and I can get him down and save him. I stumble.

Oh god, no, game over. This is it. I will be too late and he'll be dead. I look down and realise I'm on the roof. I'm on his roof. I furrow my brow and keep running, determined to get there in time and save him. It took my so long to realise what I would be without him, and now he's almost gone. Now here I am, trying to open his window for the first time in forever. How stupid I was.

"No!" I scream at the window. I never realised the words were building in my throat until they came out, like a burst of rain from a storm's cloud. The window - I opened it.

I swing it towards me, narrowly dodging my forceful break-in, and drag his little stool over. I stand on it and think of what to cut the rope with. Something sharp....

Razors. I have a razor in my pocket. I unzip it and rummage through, before slicing my finger accidentally as I grab the sharp object. I don't flinch or feel the pain, though. I take the small, silver blade and start sawing at the rope, and soon after, my best friend tumbles to the ground. I may as well have fallen off the minature chair towards him, though, as I check every normal place for a pulse. 

Faint.

Weary.

Dying

But still there.