Californian Roads (and midnight parties)

Maybe.

Somewhere along the line, she thinks, "Maybe this can go my way." Maybe, she continues, maybe running away from everything won't be so bad in the long run. Maybe she can be happier that way.
She never did expect another face.

Where she stands, it's cold. Not a single soul in the world to be seen along her swaying figure. That's what too many drugs can do to you.
Max watches over the quiet city, peering over the bridge, hair flying out wildly in the night's wind. She's clearly a sight to behold.
She tightens her grip on the iron bar and hauls herself upwards, huffing as she manages, if only barely, to sit up on her little perch.
It was nice. City lights were reflected in the water and in her eyes, and she felt alive, even with the low, awful feeling in her stomach still aparant. It urged her to keep going, and she swayed forwards a bit, hissing through her teeth.
Clearly, she could end it all here. Make that feeling go away and be greeted by what she assumed was bliss, although she didn't really know. Maybe she would suffer in hell.
The better option here is clear. She could step down, and walk back home to her somewhat loving family, and explain why she had been gone for two hours longer than expected, as could be noted by the text message from her father explaining just that knowledge.
Or maybe she could do the second best option for herself. She could give up entirely. Leave forever. She doesn't really know where to go, but clearly anything is better than keep up moping around in this shithole. She thinks about it for a moment, fingers digging into her jeans.
She could walk to the next city over. Would only take her about a night and maybe half the next day to get there. Her parents might file a report pretty quickly though. Would they assume she had gone and flung herself off a bridge by then?
Maybe when she gets there she can hitch a ride to Idaho. Drive with some guy who wants to escape his wife for a weekend. Oe possibly some cute back-haired teen she could sweeten up. Promise him a kiss and 5 bucks?
Fuck, she needs a Pepsi.
What she also needs is a line of coke and some sleeping pills, but neither of those are really readily available to her. She looks down at the drop under her feet, and clicks her tongue.
For some reason or another, the feeling deep in her stomach churns like the waves of the water as she stares beyond, into the heart of the city.
Yeah, screw walking. She's gonna get a taxi or something.
With her head swimming, and her legs a tad bit numbed, she jumps off the beam and begins to walk downtown towards where she vaguely remembers a Wendy's being. They're probably open at, what, like eleven at night? Yeah sure.