A Little More Perfect

You always heart story's about happy families. Loving parents, a few siblings, even a dog maybe? But most of the times, that's just fantasy. Well, for me it is.

I was the only child my parents ever had, and they didn't even want me. My dad left when I was 4 years old and my mom killed herself because of me. Is it too harsh to say she hated me? No, it's not. It's the truth. My life has always been different than most people.

For starters, I'm an out and proud bisexual, who loves to "dress to impress" like my friend Catarina used to say it. I'm not ashamed of it. Hell, I love it.

A few years ago I got a boyfriend, a really handsome guy with blonde hair and blue eyes. But alas, it didn't work out for us. He broke my heart twice, for one of the same reasons my mom hated me; my panic attacks.

Why? It once started when some guys in high school beat the crap out of me because of my sexuality. They screamed all these words at me, punched me.. Some wounds never fully recovered and ended up a scar on my skin.

I think it made me stronger though. People will always yell at me, telling me I'm some sort of freak. When I was younger, I used to feel really bad about it. And that's putting it mildly. It started with just panic attacks, but one day I got as far as the ledge of the Brooklyn bridge. If it wasn't for the phone call Catarina made at that exact moment, I wouldn't be standing here today.

I never got to that point again in my life again, but I know someone who did.

It was a chilly friday night, I could only hear my own footsteps as I walked through the snow. New-York was on its quietest, the sound of car horns and loud music fading away. Sometimes I just needed to be out alone for a little while. Just me, clearing my head and thinking.

My hands were freezing cold in the pockets of my black coat, as were my toes in my boots. The clock on top of the St. John the Divine church counted 1:30am, but the tiredness hadn't kicked in yet. I wondered around for a couple of minutes when I saw a figure sitting on the concrete edge of the bridge right above the lake.

The lake was at the edge of New York City, and it used to be my own personal hideout place. I normally didn't come across anyone at this time, but on this cold December night, it appeared I wasn't its only visitor.

As I made my way to the bridge, the figure finally got clearer to me. The person sitting there was a tall guy with raven black hair, well, everything he had on was black. His shoulders hang down low and it looked like he was crying.

We've all been here right? I know I have been anyways... I doubted for a moment whether I should leave him alone or approach him. I went for the second option.

As I walked towards him, he probably heard my footsteps and turned around startled. He had beautiful hazel eyes that looked at me, slightly annoyed.

"I'm sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

His gaze softened and he was clearly struggling with the situation. Without saying anything, he just turned his back to me and dropped his hands on both the sides of his legs.

"Are you gonna jump?" I know it wasn't my job to save the guy, but for some reason I felt the urge to make sure he didn't do anything to himself.

My words seemed to affect him a little. Once again, he turned his head and locked his now really annoyed gaze with mine.

"It's none of your business," He said with a trembling voice. You could still see the tears in his red eyes and his cheeks still stained with them.

"You're right, it's not. But what is my business, is making sure that my favorite lake won't have a dead body floating around in it. That would be such a shame..."