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Chapter 1

I always thought I would go differently. I'd be older perhaps. Maybe have a child or two to mourn my grave. I thought it would be natural, a disease, an illness. I never thought I'd go by my own hand. But then again, I never knew what life held for me. I didn't know what he'd do to me. I didn't know how much their words would hurt. How much it would affect me. I'm no longer dependent on their opinions. I just need to be free. I want to be free. I'm going to let go.

I pick up the knife that lay on my desk. the handle is smooth and black. I run the edge of the blade along my left index finger, lightly applying pressure when I get to the tip of the knife. a drop of blood forms on the surface of the skin. something about this knife seems symbolic, cyclical, almost right. I bring it with me as I open the window.

I choke down the air and observe a world of people. Every one of them has a story that their bursting to tell. we will never hear them, but I can see the how each of them is consumed by the lies they've heard and spoke, each of them a full of hatred, longing and love. I close my eyes and savour this moment. it will never be like this again. seconds pass. I stand on the windowsill and push my body out of the gap in the wall, firmly placing my feet on the concrete edge. 24 stories up. 504 individual steps were climbed to get me to this moment. this action has gathered the attention of bystanders on the pavement below. this is it.

3. three people are looking up at me. one I shocked, one is filming, and the other Is unsure.

I take the knife between my hands, positioning the tip in the centre of my stomach.my finger hasn't stopped bleeding, small crimson specks of blood litter the handle. if I look at them for long enough, I am sure that I will see the reflection of the sunset. I look up, I can see the London eye. I was there yesterday, I was confused and being smothered, unsure of everything. less than 24 hours later I'm alone, free and my mind is the clearest it's ever been. a crowd has gathered down below, someone must've called the police by now. I inhale deeply, I can feel the air filling my lungs.

2. I have two lungs. I held in my breath for two seconds. 2 minutes ago, I was indoors. 2 hours ago, I was in a coffee shop. he was there, he had placed a note in my hand. A4, white and slightly crumpled, containing exactly 328 words and a final goodbye. it was the words on that note that drove me to do this. In 12 minutes, the world will see that note.12 minutes. that's how long it will take for the police and fire department to arrive, use the lift and break into my room. Then they will find it.

1. one push into my stomach is all it will take. I won't be able to feel it. the drugs I took earlier will make sure of that. if I wait any longer, I won't make it to death. I will back out. my subconscious is already trying the push through. With a final gasp I bring the knife into my flesh. I can't feel it. but I picture the nerves being ripped apart by a foreign object. blood starts spilling out of my wound. my hands are coated in the warm liquid.

I let go of the knife, leaving it embedded in me. I can feel my body struggle to function, my heart is getting weaker by the second. it will take me a while to fully bleed out. while I still can I sit down. my legs hang off the edge. the crowd acknowledges my change in position, their desperation increases. Why do they care? they don't know me.