Why'd You Do It? (Short Story)

Why I Did It.

I was in the hospital for a month. I was finally released when they thought I was no longer a threat to myself. My guardian came to pick me up.
"The car is ready," they told me. "Let's get you home."
I wouldn't call that place home. It's a house in which I lived in, but it will never be home. Home was the fields full of dandelions in which we'd run in. Home was the tree I climbed and fell out of, breaking my wrist in the process. Home is where I found them, hanging limply from the tree, a perfectly planned out death. A successfully planned out death. Seven months, three weeks, and six days since I was forced to move away from home. Seven months, three weeks, and five days since I was pried off of their forever cold body. Why'd they do it? I wouldn't know. But I want to know. So I'll ask them soon enough. How? Oh, I think you know.
Yelling, crying, screaming, threats, they're thrown at you from every direction. As are the fists, elbows, knees, shoes, feet. They beat you to a pulp. That's why you want to do it. I'm treated perfectly fine. I have a perfect life; but an imperfect mind. That's why I did it.
The lit cigarette fell from my hand. I watched the red glowing light fall down, but I lost sight of it fairly quickly. I didn't know how long it took to reach the cement sidewalk below. I looked up at the half moon. It seemed to smile at me. I shivered, wrapping my thin coat around my small body as I continued to look down. One step. One step was all it would take.
"You don't have to do this," a man said from behind me.
I turned my head to look at him. His clothes were torn and dirty, his hair was knotted, and his beard reached the middle of his chest. He had no home, and I knew he knew who I was. Everybody in town knew who I was. Not that they wanted to, but being the poster child of a wealthy family, you seem to be known. Here he was, poor, homeless, possibly starving. Here I was, wealthy, unhungry, fifty dollars wadded up in my pocket; loose change for me. I took it out, flicking it towards him. Not like I'd need it, anyways.
"I don't want your money," he said. "I want you to step off from the ledge. I beg of you.."
"And I do not want your begs."
It was then that I took the step I needed, plummeting towards the ground. I stole a quick glance at the grinning moon, and that was the last thing I saw alive.