Do Anything// A Crankiplier Fanfic

You Said You Were Done

"This is it. I'm actually going to do this." I take some deep breaths. It's exactly 11:58, and I'm standing on the very top of the U.S. Bank Tower. Normally it's closed by now, but my friend works here and he let me in. Of course, he was unaware of my plans and thought I had just left something here last time I visited him. I've had this plan for a while. I've been going over it and thinking about it for even longer. Seven years, to be exact. Yes, it's quite a pity that seven years of my 20 years on this earth have been spent with me planning my own suicide. But it's okay, I've come to terms with it.

I thought I was brave enough, ready, but standing here, waiting for my phone to read midnight, it's one of the most nerve wracking situations I've been put into. 11:59. One minute, and then I jump. "Calm. Breathe. It's going to be over soon." As I try to calm myself, my situation becomes much more real. I know I can't give up. I'm already a wimp, I'm already stupid and worthless. If I fail at this simple task, I don't think I'd ever forgive myself. I check my phone again, hoping it's passed the time and I can just go home. Sadly, its not. I watch the time change from 11:59 to 12:00 am.
It's as if the universe is giving me a sign. I should just end it now. It wouldn't even make a difference. Just as I brace myself, look around, and walk closer to the edge, I hear a footstep. Time slows, just like it does in those movies, another footstep comes after the other. I whip my head around and I can feel my eyes watering. "NO!" I scream in frustration, just as a stocky man with red, fluffy hair walks in the door that separated me from the rest of the dark building. "This can't be happening!" I yell and practically give myself whiplash as I turn back towards the railing. As I run to the edge, I hear heavy footsteps behind me, I can hear faint cries, almost as if this red-haired man is calling to me. It does no good though, it's as if I'm no longer in my own body. I can hear and see, but there's a screen between me and reality. I'm entirely focused on jumping.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the footsteps are right behind me and a pair of muscular and hairy arms wrap around me, violently pulling me back. The world goes back into focus and I realize multiple things at once. First, I'm crying, much more than I can remember crying before. Second, the stranger is yelling, things like "no," and "you can't do this." Third, I'm yelling right back, but my yells are more desperate. More sad. And definitely much louder. I want this so bad. I want it to end, everything to turn black and never come back again. I don't want to be saved. I gave up on help when the therapist called me crazy. I gave up on help when the suicide hotline hung up on me. This can't be happening.

My first reaction to the foreign arms wrapped around my torso is to fight. I kick and punch and yell and fight. "Hey! Stop it!" The man yells at me. He pulls harder than I can fight and his voice stops me. Now I'm simply crying and quietly calling for help. Sure, I've been saved from killing myself, but I still want to. I still need it to stop, I still need my demons, the voices, to go away. This stranger can't fix that.

As I sob, I feel the man sink down to the ground with me, leaning against the fence protecting the edge, preventing people from falling. "I-i c-c-can't," I whine into the man's chest where my head has fallen. His legs are wrapped around mine, and I'm curled up against him sobbing. "Great job, Ethan. You don't even know this man and you've probably scared him. You are so stupid. You're worthless, you attention whore." In the back of my head, voices whisper things to me. "Hey. Hey, calm down. It's okay. I'm here." The man attempts to stop my crying and help me. I can't seem to control the sobs heaving through my body. It's as if I'm spasming. The voices won't go away, I'm panicking here in a strangers arms, and my carefully thought through plan has been ruined. "Okay, obviously you can't calm down, just. I don't know. Tell me what's wrong? Please, I want to help you." Somehow through my sobs a faint laugh made it's way. Want to help? Sure. Then again, what harm could it do. So I start my story.

"Y-Years ago, when I was about n-n-nine, my p-parents started fighting. It wasn't b-bad at first. Usual fights that normal people would have. Then, they started happening more often, d-dad. Um. W-well, he started going o-out, and g-getting d-drunk." My sobs had started to calm down until I got to this point. I take a second to calm down enough to talk, all while the stranger sits, still holding me, waiting for me to continue. "H-h-he. Hehitmymom." I rush it out and collect myself again before picking back up, normally this time. "Dealing with this, I soon became the weird kid at school. You know? The one who doesn't fit in? I was him. I stayed to myself, mostly because when I tried to interact it didn't do any good. Once I got to middle school, the bullying started." The man rubbed my sides, and nodded as a gesture for me to keep going. "This wasn't just your normal verbal bullying. Kids would hit me and chase me around. They'd tease me about my mom and tell me bad things about myself. I would come home with bloody noses and bruised eyes, but it didn't concern my mom. At this point, we had left me dad. She was majorly depressed and I actually don't think she could care less about me. So I dealt with this until high school. By then, my mom had taken care of some of her issues and we took me to a therapist. He was great at first, he listened to my problems and the demons started getting weaker. But then-" I choke on my words, afraid to see the mans reaction to what I'm about to tell him. He'll think I'm dirty, gross even. "Go on, it's okay." He whispered in my ear. "He, h-how do I p-put this? Uh, h-h-he, s-sexually a-as-assaulted me. At least that's what my mom says. Then the meetings started getting worse. He'd call me crazy and stupid and I couldn't tell because he threatened to do worse if I did. But as soon as I graduated high school I never went back. Now, I'm 20 years old and suicidal. I want it to end. There's these voices, in the back of my head mostly, they tell me awful things, they make me do awful things. I guess, I'm done. I've finally reached my breaking point. I can't keep this up." I stop and breathe, I try not to cry. The man stands up. I, of course, get pulled up with him. He faces me towards him and starts to talk. "No. You can't be done. I'll do anything in my power to keep you alive. I'll keep in touch. I'll stay with you. It doesn't matter. I'll do anything." The mans voice is strained, he sounds almost sad. Maybe it's closer to disappointment. Everybody's always disappointed with me. "Why? We don't even know each other's names," I mutter towards the ground. "Oh. Duh," the man giggles before starting to talk again. "I'm Mark. What's your name?" I can feel my cheeks heat up. I definitely expect to actually have to introduce myself. Oh well. "Ethan." I mumble, this time making eye contact. "Well Ethan, can I have your number?" "Uhm," I start to fumble with my sleeves, nervous to actually do this. I've never really had anybody care about me. "You probably wouldn't remember it." I come up with an excuse on spot. "Whatever, I'll just have to go home with you."