I Hate The Ending Myself, But It Started With An Alright Scene

Chapter 37: The End!

○(Save me) too young to die and my dear (You can't) if you can hear me just walk away○

I planted both hands, shakily to my sides, my legs plucked from the edge of the cliff and hoisted a little back as I stood my self up, nothing but centimeters between the tip of my toes and the crumbling ledge. My head was spinning, a light buzzing flooding my ears and my limbs continueing to shake.

If I'd accepted it, all of it, why am I so nervous?

Footsteps were gathering behind me, the exchange of oxygen passing more constant; more rushed. Frantic bursts of random sound bathed in the drowning buzz taking up residence within my head.

"BEE!" Asher.

"BANDIT." a new voice. A voice I'd recognise in a state of normality unlike the cold, harsh truth of painful solitude I'd been welcomed into, the blindfold only now falling from my eyes.

"Bandit. Please." Asher's heavy breath butchering his calm cover.

"I don't need you here." My words were cold and harsh, my head staying still as my eyes focused on the rising moon, it's refelection rolling along the crashing waves.

"Bandit, come away from the edge." The unfamiliar voice told me but I only stayed in place.

"Bee. You don't need to do this. We'll get out of here, move to the other side of the world, I don't care just please, come home with me." His voice was hitching as if he were truly hurt, as if he truly felt pained.

"It's too late." I murmured.

"Bandit, just move away from the edge. Come here." The other voice spoke again, stern but kindness lacing through.

"What about your uncle Mikey, Frank, Ray? What about Jamia, what about Kristin and Christa, your cousins - Miles?" Asher tried to reason. But he wasn't reasoning. I'd said my goodbyes to them all. I told them to live their lives without me. To continue. That's what I asked them to do.

What he was doing was guilt tripping me.

Someone I thought I loved, someone I thought had actually, for a time, cared about me.

But I was wrong.

I was noting to him, as I am now, again- nothing.

He guilt tripped me because he knows I'm weak. He doesn't understand. He doest know.

"Bandit, please; come away from the edge, we can talk about everything then. We don't even have to tell anyone about this, we can all just go home. Don't do this, it's not the answer to anything!" There it was, the same unrecognisable voice.

My feet were only inching further forward. His constant attempts to move me only infuriated me. Call me childish but I wasn't prepared to do what I was told.

"Who are you?" I asked, my voice soft, monotone.

"I'm Brendon Urie. I'm from Panic! At the disco." He answered. "Now come on, come away from the edge." His voice was soft, full of caution.

But how would I know he was potentially cautious when I've been so wrong about it for all this time.
Wrong about love.
Wrong about care.
Wrong about passion.
Commitment.
Safety.
Who I should trust.
Wrong about who I could turn to. And that's what hurt the most. The empty gesture, 'I'm always at the end of the phone' or 'just message me'. 'Talk to me, tell me what's going on', 'you can talk to me whenever and I'll do whatever I can to help'.

But then you reach out, one of the hardest things to do. You reach out and you tell them what's wrong, you tell them because they said they're there for you and that they will support you but the cold, hard truth is that they're not.

They're not there for you.

There's no one in this world to go to who are really there for you. If there was infact someone, they bailed. A long time ago. Everyone else who said they were there, never really were.

Therapists are paid to hear your problems.
Teachers need to say something to save them selves from a law suit.

You were never supposed to take them up on that offer. It was just a kind thing for them to do, to let you know but it was never something to follow up on. Just say thankyou, force your lips to curl up and make it seem you're totally fine. That's what you were meant to do.

But I'm tired of that.

I just want it all to stop.

I don't want to run, I don't want to hide, I don't want to be lied to or hurt or told 'everything will be okay'.

It won't be. Not for me.

I want time to forget about me, I want them away from me.

"I'm not coming home. I'm not moving from this ledge."

"Bandit- please! Don't do this." Asher cried, a few stray tears falling from the lower rim of his eye and fleeing down his flecked cheek.

"Bandit, im being serious, come away from the edge. Now." Brendon's voice was more stern, the kindness and concern no longer traceable.

In reply, I only shook my head, my feet slowly revolving 90° to face them, to watch the quiver in Asher's lip, the fear in Brendon's eyes.

I had no choice. My mind was already made.

With one lone tear taking an easy roll down my sunken cheek and my arms slowly crossed over my chest, my hands delicately on my shoulders, I prepared myself.

"Bee, please-" he pleaded.

The words that followed next were merely audible, no louder then a whisper as they rolled from my tongue.

"To fall, or fly."

I leant back, my body falling and my eyelids drooping shut. My hair ballooning as it split, clawing at the air above me.

I just fell.

My final words hanging in the air.

And then, my back, hitting against the ocean, the weight of my clothes dragging me down an suffocating me, depriving me of all oxygen.

"Bandit, you're too early!"

"Hi mom."

~goodbye