AT LEAST IT wasn’t raining. That had to be a good sign, right? Turning my back to the wind, I lit a cigarette. I was staring off the bridge just as I had done every night for months. The chill was still in the air, but thankfully, the depressing, grey clouds had moved out of the bay overnight. Some people loved a good thunderstorm, but to me, the dreariness that accompanied them was stifling. I was already grappling to find the light in the whole struggle known as life; I didn’t need the weather making it that much dimmer.
“Shit,” I cursed to myself when the gauze I had wrapped around my palm unfurled. Biting the cigarette between my lips, I quickly rolled the bandage back around my hand. I attempted to secure it in place with the worn-out tape but ended up tucking the edge under when it refused to stick.
I was such a pussy.
The moment that splintered wood had sliced my palm open, the whole world had begun to spin. It was a miracle I’d even stayed upright as the sight of the blood dripping from my hand had forced my ass to the dusty floor of my workshop.
Slitting my wrist was officially never going to happen.
But killing myself was never going to happen, either. With my luck, Hell was real and I’d only end up spending an eternity longing for the emptiness my life was already full of.
My life was fine. My job was fine. My house was fine. My love life was fine. My friends were fine. God, I was sick of fucking fine. I needed something—anything—to be great.
Why I thought death might be that, I wasn’t sure.
But it had worked for them.
Most recently, it had worked for her.
Plus, I’d tried everything else. Over a hundred hours in the tattoo chair, skydiving, base-jumping, bungee-jumping, gliding. You name it, I’d tried it. And, while those brief moments had given me the highest of highs, the low on the other side fucking sucked. I hated every single minute of fine. There had to be more out there. There had to be a great lurking in the shadows.
I groaned.
My mind swirled with inner ramblings that had me rolling my eyes at myself. Even my emotions were logical and average. I couldn’t even be extraordinarily irrational. That would have at least been exciting.
After dropping the butt of my cigarette to the ground, I snuffed it out with my boot. As I leaned over to retrieve it, I caught sight of a pair of heels I knew had cost a fucking fortune.
What the hell is she doing back?
She was not supposed to be there, despite how much I’d secretly hoped she would be.
Heading in her direction, I allowed my eyes to flash to her legs, but any possible new injuries were covered by a long, black dress.
“So we meet again,” I said, dragging a new cigarette from my pack as I tucked away the old butt.
She pressed her sunglasses up her nose before stating the obvious. “You own a coat.”
“Yeah. My doctor made me get it after I recovered from a bout of hypothermia last night.”
Her painted-red lips parted in a smile. She was absolutely gorgeous—at least from the nose down. Who knew what the hell she was concealing underneath that silly wig and shades though. Or, better yet, why the hell she thought she needed them. Sunglasses, fine. But a wig? Who was she hiding from?
“Hypothermia. Ha! You’re the wimpiest half Eskimo I’ve ever met,” she said, compelling my mouth to mirror hers.
“This is probably true.” I took a drag off my cigarette, then switched it to the hand farthest away from her when she started waving away the smoke.
After gathering the back of her wig, she pulled the hair over her shoulder. “But I don’t know any others, so that also makes you the toughest.”
“Awesome. Winner by default.” I smirked. “I’ll take it.”
“What are you doing back up here tonight?” she asked absently.
I took a drag. “The view.”
“Me too,” she whispered. “Hey, can I bum a smoke?”
My eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I thought you broke up with lung cancer?” I pulled my smokes from my pocket, offering it forward.
“Everyone has the occasional one-night stand with the ex.”
I laughed as she took the pack from my hand only to be silenced when she hurled it off the bridge.
“What the fuck?” I shouted.
She shrieked, repeating my curse when the wind caught the cigarettes, whipping it back at her. She ducked right before it sailed over her head and into the traffic behind us. I watched with a curled lip as numerous cars destroyed it.
“Well, I guess that works too,” she said, straightening her jacket and proudly dusting her hands off.
“Note to self: Designer Shoes does not like one-night stands,” I informed my only remaining cigarette, clamped between my fingers.
She quietly giggled, drawing my attention back to her.
Biting my lip, I noticed that her wig had slipped, revealing curly, brown hair hidden underneath.
“What?” she asked, reading my expression.
I lifted a hand to tuck the rogue hairs away but quickly dropped it back to my side. “Um… It’s just…” I secured the smoke between my lips and pointed at her head. “Your, um…roots are showing.”
Her face paled as her hands flew up to right her failed disguise. “You didn’t see that.”
“See what?” I answered then smirked tightly.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she snapped, nervously looking around to see if anyone else noticed her hairpiece malfunction.
“Like what?” I asked, feigning innocence. After inhaling a lungful of nicotine, I held it in a desperate attempt to keep my laughter hidden.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Just laugh.”
That was all it took for smoke to bellow from my mouth, followed by a hearty fit of laughter. I bent over, alternating between coughing and laughing, as she scowled at me, but her lips twitched, exposing her amusement. She fought a good fight, but eventually, she lost her battle and joined me, all the while smoothing her wig down.
By the time we both sobered, my last cigarette had burned out. Lifting the butt in her direction, I glanced over to where my pack lay mutilated in the middle of the road.
“That was fucked up.”
“You’re welcome,” she smarted, dabbing at her lipstick with her manicured fingernails, drawing my attention to her mouth.
Shit. I swallowed hard, flashing my eyes over her body, cursing the chill in the air for forcing her to cover her every curve. From her expensive shades down to her designer clothes, she appeared high maintenance as fuck, but the stark contrast of her down-to-earth demeanor interested me the most. And since I was a nice guy who was strictly interested in her mental well-being, there was no harm in allowing myself an extra minute to check her out—while secretly hoping for a wardrobe malfunction as well.
Nothing like perving on a woman in her darkest hour. Go me!
When I made it back to her glasses, I found her watching me with a knowing grin.
Time to deflect.
“I hope you’re proud of yourself. I’m going to die of nicotine withdrawal now. I’ve been smoking for so long that, the first time I tried to quit, I was hospitalized for a week. My heart couldn’t take it, and I coded twice.”
I couldn’t see her eyes, but her eyebrows popped in surprise.
“No fucking way,” she whispered.
I shrugged. “A heart attack can’t be all that bad. I can think of worse ways to die.” I tipped my head between her and the side of the bridge before flicking the butt of the cigarette over the railing.
She turned to face me, concern painting her flawless skin. “You’re kidding, right?”
“About what part?” I asked, settling my gaze on her hidden eyes. I had a sudden urge to see what exactly was behind those glasses.
“All of it.”
“No. Jumping off a bridge sounds terrible,” I confirmed, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets, trying to pack down the emotions that were predictably stirring from my honest answer.
“And the withdrawal thing?”
“Totally serious.” I cleared my throat, pushing all things Anne out of my head.
Her body stiffened as she covered her mouth. “Shit, I’m sorry. I was trying to help.” Her nose scrunched adorably as she repeated, “I’m sorry.”
She was really fucking cute.
I scrubbed the stubble on my chin. “Or maybe that was an episode of Grey’s Anatomy. I honestly can’t remember.”
Her mouth gaped open. “You jerk!” she exclaimed, slapping my arm.
“Shit. Calm down.” I threw my hands up in defense.
She shook her head and once again adjusted her wig, making sure it was still securely in place. I chuckled, quieting when she pursed her lips in what I assumed was an unimpressed glare.
I, on the other hand, was impressed.
That conversation with her had awakened something inside me that I hadn’t been able to achieve in months.
Distraction.
She didn’t utter another word as we stood silently, side by side, focused on the murky water below. After a few moments, her nails began to tap a vaguely familiar rhythm against the railing. I couldn’t quite make it out and eventually gave up trying.
When the silence became awkward, I decided to make it even worse and blurted, “My name’s Sam.”
“Good to know,” she replied dismissively.
Ouch.
On second thought, maybe the distraction wasn’t worth it. Dismissed might just be a good thing. The fact that she was covered in bruises, wearing shades and a long dress to cover them, made it clear she had a ton of issues in her own life. Lord knows I did. The main one at the moment being that I was out of cigarettes—and suddenly interested in a suicidal woman.
Besides, she seemed somewhat stable. I could go. No worries.
Right?
“I should probably go. Can you promise me that you won’t jump? You know, ease my conscience and all that.”
“Just go,” she whispered.
“That’s not an answer.”
Her tongue snaked out, nervously licking her lips. “I’m fine.”
Fuck.
That warranted all the worries.
Fine was my specialty.
And I knew firsthand that fine was never truly fine.
“Look, I don’t know you. But I think we’ve really bonded over the last two nights.” I bumped her shoulder with mine. “Sure, I may have lived up to the title ‘Tattooed Stalker’ at first, but I didn’t follow you home or anything.” I grinned, and she offered me a courteous chuckle. “I mean, that has to say something about me, right? I’m a decent guy, I swear. How about we grab a cup of coffee”—cough—“and a carton of cigarettes”—cough—“and talk for a little while.” I ended with a grin, giving it every ounce of charm I possessed.
“Sam, I’m serious. I’m really okay,” she assured, but it was a weak attempt.
“Now, that’s just not fair. I don’t know your name. So it’s really difficult for me to sound convincing like that.”
“I’m not telling you my name.”
“Okay, what if I guess?”
She shook her head but said, “Sure. Go for it.”
I stepped away, dragging my eyes up and down her body (only partly to check her out again.) Then I framed my hands and pretended to be a photographer looking for just the right lighting as I walked around to her other side.
She didn’t acknowledge my attempted humor, but when I leaned on the rail next to her, the slightest bit of amusement crept across her beautiful mouth.
“Bianca,” I guessed.
She gasped and her hands flew to her mouth.
“Oh my God. That’s it, isn’t it?” I threw a fist pump in the air.
“That was incredible,” she praised from behind her hands.
I blew on my nails then polished them on my shoulder. “What can I say, Bianca? I’m awesome.”
I wasn’t.
But watching her subtle reactions made me feel awesome. I guessed that was close enough.
“Incredible and wrong,” she amended dryly.
My puffed chest deflated. “Yeah, I figured. Who’s really named Bianca anyway? Hello, snob!”
“My mother.”
Right.
Of course.
I scratched the back of my neck. “Well, it is a beautiful name.” I tossed her an awkward smile, waiting for a laugh that never came.
Instead, something strange passed over the little bit of her face I could see. There was no doubting that the air around us had changed.
It was suffocating.
At least for her.
I was breathing clean air for the first time in a long time.
And that was suffocating for me.
Fuck, I need a smoke.
I didn’t know her. I couldn’t have even picked her out of a lineup without shades and a wig. But I knew for certain I couldn’t leave her there.
“Please come with me.” I lifted my hands pleadingly. “I can feel the heart attack approaching, and there was this nameless woman on the bridge tonight who fed my life source to traffic.”
She flashed me a forced smile. “Thanks, but I think I’m just going home.”
“Good.” I breathed in relief—and disappointment.
“Have a good night, Sam.”
“You too…” I paused. “Uh…Bianca’s daughter.”
Shaking her head, she walked away.
I stayed for a minute longer so I wouldn’t really look like a stalker following her. After bumming a cigarette from a stranger walking by, I filled my lungs with the sweet poison and imagined a specific night just over four months ago.
A night where I hadn’t been standing on that bridge but would have given absolutely anything to be able to change that fact.
A night where there hadn’t been a beautiful woman in a blond wig as a distraction.
Or Anne would have still been there.
“I’ve got to quit,” I whispered to myself, lifting the cigarette to my mouth for another drag. “Tomorrow,” I promised myself.
But every day was yet another tomorrow.