The Stranger

Presley gripped the railing of the bridge, trying to calm the firestorm roiling in her head. 5-4-3-2-1. It was a grounding technique her therapist had taught her. Five things she could see. She closed her eyes and saw Kelly's face, eyes wide with surprise, her lips forming a little O. Then Tommy's, his eyebrows low and angry, his normally handsome features contorted in rage. She snapped her eyes open, emerald green irises sparkling with tears, fingers squeezing the railing even more tightly.

          She took a slow, deep breath in through her nose on a count of four, held it for four counts, then slowly blew it out through her mouth to another four count, before holding for a final four count. Then, she did it again, and again. This was called box breathing. She was going to need all the tricks in her therapist's bag to get through this night. She shook her head, as if trying to clear it of the horrors that happened earlier, the ones that led her to this bridge. 

          Five things she could see: the raging waters far below, the white of her knuckles, the trees in the distance swaying with the wind of the impending storm, the smoke curling from the exhaust pipes of a thousand cars, and the wind-blown locks of amber hair being whipped into wild tangles around her face. Again, the images of the night's atrocities tried to flood her brain like little reels of tape. Another deep breath, another head shake. 

          Four things she can feel: the railing, cold and damp beneath her fingers, it's bumpy, uneven surface, tiny drops of stinging rain that had just started to fall biting into her skin, her cheeks, chapped by the cold bite of the wind, and the fabric of her favorite pair of Vans as she flexed her toes against it. Her clothes clung to her, damp with humidity, and her fingers were starting to go numb. She flexed them, trying to coax the blood back into them. 

          What was next? Oh yeah. Three things she could hear. Broken bits of whispered words floated towards her, words of love, a promise of forever, not for her. She hit her head with her fists, once, twice, three times, trying to knock the thoughts out. Then pressed her knuckles into her closed eyes, as if trying to keep them from falling out. How could he? How could she? It was all too much. 

          She shook her whole body and started again. Three things she could hear, the howling of the wind, loud, booming thunder, rain hitting the pavement. Ordinarily, this was her favorite weather. Perfect sleeping weather, she would say. How she now wished she could just fall asleep forever. 

          Two things she could smell. Petrichor, or the smell of rain, was one of her favorite smells. Tonight, it was mixed with the exhaust of passing cars. It penetrated her nose,  causing her nostrils to sting and her eyes to water. It didn't matter; nothing could halt the flood of tears, pouring down her face faster than she could have wiped them away. She didn't even try. Ironic that, of the many cars passing her in both directions, not a single one had stopped. Not a single person had slowed down to even crack their windows and ask if she was okay, or see if she needed help. The loneliness was acute and excruciating. 

          One thing she could taste. That was easy, the salt of the tears that still streamed down her face and dripped off her chin. It was no use. No amount of box breathing or grounding could restore what she'd lost tonight. She wished she had a blade of some kind. She rubbed at the scars, barely visible, on the underside of her upper arms. There were some on her inner thighs and along her rib cage as well. It was an old habit, one she hadn't indulged in years, but after tonight she needed a release.

          Her eyes turned, once more, to the dark, churning waters far below, eager to pull her into their inky depths. She'd once heard that from this distance, hitting the water would be the equivalent of falling onto concrete. Death was all but guaranteed. The desire to jump was overwhelming. Her young life of nineteen years would be cut short in a moment. Her stomach burned with fear and anticipation. 

          She'd wanted to surprise him, to welcome him home, and share the good news. Well, she'd hoped he would see it as good news. It wasn't part of the plan. Her hand moved instinctively to her belly where, tiny and unexpected, their child was growing, unbeknownst to anyone but her. She had hoped this would be an evening of celebration, but she'd been wrong. She'd been wrong about a lot of things. 

          Had any of it been real? Had he ever been truly hers? Had she? She and Kelly had been thick as thieves growing up. It's why she'd been chosen as maid of honor. And Tommy, they'd fallen hard and fast for each other. He’d waited only two months before proposing. The wedding was mere weeks away. She couldn't have imagined the pain that awaited her. 

          She'd left work early to shower and wash the smell of fajita from her hair after a long shift at the restaurant. She wanted to smell nice when she surprised him. He’d been away on a long, work trip with his father. He wouldn't be home until well after midnight and would probably crash as soon as he got to his apartment. She'd planned to surprise him and stay the night. They had an appointment early the next morning for the cake tasting and it would save time if she was already at his place. At least, that's what she told herself. 

          As she pulled into the parking lot of his building, she spotted his car. It was just past nine thirty. Odd. He must have gotten an earlier flight. Only when the wind caught her door, and flung it into the car right beside her, did she realize it was Kelly's car. She was here, too? Anticipation bubbled up inside as she thought of what that must mean. Her fiance and her best friend, her maid of honor, must be planning something special for her. The shower was next weekend. 

          She felt her steps quicken as she hurried up the stairs. She expected to find them sitting at the counter or lounging on the couch, deep in the planning of her surprise. Her heart seized at the sight of clothes on the floor, a barstool toppled onto its side. Then, she heard it: moans, heavy breathing. A man's voice moaning a name, not her name. A woman's breathless, “Oh my God, yes!” A man groaning, “baby, please don't stop!” That's when Presley finally forced her feet to move. 

          Of course, they’d tried to apologize. It was a mistake. They didn't plan it. It was just a one time thing. But Presley wouldn't hear it. She was on Tommy in a heartbeat, fists pounding his face, fingers ripping his hair. He tried to grab her shoulders, to push her off, but she was a wild animal. 

          Kelly pounced on her then, knocking her to the ground. Presley’s fist found Kelly's face and blood poured from her nose first, then her lip. Tommy hauled her up to her feet, screaming at her, pushing her, calling her names. Kelly threatened to call the police, and lunged for her phone. Presley turned then, and bolted from the room, stumbling on the overturned barstool. She growled, picked it up, and hurled it into the TV. 

          “Are you crazy?! You

psychopath!”

          Presley whipped around to face him.

          “You're one to talk, you coward! You couldn't even end things with me, before bringing this someone new into your bed?! What was the plan, Tommy? Hide it till I die of old age?” She shoved him so hard he hit the wall. 

Kelly burst through the doorway, blood dripping from her face onto her bare chest. Fitting. 

          “You'd better leave, right now! The cops are already on their way!”

          “You think you can scare me? Who’s the one bleeding all over the floor, you whore?”

          Tommy, from somewhere in the kitchen, brandished a knife and pointed it at her, but Presley could see how he gripped it so hard his knuckles turned white, his hands visibly shaking. He was scared. So was Kelly. Good! Presley thought. They should be scared. She heard a neighbor's door slam, voices yelling.

          “Get out, Presley, now! Or else…”

          “Or else what? You’ll stab me? You really think you can?” Presley held her hands out wide and grinned a wicked smile. “Go ahead, you coward! Do it! I want to see you try!”

          He licked his lips and nodded slightly, but he didn't move. 

          “Come on, you pussy! Find your balls and do it!” She stomped her foot. “You know you want to!” Presley could hear sirens in the distance. She took in Kelly's wild appearance, her bloody face, her stringy, red hair a frizzy mess, so skinny she looked like an anorexic skeleton. He'd picked that over me? She glared furiously back at Tommy. His brown hair was mussed and sticking up every which way, his mustache and goatee quivered, and his long arms were held out awkwardly in front of him. She took a step back. 

          “You want me to leave so badly, fine! I'm out! You two sickos deserve each other. You hear me?! You deserve each other! But you'll regret this. I was obsessed with you. I lived and breathed for you. No one ever will ever love you like I did. You'll come crawling back, but I won't be there!” She turned her fiery gaze to Kelly and pointed an accusing finger at her. “And you, it's only a matter of time before he does the same thing to you. You're not special! You're no one, but don't come crying to me when he does! I'll be gone, and you'll be sorry! You'll both be sorry! I hate you both! And I hate this baby! I never wanted it anyway!” Both sets of eyes went wide. 

          “What…” Kelly started, but didn't finish. Tommy dropped his knife and leaned hard against the counter. 

          “I don't want this anymore, any of it, you hear me?! I hate you all!”

          More pounding on the door. Presley felt hot tears threatening, but she would not cry, now now not here. She'd never give them the satisfaction. She spun on her heel and stormed towards the door, stopping only to swipe Tommy's computer off the desk and knock his flat screen to the ground before yanking open the door and shoving past the angry couple outside. She flew down the stairs to her car and peeled out of the parking lot, leaving black streaks behind. 

          She'd driven around for hours before pulling onto the shoulder of the bridge. Then she'd placed back and forth, crying hysterically, fighting the urge to end it all, and longing to jump at the same time. She thought again of the baby. What kind of life would she be bringing it into? She had virtually no money, was a college drop out, and newly single. What kind of mom could she be at nineteen? She knew it was wrong, that ending her own life would mean ending the baby's as well, but she could see no other alternative. No good ones anyway. She'd lost her fiance, her best friend, her future, alienated her family. She couldn't raise a child alone, and with her mental health? 

          It's better this way, baby. You'll see. All babies go to heaven. Me, on the other hand…

          She tried not to think about that. She'd made her decision. It was now or never. Whispering a quick prayer for God's forgiveness, she was about to become a murderer after all, she gripped the railing with both hands, and rose to her tiptoes before throwing one leg over. She paused and took another deep breath, gazing into the churning, frothing waters, eagerly waiting to pull her under. She pushed off of her other foot, about to swing her other leg over before strong arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her backwards. She heard a grunt as she fell on top of someone. He rolled over and sat on top of her, pinning her hands down. 

          His black hair was wild, and his blue eyes were startling against his tan skin. Presley tried with all her might to shove the guy off of her, but he didn't budge. He just looked down at her with sad eyes. 

          “Get off me! What are you doing?” Presley yelled, as she struggled to get free. The man remained calm, simply holding her down. 

          “Saving your life, Presley. You're welcome.” 

          A warm glow suddenly spread out around him, not blindingly bright, but a warm, soft, golden light that enveloped her, like a hug. She went very still.

          “I know you think this is the only way, that you're not strong enough or brave enough to do this, but I promise you, you're not alone. And you are strong. This,” he put a hand on her belly. She thought she could feel a pulse, a heartbeat, before he continued “is why you're here, why you have to stay. It's why I'm here, in this freezing rain, to keep you from jumping. You have a purpose, Presley, and so does she.”

          She? His words puzzled her. How did he know all this? She hadn't told anyone. But they also grounded her, somehow replacing all the hurt and pain and confusion with something else, something warm and good. It felt a lot like peace. Suddenly, she knew his words were true. She felt strength flow through her, and courage, and even, was that joy? 

          “Who are you?” she whispered quietly.

          A grin slowly broke out over his face and his bright, blue eyes twinkled. “You'll find out one day. Until then, know that you're loved, cherished, treasured, and that you never have been, and never will be, alone.” 

          With that, the light swirled around, pulling him with it, and suddenly the world was full of twinkling, golden sparkles. Presley sat up, giggles bubbling up, and held her hand out to catch the sparkles. Then, just as suddenly as it appeared, it was gone. She was alone, but for the first time she could remember, she really wasn't.