Clarity

1

CLARITY

Just do it, Clarity.

It's what she wants. It's what they want. It's what he wants.

And it's what I want. At least, I think it is.

I shiver as a chill runs down my spine. The September breeze soars through the air, throwing the brown strands of my hair in all directions. There was no need to wear a coat when I stormed out of that house, not when I wouldn’t ever need one again. So, here I stand on top of this three-foot wall barrier of the tallest accessible building I could find in downtown Manhattan.

I sniffle, snot running down the bridge of my nose as I tilt my head at the street many yards below. People walk down the sidewalks, the top of their heads shining as they walk past the orange-tinted lamp posts. My eyes follow the bodies, each of them probably living their busy lives, not knowing a girl above them is about to end hers.

Lifting my hand, I wipe my nose with the back of it, swiping salty cold tears along with it. My face is so numb I hadn't realized the tears running down it.

Or maybe it's because it's been hours since what happened, and I'm still crying.

Just one step, Clarity.

One step then everything is solved—all the problems I cause my parents, and all the stress I give Jonah, my boyfriend.

I'll be out of their lives for good. One less problem to worry about.

Because that's just it, I'm the problem.

This is what they all tell me to do, after all. So, if everyone in my life constantly tells me I don't belong on this planet, there must be some truth behind it. Right?

My blurry gaze shifts up high at the clear full moon. It's the only thing visible in the night sky above New York City. Not many stars, if any. A result of light pollution. It's a shame because I've always wanted to go stargazing one day. A day that won't ever come, I realize.

I blink, shedding fresh tears, the old ones drying up and leaving hard trails down my cheeks.

"Ehem,” my body jerks as the sudden sound of someone clearing their throat finds my ears. I whip my eyes from the street below to stiffly look over my shoulder, seeing a guy.

He balances a toothpick between the corners of his lips. Green eyes, I think, look up at me in confusion, his thick brows pinched together. My eyes fall to observe the rest of him; a black bomber jacket, a gray sweater hood on, with loose black waves poking their way out around it. Why on Earth is he… here ?

"You're crying," he states the obvious.

"I am aware," I mutter. "You can go away now." I'm not sure if I meant it to sound as rude as it did.

I look back at the street below, hoping he'll leave me be.

"Nah," he says, his voice low and coarse.

No?

My body stiffens, not wanting the attention he's giving me or the distraction from what I came here to do. "Just get the hell away from me, okay? Or I'll jump!" I don't look at him as I spew the threat, but the following silence confuses me. Is he gone? Had what I just said worked on doing what it was supposed to? If so, why do I feel a sudden urge of disappointment?

The disappointment soon disappears as I hear the guy say, "Well, are you gonna do it, or are you waiting for me to push you?"

I look back at him, speechless at the last words I expected to leave his mouth. He holds his toothpick, standing a few feet closer to the wall.

" What?" the word barely seeps out of me.

He breathes heavily through his nose as he goes against my previous demand to go away and climbs the wall, hauling himself up with his arms in one movement. I stare blankly as he does, standing straight up and looking sideways at me.

"If you were gonna jump, you'd do it regardless of whether I was here. And given that I'm now standing beside you and you're still alive, you're probably just looking for a reason to stay."

Looking away from him, tears spill from my eyes at his words.

I sniffle again as I feel his hand brush against mine, cocooning my cold hand within his oddly warm ones. The skin of his palm is smooth, satisfying to rub my thumb across.

Usually, human contact makes me want to throw up. Even with people touching me in general—an ick that I've formed over the past few years. When it comes to this stranger that I met only several minutes ago? He's the only exception, apparently.

The breeze brushes between us again, freezing my tears and drying my eyes. I feel like crap. Just not as crappy as I did when a hand wasn't holding mine.

"What's your name?" he asks.

My throat feels like I just consumed ten Popeyes biscuits without a drink, but I answer anyway: "Clarity."

" Clarity ," he repeats like it's the most fascinating thing ever. "I like how that rolls off my tongue. It's pretty." He looks at me, and I notice a dimple on his cheek appear when he smiles softly.

No one had ever complimented my name before. I always found my name ironic. Clarity is clearness and lucidity. At the same time, I feel as though I'm a jumbled mess of thoughts twenty-four-seven—no clear path in sight.

"Yours?"

"Olias."

Olias . And I'm the one with the pretty name? Pfft .

I look away from him and back at the street, nearly forgetting it was under me. This stranger has made me forget it all in only a few minutes.

"You're risking your life being up here with a rando, y'know, Olias? I could pull you down at any second," I inform him.

He shrugs, letting out a soft cough. "It'd be a different story if I wasn't coming up here for the same reason you are." I turn my head, processing his words, my lips parting and eyes widening as he looks at me.

He was going to...

My thoughts leave and fill with sympathy for the man who may or may not be around my age. I can’t quite tell.He looks young enough to be eighteen, but something about him makes me think he’s gone through many adult experiences. Maybe it’s just the slight wrinkles at the corner of his eyes.

I tighten my grip on his hand. "What? You can't."

It's very hypocritical of me, but there's no way I’m letting him go. Not with me here.

He squeezes my hand back, looking down the building. "Not if you don't."

His lime-colored eyes are glossy with tears when he looks back at me, and my heart softens for him. My problems begin to fall to the back of my head as this man fills every other inch of it.

What is hurting him so terribly, and how can I help?

I want to help. I need to help.

Not if you don't. I recite his words in my head.

I press my lips together as I shift my feet so my body faces him. He doesn't let go of my hand as he catches onto my movement and drops onto the roof floor. He's stable within no time, dragging his fingers through his head of jet-black hair and then lifting his hands to me.

"C'mon, jump down, I got you," Olias assures me with his hands held high.

A smile creeps on my lips as I crouch, putting my hands onto his shoulders, and fall two inches into his arms. He stumbles back as his hands tighten around my waist to catch me until my feet touch the ground.

Without hesitation, I do the one thing I think he needs the most right now.

I hug him.

I wrap my arms around his neck, lifting on my toes since he's quite a tall fella’. I'm above average height; however, standing beside him, I might as well call myself short. I like it, though, because when his arms rise to wrap around my frame, a warmth floods my once-freezing body. His hands rest on the small of my back, tightening around my thin black crew neck shirt.

I'm going to get hypothermia if I stay out for long, especially with only a shirt and jeans on. I hadn't thought it would matter just a few minutes ago, but my life will be prolonged. At least for a few more days, or until I make sure Mister Stranger is okay.

His head drops to the crook of my neck, and I hear him sniffle. If he cries, I'll cry more, and then it'll just be one big crying mess.

In his ear, I whisper my next words, "Do you want to get coffee?"

It's the first thing to leave my mouth, desperate to lighten the mood. Coffee always does that for me, so maybe it will for him, too.

He doesn't move from our hug, so neither do I. Maybe it did help him after all.

"At three in the morning?" he asks, his breath fanning across my neck.

I shrug.

After a moment, he also shrugs, leaning up from my neck. His eyes are red, but he doesn't seem like he is crying too hard. I want to hug him again.

"I don't see why not," he ends up saying. "My car is in front of the building."

I grin, excitement overtaking me. I never have anyone to get coffee with; My parents aren't great company, and neither is Jonah… it's not like I want either of their companies anyway.

But I have a feeling Olias will be the perfect company.

Attempting to hide my excitement to get coffee , I bite my lip and take his hand. "Okay, come on then. I know the best 24-hour Starbucks location."

He only shakes his head and blows a laugh through his nose, following me down the staircase with his hand in mine.