It's pouring.
Pouring, and gray. Fitting, I guess. Even the sky is sad to let me go.
I've made up my mind. Well, I guess it was official in the beginning, but I had told my self firmly that I was going to do it, and I would not back out.
No good byes, no notes, nothing. Just do it. Just end it.
I gazed out at the traffic whizzing by. I was on my toes, fidgeting as I watched the sign change into a red STOP hand.

I'm not honestly gonna do this, am I? I'm not really serious.
Walk into the traffic of a busy New York City corner, that is.
But I was very serious.
I had mapped it all out. When I was going to do to it.
I knew from the start. As a moron red a red light and almost killed me, right then and there. I knew it would be here, on this busy street. Where I would take my own life.
It was just a matter of random dates and times.
And I chose today.
Why?
Maybe its because there was no buzzing of an alarm in my ear. Just silence to greet me when I awoke. Maybe it was the empty house I met that morning.
Maybe it was destiny.

The light had turned green again.
I waited as people rushed past and into me, busy on their way.
I waited as the red light blinked, and then was still. I waited for the traffic and cars to get moving as fast as they could in the congested city.
And then, I got tired of waiting.
And my empty shell of a body and mind took a step forward.
I didn't close my eyes as a blur of color moved almost in slow-moving towards me.
And then, it was almost on me. I could almost sigh in relief as the world was lifted off my shoulders, and I was born anew.

Almost.

At that moment, I was jerked backward by my hood. My hands flew to my neck where the hoodie had caught and I realized that someone had saved me.
I was so fucked up, I couldn't even kill myself correctly.
I whirled around to face my would-be hero, very annoyed and pissed off, and was faced with a strange sight.

My savior was a short guy, like me, a bit younger by at least a few years. He had blond-ginger hair, short, just above the nape of his neck. A cap was squashed over it. He was a bit overweight and he wore jeans and a hoodie, also like me. He had a round, pale face, button nose, pink cheeks. An angel's face. But the fascinating part was his eyes.
They were deep blue, and full of concern, confusion, a touch of annoyance, a touch of curiosity, and a whole lot of sparkle.
We just stared at each other for a moment, but then he began to almost franticly sputter.

"What were you thinking? You could've have been killed!"
But I just gazed at his eyes.
I was quite a sight.
Wet black hair, running make up, my hoodie completely soaked through.
"...Are you okay?"
I blinked and in a faint voice said, "Hmm?"
He gave me another look, one just said, "What...?"
It was almost immediately replaced with an anxious and concerned one.
"You must be freezing. Come on, I don't live far."

He grabbed my wrist--not my hand--my wrist--and half-dragged me two blocks down the street, into and apartment building, up some stairs, down a hallway, into an elevator, down another hallway, and into a small apartment room.
He let go, looked at me nervously, and vanished into another room.
"Odd fellow," I thought.
He returned a second later with a large towel.
"Come over here," he said.
This time, he carefully took my hand and let me to the opposite side of the room. He sat me down on the carpeted floor, back on the radiator. He kneeled beside me and looked me in the eyes.
He had gorgeous eyes.

"I'm Patrick," he said gently. "Who are you?"
I remained silent.
"Will you take off your jacket, please? It's just making you colder."
I nodded slowly and unzipped my hoodie, Patrick pulled off the sleeves and handed me the towel, making sure to dry off my hair.
I was only in an undershirt, but he didn't seem to mind.
Ever thing Patrick did was with grace. He was calm and quiet and seemed so delicate.

He disappeared for a moment and came back with some dry clothes. He sat beside my again, but didn't hand over the clothing right away.
"What's your name?" he asked again.
"Pete," I managed to utter.
"Pete," he repeated, like trying it on for size. "Pete, you were almost run over."
I blinked.
"You almost died."
More silence.
"You...didn't do it on accident, did you?"
Give the man a prize.
"Pete, is there anyone I can call? Parents, family? Friends?"
I shook my head.
"All right then. Uhm, I brought some clothes, I hope they'll do for now. I'll be in the next room, okay?"
I nodded slowly.
Patrick rose, leaving the clothing beside me, where he sat.
"Patrick?"
He whirled around.
"Yeah?"
I blinked. This guy saved a stranger's life, someone he had never seen before or met in his life, brought him to his house and actually cared. Patrick actually cared about me. More than anyone. He had saved my life, my empty carcass of a life. He was my guardian angel.
"Thanks."