I don't want to fall.
Wind is whipping at my coat and scarf, and I look down.
It's hard ground to land on.
John calls. I pick up. "Don't do it," John says. "Don't jump; this isn't right."
I say what I must. I'm crying. I didn't think I'd cry. Obviously I should, to show that I'm suicidal and that this call is final, but I am crying, and it is not for show. John is strong. Solid. Military. John would carry on in my position. John would go through with it. So will I.
But it sounds as if I'm killing him. I don't want to hurt him. Not at all. This is all to avoid that. I try to say so, but a fist sticks in my throat and I hang up.
I lift my arms, and I tilt forward.