The Play (Briar U Book 3)

None of the dormitories on campus offer roof access to their residents. In fact, it’s explicitly disallowed, which is understandable. The administration doesn’t want raucous parties up there. Drunken kids accidentally falling to their deaths.

Or, in rare cases, not accidentally.

Most schools have safeguards against this shit. Locks that only the maintenance staff has keys for. Some of the newer dorms require keycards to access the roofs. But Bristol House is known for its lax security. The door to the roof is old, and the lock is easy to pick. If you live in the dorms, as I did in freshman year, it’s common knowledge how easy it is to sneak up to Bristol’s roof. Most residents stay under the radar, usually going up there to smoke weed or have sex. It’s widely understood that if you use Bristol’s roof, you don’t make a big production out of it.

TJ, however, apparently never got the memo.

And I’ve never been more afraid in my life as I stare at my friend standing up on the ledge, his thin body silhouetted in the dark night.

“TJ, please.” My voice cracks. It’s been difficult to speak since I got here. No, even before that. Since he called twenty minutes ago and informed me he was going to kill himself.

How the fuck did I not see the signs?

I’m planning on becoming a psychologist and I couldn’t fucking tell that one of my close friends was suicidal?

I want to cry. I truly hadn’t realized TJ was suffering. Yes, he gets moody every now and then, but not once since I’ve known him, not even once, has he expressed feelings of hopelessness or talked about suicide. He might’ve displayed anxious tendencies, but not suicidal ones.

So far, all of my attempts to talk him off the ledge have failed. I don’t know how to get through to him.

“TJ,” I plead. “Come down from there.”

“Why do you care?” he spits out. “You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

His harsh words sting, but I banish my own emotions from this equation. This isn’t about me. TJ is clearly going through something.

Going through something? a voice in my head shrieks. Understatement of the fucking year!

My heart is jammed in my throat, liable to choke me. The rooftop is covered in ice, because nobody ever comes up here to lay down salt. To make matters exponentially worse, it’s starting to snow, and the wind is picking up. One misstep and he’ll—

Do NOT even go there!

“TJ, please get off of there and come back,” I beg. “Come talk to me.”

“No. I don’t want to talk. I fucking hate talking, Demi.”

“I know you do,” I whisper.

I edge closer to him. The synapses in my brain are firing in total panic mode, trying to catalogue the red flags I’d missed.

TJ’s always been antisocial, but he also made an effort to go out with me, to socialize with my friends. He didn’t isolate himself from everyone, so I didn’t consider it a red flag. He barely drinks, doesn’t abuse drugs, so no red flag there. He has trouble opening up to people, expressing his emotions—but that’s not unique. Corinne is equally guarded, and I didn’t peg her as suicidal either.

God. I don’t know what to do.

I truly don’t.

This isn’t a class project, or a fucking true crime show. This is real life, and I’m utterly helpless.

I try again. “Listen, it’s obvious you’ve been drinking—”

“No, I haven’t.” His voice is unnervingly composed.

I bite my lip. Shit. He’s sober? He’s literally standing on a ledge, four stories off the ground, and he’s stone-cold sober?

I suddenly hear the wail of sirens in the distance. My heart jumps. Is this about us? Did someone spot us up here and call the police? God, I want the police to come. I want them to bring one of those negotiators who talks to potential jumpers and convinces them not to commit suicide.

I’m not equipped to handle this.

The wind snakes under my hair and makes it flap around me like a panicky bird. I didn’t even grab a coat when I ran out of my house. I’m in my red sweater and leggings and boots, and it’s so cold outside I feel the chill in my lungs. I can’t even imagine how cold TJ must be—he’s in a thin T-shirt. His slight build could get knocked over by a strong gust. And judging by the snowflakes falling and swirling wildly in the air, that gust could come any second.

“Okay,” I say weakly. “Okay. If you’re not going to come down, then I’m coming up.”

“Stay away, Demi.” TJ’s shoulders set in a tense line. “Seriously. I’ll do it.”

I clench my teeth, in fear, not anger, and inch closer to the ledge. “I don’t want you to,” I tell him, as my heart drums a terrified rhythm on my ribcage. “First I want to talk to you. After that, we can discuss your next move.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. Go back to your new boyfriend.”

I reach the ledge. And almost throw up when I glimpse the thin layer of white frost spanning the cement. At least I hope it’s just frost, and not a solid stretch of ice.

“Is that what this is about, then?” I ask quietly. “Me and Hunter?”

“Yes, I’m standing here about to jump to my death because of you and Hunter. Christ, Demi! You are so fucking self-absorbed.”

I flinch. Then I suck in a gulp of frigid air and lift one foot onto the ledge. It slips on my first attempt. Fuck, that is ice. Oh Lord. What am I fucking doing right now?

Saving your friend. He needs help.

Yes. TJ needs help.

I take another breath.

The second time, I manage to climb up. And then I’m standing beside him, and I make the mistake of looking down and oh my fuck, looking down was a terrible idea.

I inhale through the rush of dizziness that hits me. Inhale. Then exhale. I force myself to keep breathing. I don’t look down again. But the image has already been branded in my brain. That huge drop. No grass or bushes down there, either. Nothing but pavement.

My breath escapes in frantic white puffs. That was legit the scariest sight I’d ever seen.

But what’s even scarier is the thought of losing TJ. I may not have heard his cries for help before, but I sure as hell am hearing them now.

“Get down,” he snaps at me, but the anger has left his voice. It’s been replaced by worry. Desperation. “You could get hurt.”

“So could you. And I’m not getting down until you do.”

“Really? Suddenly you care so much about me?”

“I’ve always cared about you, TJ. You’re one of my best friends.” Do not look down again, Demi. Do not—

I glance down again and almost puke. Four stories is, what, fifty feet? Why does it seem so much higher from where we are? I never thought fifty feet was so fucking high.

“Best friends,” TJ scoffs. “Do you know how patronizing that is?”

“What, calling you my friend? I’ve known you since freshman year, TJ.”

“Exactly! Freshman year! That means I waited almost three years for you to wake up and see what a douchebag Nico was.”

The wind ruffles our hair. This time I refuse to take another peek over the edge.

“And then you broke up with that asshole, and I gave you space and time to heal. I thought, just be patient, man. We have this connection and I thought, she’s finally going to see what was in front of her fucking eyes for three years.” Anguish clouds his face. “I thought you would come to me after you dumped Nico and instead you go for that fucking hockey asshole?”

I don’t defend Hunter. I’m scared it will trigger TJ to take drastic measures. But I do hedge in with a soft observation. “I thought you said this wasn’t about me.”

“Fine, I guess it is. Not entirely, but part of it. I’m just tired of being fucking invisible. Invisible to you, invisible to my family. My parents are obsessed with my brother and his big fancy job in London and I’m just an afterthought to everybody, if I even cross their fucking minds. Which I highly doubt.”

“That’s not true.” I met his parents once and they seemed to really love their son. Appearances can be deceiving, I know that. But my gut says that TJ’s parents would fly into a panic if they knew what their son was considering doing right now.

“I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit,” I tell him.

The sirens get louder.

TJ stiffens. He shifts his feet and I instinctively brace myself for the worst. But then he rights himself, and I’m so dizzyingly relieved that I nearly lose bladder function and pee my pants.

I have literally not moved an inch since I climbed up here. I’m a statue on this ledge. It’s two feet wide, so it’s not like my toes are dangling over the edge, but I feel like I’m balancing on a paper clip.

“Why didn’t you ever talk to me about any of this? Feeling ignored by your parents, feeling inferior to your brother, feeling like you wanted to…” Die. I don’t say it out loud. I bite hard on the inside of my cheek. “You know I would’ve been there for you. Why didn’t you ask for help?”

“Why did you pick him?” he says instead of addressing my question.

“It wasn’t a matter of picking.” I sigh wearily. “It’s not like you and Hunter were both there in front of me and I needed to choose between you. He and I were friends, and it just developed into something more—”

“You and I are friends—why didn’t we develop into something more?” Hurt and betrayal darken his eyes.

Fuck, that was the wrong thing to say. “I don’t know,” I say simply. “Chalk it up to chemistry, I guess. I have chemistry with him.”

“And not with me?”

What do I do now? Lie? Get his hopes up just to get him off this ledge?This is the property of Nô-velDrama.Org.

But that feels disingenuous and cruel. Also, I think he’ll be able to see through me. I don’t have romantic feelings for TJ. I never have.

I decide to be honest, because that’s who I am. “I don’t feel any sexual chemistry with you,” I admit. “I think you’re attractive—”

“Bullshit,” he spits.

“I do,” I insist. “ You have the kindest eyes, and a great butt.”

He hesitates, as if trying to assess whether I’m lying.

“But I also objectively think Liam Hemsworth is gorgeous and I have no desire to sleep with him. I can’t explain chemistry. Some people have it, and some don’t.”

“Chemistry,” he echoes. Pain twists his features. “Why don’t I have it with anybody?”

“Can I hazard a guess?”

He gives me a sharp look.

“You just said that for the past three years you’ve been waiting for me to break up with Nico. Stands to reason, then, that you haven’t been putting yourself out there. In almost three years, you’ve only gone on one date, as far as I know—the sorority sister I set you up with. If you’re closed off to the potential of dating anyone, you’re not going to find anyone.”

“I’m not closed off.” But he sounds unconvinced.

The wind rustles my hair again, and shivers break out at the nape of my neck and scurry down my spine like rats fleeing a sinking ship. I wish I could flee, too. It’s so cold up here. But I’m not leaving this roof without TJ. I’ll stand up here all night if I have to.

“Yes, you were,” I tell him. “And I get it, okay? Pining over a girl with a boyfriend sucks. Even worse, it means you’re not giving out the vibes you should be transmitting. You wasted almost three years, TJ. But, and here’s the good part, you still have a year and a half left of college. You’ve got plenty of time to put yourself out there.”

“I’m done putting myself out there,” he argues. “Not after you.”

I swallow my frustration. It doesn’t seem to occur to him that he never actually put himself on the line for me, never once expressed his emotions to me—he just stood there passively waiting for me to notice that he had a crush on me. I guess that was easier for him than putting his feelings out there.

But why didn’t I notice, dammit? Misery crawls up my throat as I think back to all the times Nico, and even Hunter, told me that TJ liked me. I didn’t see it.

Or maybe I didn’t want to see it.

Maybe, like TJ, like everyone else in this world, I chose to take the easy way out. Subconsciously, anyway. Maybe it was easier to remain blind to TJ’s true feelings, categorize him as a needy friend, instead of processing what those feelings might mean for our friendship.

“TJ,” I say softly, and for the first time in five minutes—I move. I hold my hand out to him. My fingers are shaking harder than they’ve ever shaken. I’m so afraid I feel like it’s inevitable I’m going to pee my pants.

He stares at my visibly trembling hand, unhappiness in his eyes as he brushes snowflakes off his face. “You’re scared,” he mutters. “I don’t want you to be scared.”

“Then come down from this ledge with me,” I plead.

He doesn’t answer.

I let my hand drop, pressing it tight to my side once again.

The faint murmur of voices drifts up toward us. A crowd has gathered below. I can make out uniformed officers, and I wonder if the one who arrested me and Hunter is down there. Officer Jenk. That jerk. An ambulance and several police cruisers have pulled up to the small parking lot in front of the dormitory.

“There’s nothing for me here,” TJ mumbles. “I’d rather just be dead than deal with this stupid shitty life anymore.”

“You might not die,” I point out.

“We’re four stories up. That’s like a fifty-foot drop.”

“A fall from four or five stories has about a fifty-percent chance of survival. A hundred feet, sure, you’d probably die.” I arch a brow. “But most falls from this height aren’t fatal.”

His eyes flash. “I’m not in the mood to listen to your bullshit statistics, Demi.”

“It’s not bullshit. I was literally just talking about this with my father tonight.”

“Why the hell would you be talking about that?”

“Because Dad operated on a man who fell about sixty feet from an apartment window. He was trying to sneak a cigarette without his wife finding out, so he was leaning out the window and lost his balance. Fell headfirst to the pavement.” I swallow. “Do you want me to tell you what happened to him?”

“He survived his big adventure and even though his wife divorced him for smoking behind her back, he’s now living happily ever after with the hot nurse who gave him sponge baths,” TJ says sarcastically. “Moral of the story: life is always worth living. Nice try, Demi.”

I give a humourless laugh. “No. He survived the fall, but suffered a skull fracture, which led to a subdural hematoma. My father operated but the damage was too severe. He’s still alive, but he’s badly brain damaged. He’ll never live a regular life again. Oh, and he’s blind in one eye because the fall severed his ocular nerve. It’s still too early to tell the extent of cognitive damage, but Dad isn’t hopeful.”

TJ looks stunned. He goes scarily silent, his gaze glued to the ground below us.

The flashing red and blue lights slice through the darkness. Thick clouds obscure the moon, and the falling snow is a blinding array of white against the backdrop of the inky sky. Despite the crowd gathered in front of Bristol House, it feels like TJ and I are the only two people in the world right now.

My stomach is in knots as I rack my brain wondering what else to say. How to help him. “So,” I say softly. “Here we are.”

Pain flickers across his face. “Here we are.”