Being drunk is fun.

Never been this drunk before.

I've had a few drinks in my lifetime, but never been this drunk.

My vision's pretty blurred up, and my legs feel like jello.  Maybe the green type.  

I've finished through my whole arsenal of adult drinks, and I'm thirsty for more.  Just not sure if I can get some.  Can't drive.  Barely can't even freaking walk.  

Who cares about the legal age?  Everyone but a handful of people have gotten drunk before 21.

I wanna drink away everything.  Charlotte, my parents, Liam, everyone single person I've encountered these past few weeks.  

I've freaking killed my own parents.

I knew that I was a monster, but now? Worse?

I'm a monster controlled by anger.  I can't do this anymore, I seriously can't.  

-

I stumble across the busy New York streets, people not bothering to look at my staggered figure.  

I see a thin, tall building.  A very tall one.  

Perfect.

I grip both of my arms around the metal railings, using the last of my strength to pull myself up one stair.  I gasp for air, heaving and shaking with emotions too strong to work out.

I crawl up the array of stairs, one by one, step by stagger.  Stagger by step.  Till I reach the very top.  

It's a flat roof.  There's a small railing, but it's nothing that you can't climb over.  I hold my chest, feeling my heart's loud and rapid beat.  

One's that's gonna stop.

No one will care if a murderer dies.

Some people might even cheer.

I deserve this.  I freaking deserve this.

And the selfish fact that I don't want to live anymore.  This is the easy way out, that's what they all say.  Cause it's true.  

One fall and all of your problems are gone.

But there's one thing stopping me:  Can I really throw this life away?  As far as I know, I've only got one chance at this. 

Maybe it's my drunkenness twisting my brain.  

I want to climb back down, but at the same time, I don't.  

Who gives a care about college?  Love, family, and careers?  I want to raise my hand, but that'd be a lie.  

There's nothing for me in this world.  After college?  

Will it get any better?

I want an answer.   A loud, clear answer.  I want to jump into the future and see myself 10 years from now. Ten years.  I want to.

Will I still be in this pit?  A pit slowly filling up with guilt and grief with me still in it?
Or will I be living happily, with a wife, and maybe a kid or two?

Does Char know that I'm a murderer?

I stole these diamonds, and the next thing you know it, Smith's killed my parents for something I did.

I step closer and closer to the end, feeling the end of the roof come closer and closer.  So close.  I can feel it.  

I pull out the letter.  The letter Charlotte wrote me.  The one taped to the envelope.  

And guess what?

I rip it in shreds.  The smallest shreds that I can rip.  I sprinkle them off the building, watching them flutter down like snow.  

My eyes can't focus, but my mind sure can.  

Kill.  Dead.  Murder.  Die.  

I don't give a care in the world about Charlotte.

She was a close friend.  One I've bonded with.

Friends come and go.

That night I saw her last?

We were ready to take the next step.  We had rules.  We had a plan.

But now that's all gone. I'll never, ever see her again.  

I want her back, but wanting is going to fix itself.  It's simply just human nature.  Want.

A little kid wanting candy.  A teen wanting popularity.  Beauty, even.  An adult wanting this unrecognizable love.  

And me- 

Peter who wants everything in this world to fit together.  And realizes it can't.  A Peter who wants his life to be perfect, once again.  Not trampled on the floor by death, guilt and secrecy.

I want the life I had about a year ago.  Back when Charlotte was alive, and when we were close friends.  When she was recovering and staying at my house, she used to tell me stuff. Stuff she's probably told no one.  Her past escapes and events.  Maybe we'd be a couple by now.  Or just really close friends.  At least I would have someone.  I'm sure she'd be in some sort of a college, and we'd talk everyday.

But stupid fate- Fate had to let Charlotte die.  

Charlotte meant more to me than anything for one reason-

She reminds me of the person I would have been if I had taken the wrong step.

She's like the project- A project that I felt the need to take care of because I related to her.  From the moment I laid eyes on her when Mr. Nash asked me to tutor her. 

And now, she's unraveled all of these secrets for me to find out.  And I'm not sure what to think.

Actually, I'm angry.  Who in their right mind wants to find out that their parents' death was a hoax, that they were the one to kill them, that their friend died in the hands of the enemy, that their parents were freaking thieves?

I'm coming so close to the end of the roof I can see lights underneath me.  I think they are buildings.  

I wonder if it hurts to die.  I wonder if when you're on your way to the ground, you'll change your mind last minute.  And you won't be able to do anything about it.

But now... I can still change my mind.  

My brain is telling me to stop.  To walk back down the stairs, to get some rest, and to wake up the next morning.  To live.

But something tells me that I'd be in the same spot soon.

Better now than later... right?

I look down, getting lost in the blinking lights, the roars of cars.  Then I look up and the sky, the stars invisible from the bright buildings.

And then?

I brace myself.

I looked down, one foot already off the ground.

But before I could launch my drunken self to the lost ground, I heard a voice.

"So you're trying to die?"

I half expected Charlotte to be standing there, but instead, there was a girl with this reddish-blonde hair and brown eyes.

A wave of nausea splurged through me...

And I threw up.

-

The harsh sunlight bore through my heavy eyelids, which forced me to wake up.

I opened my eyes to a small, clean, apartment.

"Where the hell am I?" I slurred.

A girl emerged from what seemed to be the kitchen.

Her hair was a mix of fire and dirt, and her eyes resembled chocolate. "I'm Annalise."

"I'm Peter." I introduced, memories slamming back to me.

My attempted suicide.

Being mad at Charlotte.

This girl.

"You were drunk and out of yourself, so I brought you here. Feel free to leave whenever," Annalise spoke, looking directly at me.

Why did she remind me of Charlotte?

She was dead.

I had to move on.

I'm never touching alcohol again. It's time to move on.

At least I think so.