CHAPTER 2:
The path to the elevators took them through the reception hall. Past tables of relatives whose conversations dropped to whispers as they passed, voices carrying just loud enough to be heard:
"He really doesn't have any future."
"That's why no woman wants him. Would you?"
"Look at him—almost wasted at a wedding. Classy."
"Sucks to be his friends. Why do they even bother?"
"If I were him, I'd kill myself. Just end it. Why prolong the suffering?"
"Poor guy. Darwin, you know? Natural selection."
"I give him two years before he does something stupid."
"Two months."
"Two weeks."
Laughter followed them into the elevator.
Each word a nail in a coffin. Each whisper a shovel of dirt. They were building his grave in real-time, and they didn't even know it.
Or maybe they did. Maybe that was the point.
The elevator ride up was silent. Joe and Riff flanked him like bodyguards, or pallbearers. The distinction felt academic.
Ayronee watched the floor numbers climb. Five. Six. Seven. Each ding a countdown. Each floor bringing him closer to the end.
The malice of those voices kept playing in his head on loop:
Failure. Failure. Failure.
Kill yourself. Kill yourself. Kill yourself.
Nobody wants you. Nobody needs you. Nobody will miss you.
The doors opened with a soft chime that sounded like a church bell at a funeral.
Cool night air rushed in, carrying the scent of distant rain and exhaust fumes. The rooftop stretched wide under indifferent stars. The city sprawled below—ten thousand lights twinkling like promises that were never meant for him. So many people. So many lives being lived while his was ending.
Ayronee walked to the safety rail. His legs felt distant, like they belonged to someone else. He leaned against the cold metal, took another drink. The bottle was more than half-empty now.
The void below called to him. Gentle. Inviting. Final.
"You heard them, right?" His voice sounded strange—too calm, too steady, too far away.
"Heard what?" Joe asked, though his tone suggested he already knew.
"Those people. My family." Ayronee laughed, but it came out wrong—hollow, like something breaking. "You heard what they were saying. And you know what? They're right. They're absolutely right. I don't have a future. I am pathetic. I am a failure. I should just—"
He stopped himself, took another drink.
"I'm even surprised I'm surprised about being surprised."
"Dude, you're not making sense." Riff's hand hovered near Ayronee's shoulder but didn't quite touch. "Just calm down."
"Listen, man." Joe moved closer, his voice taking on that gentle quality people use when talking someone off a ledge. "You don't need to listen to those assholes. They're just bitter, miserable people who need to put others down to feel good about themselves. It's not about you. It's about them."
The words were true. They were also insufficient. Like putting a bandage on a gunshot wound. Like offering thoughts and prayers after a massacre.
"I know," Ayronee said quietly. "And thank you. Really. Thank you for being good friends. The only good things in my worthless fucking life."
He took another drink. His hands were shaking.
"But here's the thing—while we were in that elevator, those voices kept playing in my head. On loop. Over and over. Like a song I can't unhear. Like a truth I can't unlearn. And something inside me just... snapped."
"Okay, just breathe." Riff's voice was urgent now.
"We're here. We're with you."
"We sympathize," Joe added. "We do. But people are just jerks. That's how they are—"
"Jerks." Ayronee laughed again, that same broken sound. "Yeah. That's a nice way of putting it. You know what I think? I think they're monsters. I think they're vampires who feed on suffering. I think they're demons wearing human skin. And the worst part? They don't even know it. They think they're good people. They think they're helping. They think they're showing 'tough love.'"
He finished the bottle. Set it down on the ledge with deliberate care.
"Anyway, let's talk about something else. Let's reminisce. Remember when we were kids? Remember when we had dreams? Remember when we thought life was going to be an adventure?"
One last taste of happiness before the main course of oblivion. One last good memory before the credits roll.
And so they talked. About building forts in the woods. About staying up all night playing video games. About first crushes and first heartbreaks and the time they'd thought they'd be friends forever and actually meant it.
They talked until the bottle was empty and the night had grown cold.
"It's getting late," Ayronee said finally. "You guys should head back. I'll follow soon. I just need a minute alone."
He smiled—a real smile, the first genuine one all night. "Thanks for the pep talk, guys. I feel a lot better now. Really."
Yeah, I feel relieved. Lighter. Like I've already made peace with it. Like the weight is already gone because I know it'll be gone soon. So soon. Just a few more minutes. Just one more step. Just one more choice.
Joe and Riff hesitated. Something nagged at them—some instinct, some sixth sense screaming wrong wrong wrong.
But they pushed it down. Because surely he wouldn't. Surely not their friend. Not tonight.
They walked toward the elevator. Almost made it.
Then Riff glanced back.
What he saw made his blood freeze: Ayronee climbing the safety rail.
"JOE! WHAT THE FUCK—AYRONEE, NO!"
They ran. Sprinted. Their feet pounding against concrete, hearts hammering against ribs, lungs screaming.
But it was already too late.
It was always too late.
Before Ayronee jumped, he turned. Looked at them. Smiled—a real smile, genuine and peaceful and free.
"Goodbye. Thank you for everything. Thank you for being my friends when nobody else wanted to be. I'm sorry it had to end like this. I'm sorry I'm not strong enough. But I'm not sorry for this. This is the first choice I've made in years that's actually mine. And it feels... good. It feels right. It feels like freedom."
His voice was soft. Grateful. At peace.
"AYRONEE, NO! PLEASE! DON'T! WE LOVE YOU! PLEASE!"
Their screams tore through the night—the sound of watching someone you love choose death over the life you're desperately trying to offer them. The sound of helplessness made manifest.
But he was already falling.
Time did that thing it does in moments like this—stretched and compressed simultaneously. He was falling for years. He was falling for seconds.
His life didn't flash before his eyes. Instead, he felt... nothing.
And that nothing felt better than all the somethings he'd felt for years.
No more pain. No more humiliation. No more disappointment. No more trying and failing and trying and failing.
Just peace.
The wind rushed past. The ground approached. And Ayronee thought:
Finally.
Finally.
Finally.
It was like a trinity then.
Impact.
He hit the ground.
The funeral was exactly what you'd expect.
They cried—the same relatives who'd mocked him, who'd driven him to the edge, who'd pushed and pushed until he stepped off. Now they wore black and sobbed and said all the things they should have said when it mattered.
"If only we'd known."
"There were no signs."
"He seemed fine."
"What a tragedy."
Lies.
All lies.
His mother collapsed at the casket—closed, because the fall had made viewing impossible. His father stood beside her, stone-faced, broken in ways that would never fully heal.
Joe and Riff stood in the back, not speaking, not crying, just existing in their grief. Real grief. The kind that lives in your chest like a stone. The kind that never really leaves.
"We should have known," Joe whispered.
"We did know," Riff whispered back. "We just didn't know how to stop it."
"Will we ever forgive ourselves?"
"Probably not. But we'll learn to live with it. We'll carry him. We'll remember him. We'll be better. For him. Because of him."
The service ended. People dispersed. Life went on.
Because it always does.
The world doesn't stop spinning when someone dies. The sun doesn't stop rising. People don't stop living their lives.
There was a funeral. A burial. Some tears. Some speeches.
And then everyone went back to their lives and forgot.
Because that's what people do.
For joe and riff are Progrediens dolore non obstante.
To be continued...