3. The Bridge

SOFIA

I don't remember most of what happened in the days after dad's funeral. I mostly just locked myself away in my bedroom, trying to make sense of the world. For days on end, I would mostly just roll out of bed and sit by the windowsill, desperately trying to get myself to move even though it wasn’t going to happen.

And the worst part was having to walk past the spot where the incident happened. Even after scrubbing it with bleach for hours, after airing out the entire house and even moving things around so it would look different, it was still impossible to walk into the living room and not relive the entire incident again.

I was slowly losing my mind, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. The pain, anger, sadness, loneliness and depression all wrapped up around me like a suffocating blanket, and I just couldn’t shake it off no matter what I did. It was always there, constantly breathing down my neck and holding me captive.

So I stayed in my room and tried to let the darkness consume me.

It wasn’t fair. In less than a week, my entire life had been flipped upside down. The perfect plan I’d formed in my head about getting into Yale suddenly seemed childish and pathetic. Who cared about college? Who cared about anything? My father had been taken from me, and there was nothing I could do to fix it. For the first time in my life, I was well and truly alone. I had no one to turn to, no family to lean on and support me through this agony.

And it was all because of him.

Most nights, I woke up screaming as the image of Marco Giordano came flooding to my mind, and I just couldn’t get rid of it. Sometimes I saw him holding a gun to my head, laughing maniacally as he told me he was going to kill me. Other times, I was the one holding the gun, but right before I shot him, his face would turn into my dad and I couldn’t stop myself from pulling the trigger. Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore. I just tried not to sleep at all, by downing insane amounts of coffee so I could stay awake. But no matter what I did, Marco always returned.

I knew I should talk to someone about this, because I could tell that I was spiraling and if I didn’t do something about this, I was probably going to end up like my dad. But I didn’t want to talk to anyone. Not even Detective Grey, who’d been calling me several times. He’d come over a few times and banged on the door, but I never opened it. I ignored all his calls and texts, and I hoped he would just give up soon. Even Valentina had given up, after she realized that I wasn’t going to talk to her anymore.

Why didn’t anyone understand? Why didn’t they just understand that I wanted to be alone? I wanted it all to end. I just wanted peace and quiet. But my demons were chasing each other constantly in my head. The noise was suffocating, and I just wanted it to end. I wanted to be myself again. I wanted to feel whole again. But I knew that would never happen.

Maybe it would have been better if Marco Giordano had shot me as well.

The thought came so randomly that I just blinked at the ceiling and wondered how exactly I could pull that off. Death was everyone’s final destination after all. Perhaps I could just put an end to everything and finally rest. I was never afraid of death. Why would I be afraid of something that I couldn’t avoid? It was ridiculous to fear it. Maybe this was always how my life was going to end.

But how could I do it? What would be a perfect way to go out? I didn’t want to suffer. I just wanted silence. And when I finally figured out what I was going to do, when the plan actually materialized in my head, I began to make preparations.

First, I wrote a note to leave behind. Eventually, someone would get into the house. But by the time they did, I would be long gone. I didn’t want to create a fuss, which a text message or email would have done. A note felt more poetic. It would make things feel more simple.

Next, I called Darwin, a high school acquaintance who could get anything for anyone. I had him get me a few pills, and a large bottle of vodka. I didn’t tell him it was for me, but he didn’t seem to care. When he left it at my door and left, I brought the package in and set it down on top of the unopened letters. A few were from dad’s business associates, sending their condolences. One fat envelope looked like it contained some cash, but I didn’t care. I was going to die tonight anyway.

As the hour drew closer, my heart started to beat wildly in my chest. I found it funny how the closer I got to death, the more desperately it tried to cling to life. But my mind was made up,  and I’d set everything in order. Valentina would understand once she read the letter. She would forgive me. I knew she would. But I needed to think about myself. I needed to end this, and this was the only way I could think of.

At exactly 8:05pm, I slipped into a black shirt, some sweatpants and a large coat. I grabbed the paper bag with the vodka and pills, and I stuffed them in my coat. I tied my hair up in a bun, and I applied some lipgloss. If I was going to go through with this, then I needed to do it while looking stylish.

Before I walked out of the house, I paused at the door and took one last look at the place I’d called home for over a decade. I remembered all the good times, and the bad ones. I remembered dancing with mom in the living room after she braided my hair, or making cupcakes for Christmas with her in the kitchen. I remembered playing video games in the living room with dad, or sitting beside him after dinner while he told me his outrageous college stories. I remembered the night mom died, and how we sat on the floor in the hallway and cried our hearts out, trying to console each other and failing miserably. I remembered it all, and the tears came to my eyes before I could stop myself.

I walked out and shut the door, as the memories were too painful to bear. Soon, I would be reunited with them both. I would finally get the peace I’d craved for so long. And this would all seem like a twisted nightmare.

I slipped on my AirPods and listened to my depressing playlist, stuffing my hands in my pockets and walking out of the building with my head bowed. I didn’t want to talk to the new doorman, the one who had replaced Tony. I stepped out into the cold evening, and I began to walk. Panic was beginning to set in as I walked, but somehow my legs kept moving as I kept my mind blank. I didn’t want to see or hear anything that would change my mind. I just wanted to be left alone, and get this over with.

About thirty minutes later, I found myself standing on the Brooklyn bridge, staring down at the East River. From up here, the water looked terrifying. It was like a vast, empty ocean, and the mere sight of it was enough to unnerve me.

But beyond that darkness lay the peace I so desperately craved. At the bottom of the river, I would finally find the silence I needed. None of this would matter once I was sinking. It would be like falling asleep. And I would wake up to find myself reunited with my parents once again. That was the only thing I cared about in that moment.

Aside from a single man who was standing a few feet away from me with his back turned, and the cars rushing past, I was all alone. I felt like I was in my own personal bubble, and I didn’t feel any attachment to anyone or anything. A single tear snaked down my cheek, and I looked back on all the wonderful moments I’d had. My life had been a good one. But none of that mattered right now. The memory of my dad being shot by Marco was just too strong to ignore. I couldn’t move past that.

Slowly, mechanically, I pulled out the paper bag and unwrapped it. There were six pills in a small envelope inside, and I didn’t even know what they were called. To be honest, I didn’t care. All I’d told Darwin was that I needed something to make me feel numb. I counted the pills out, and before I could stop myself, I threw them straight down my throat. I washed them down with a swig of vodka, savouring the burning sensation as it swirled down my throat.

I set the bottle down and stared at the water once again. There was no need to make a speech or do something spectacular. I just needed to get it over with. And the best way to do that was just to close my eyes and do it.

“Think about mom and dad,” I whispered to myself. “You’ll see them soon.”

I climbed onto the railing, feeling a wave of nausea wash over me as my heart lurched in my chest. The cold air blasted across my face, but I took a deep breath and told myself this was fine.

For the last time, I paused and looked up at the moon. It was shining so brightly tonight, and for that I was grateful. It was a beautiful time to die.

Letting go of the railing was hard enough. I had to force myself to do it, reminding myself that it would just be like falling asleep. I had no one to stay for, and I didn’t want to be strong anymore. Death was an old friend, and I was tired of this wasteland.

It happened in slow motion. I felt my fingers slipping from the railing, and in that split second where I lost my footing and tumbled down, I automatically reached out and tried to grab the railing once again. In that split second, the will to survive overcame everything else. But I couldn’t hold on in time, and I felt myself hurtling backwards.

I must have screamed, because I wasn’t ready to die. But if I did, then I don’t remember.

But then, suddenly, the moon disappeared as a powerful hand reached out and grabbed my arm. I felt the fingers clamp down on my forearm as a large figure appeared in my field of view. And a strong, terrified voice echoed all around me before I passed out from the terror:

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”