Chapter 1- The Boy On The Edge

CONTENT WARNING

This story contains themes of mental health struggles, suicidal ideation, emotional abuse, and trauma. Reader discretion is advised.

Asher's pov.

I slammed my door shut and twisted the lock, the metallic click echoing in the silence of my room.

My hands were shaking so hard I could barely pull them away. I slid down the wood immediately, my back pressed against the door, my knees tucked tightly to my chest. I covered my ears with both hands, squeezing my eyes shut as if I could physically block out the world.

But I couldn't. My mother’s voice was like a ghost, it drifted through the cracks, sharp and relentless.

“Why are you so useless?”

The words slipped past my defenses anyway.

“Why can’t you be like your sisters?”

My chest tightened. Of course. It always came back to them.

“Why are you so different? Why do you act like you don’t give a shit about this world?”

A shaky breath slipped out of me before I could stop it.

She said she should have aborted me when she had the chance. She blamed me for her own age, like being born to a forty-year-old woman was a crime I had committed against her. I was the punishment for her mistake.

She screamed that I was a brat. That I had no respect for the woman who gave me life. That I had the audacity to walk away while she was still tearing me down.

Then the banging started. Heavy, rhythmic thuds against the door.

“Come out right now, Asher!”

My throat tightened, a hot burn spreading across my chest.

Tears blurred my vision, but I refused to let them fall. Crying had never helped, it only gave her more to mock. It gave her more reason to call me weak and sensitive.

I grabbed my jacket from the chair with numb fingers.

Without a second thought, I climbed onto the window sill. The bite of the night air hit my face as I jumped, landing hard and taking off into a run.

I didn’t stop. I ran until my lungs felt like they were bleeding, until my legs turned to lead, until the noise in my head finally faded into the steady, ragged sound of my own breath.

When I finally slowed, I found myself at the bridge by the roadside.

The ocean stretched endlessly beneath it, a vast, dark mirror.

I leaned against the rail, staring down at the water. The sun was setting, bleeding shades of orange, pink, and gold into the horizon as it melted into the sea.

The reflection shimmered below, calm and almost beautiful, like the world wasn’t the mess it really was.

This was the only place I ever felt okay.

Ever since I was a kid, the script was the same. “Grow up.”

“Stop acting like a spoiled brat.”

“Don’t talk back.”

“Don’t be weird.”

My sisters treated me like a ghost. I was always the one left out, the one people took advantage of.

And every time I tried to stand up for myself, I was labeled the problem.

People always talk about the "spoiled" youngest child. They didn't know about the one who was ignored until it was time to be insulted. The one who was "too weird," "too sensitive," or "too picky." The one who didn't like girls and had to carry that secret like a stone in his pocket.

My parents had already mapped out a life for me that felt like a prison sentence.

Not because I was the best at it. Not because I wanted it.

But because I was the only son.

I was an engineering student, sitting through lectures that made my head feel heavy, solving equations that never made sense no matter how long I stared at them.

And at night, when no one was watching, I stayed hidden with my sketchbook, losing myself in the only thing that ever felt right.

To them, art was a hobby for the aimless. Engineering was what a son was supposed to do.

They didn’t care that I was already drowning in a life I never chose.

I tilted my head back and stared at the darkening sky.

“If there’s a god up there,” I whispered, “can you tell me why I was even born?”

I needed music to drown out the silence. Just as I reached for my phone and was about to plug in my earpiece, I heard a sound, soft, but utterly broken.

Sobbing.

I turned slowly, my heart stuttering.

I saw a man standing just a few steps away, dressed in a sharp suit. A cap was pulled low over his face, but it couldn't hide the way his shoulders shook. He was wiping his eyes with his hands, trying but failing to stay quiet. I wanted to ignore him since I had enough of my own problems.

But I couldn’t.

He suddenly stepped closer to the rail, his knuckles turning white as he gripped it. Then, without a moment of hesitation, he climbed up.

My breath hitched. I knew that look. I knew the specific weight of that despair because I’d carried it myself a thousand times.

“Hey!” I started, but before I could finish, he jumped.

My body moved before my brain could protest. I lunged forward, my fingers snapping shut around his wrist. The force of his weight nearly dragged me over with him, but I dug my heels in.

Our eyes met, and my heart didn't just beat, it raced.

He was… breathtaking. He looked young, maybe early twenties.

His face was a contradiction with sharp lines but soft features. High cheekbones, a straight nose, and lips parted in pure shock.

Under the dying sunlight, his skin seemed to glow, flawless and smooth. But his eyes were dark and deep, carrying entire storms inside them.

In that split second, suspended over the edge, something shifted in me.

I didn’t understand why my heart was racing for a stranger.

But something about him refused to let me look away.

His voice was deep, masculine, and terrifyingly calm. “Let go,” he said.

I tightened my grip, my muscles screaming. “No,” I said, my voice trembling. “No matter what you’re going through… death isn’t the solution.”

For a second, his expression faltered. He looked like he wanted to say something, like the words were stuck in his throat.

I didn’t give him the chance to argue. I pulled with every ounce of strength I had left.

We tumbled back onto the roadside, hitting the pavement hard. My back burned with the impact, but I didn't care.

He did. He curled into himself and broke down completely. The cries were raw and uncontrollable.

“I can’t even die in peace anymore?” he sobbed into the asphalt. “Why won’t you just leave me alone? Why can’t you just let me die?”

I sat there, stunned, watching the way his expensive suit gathered dust.

I scanned him, the limited-edition shoes, the watch that probably cost more than my house. He had everything my parents told me I should want.

And he was just as hollow as I was.

When he finally tried to stand, he wobbled. I instinctively caught his arms.

“Hey! Watch yourself.”

He shoved me away sharply.

I stumbled back a step, caught off guard by the force of it.

“Go away,” he snapped, his voice suddenly ice-cold.

"Seriously?" I scoffed. "That's how you talk to someone who just stopped you from dying?"

His jaw tightened. “I didn’t ask to be saved. How about you mind your goddamn business.”

I sighed, ready to snap back, when a sleek black car pulled up. A man in a suit stepped out of the driver's seat and bowed slightly. “Young master, I’ve searched everywhere for you.”

The guy’s eyes flared with anger. “Why?! Can’t I have a moment for myself?!”

The driver remained firm. “Your brother wants to meet you now. You have to go.”

I saw a flicker of pure fear in his eyes. His hands began to tremble again. He hesitated, one foot hovering over the car’s floor, before taking a deep, reluctant breath and stepping inside.

Before the door could close, I moved and grabbed the edge of the door. “Wait! I’m Asher. Asher Martin. What’s your name?”

He didn't say a word. He just stared at me cold and haunting. The silence became so heavy that I finally had to let go. The door shut with a soft thud, and the car sped off.

I stood there, my hands still slightly raised in the air where he had been seconds ago.

The road was empty again.

Like he had never been there at all.

But my chest still felt the weight of him, the panic, the moment I pulled him back from the edge.

I didn’t even know his name.

And yet, I couldn’t stop thinking about the way he looked at me like I had interrupted something that was already decided.

Like I wasn’t supposed to be there.

Like I had ruined something I didn’t understand.

My fingers curled slightly.

“Who are you…?” I whispered into the dark.