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Buck spends a lot of nights on his apartment balcony, more than he likes to admit. He stares out into the night, looks down at the pavement below, and fantasizes about jumping.
It's a common habit for him, almost like a nightly ritual at times. He thinks a lot about dropping down, letting gravity do its thing and for his life to be no more. Even on sunny days with his friends by his side can he not be on his balcony without the thought passing through his head at least once.
He knows people would miss him, some even feeling devastated if he died, on purpose no less. He couldn't do that to them, not when they've lost so much already. Still, the thought draws him out here every other night, when apathy encompasses his entire being, swallowing him whole like a black hole, taking everything that makes him feel good and spits him out with only melancholy accompanying him.
He knows this feeling. This deep-rooted loneliness and lack of any feelings of drive. He knows depression like an old friend.
Buck –Then Evan– remembers the nights looking out the windows of his childhood home. He remembers opening one of them and reaching his hand through, letting the cold wind of the outside air flow between his fingers. He would sometimes stick his head out and look at the ground, hoping that the answers he's been looking for would lie there along with his missing happiness.
Secretly, he kept thinking he would find all that in Maddie, but she had been gone then. Things weren't necessarily good when she was still there, but they were bearable because of her. They had each other, that's what's important.
But she had left him there alone and never even called anymore. She didn't even pick up the phone when he desperately tried to reach her, so he didn't allow himself to think of her as the solution. He needed to accept that he had to fight this alone. He tried to move on. But what was there was nothing anymore.
The emptiness of the house, the emptiness of every fleeting relationship that had no real connection, the aches of wanting more but feeling like it was beyond him, unreachable– He would open the window and contemplate jumping.
It would be kind of a hassle, would he do it with the kind of grace he saw in his mind's eye. The way the windows were designed would make it a bit weird to simply get himself on the ledge, but nonetheless he imagined climbing the window frame and swinging his legs over to the other side. Once there, he could let go peacefully, not scared of the consequences.
Buck's never really been afraid of heights. He often did stupid stuff to impress others, including getting himself into high places, just to show that he could. Maddie never found it impressive when they were younger, but it would make his friends laugh and make some girls get this look in their eyes that would maybe lead to something more later, and it would make him feel enough for just a moment. He didn't care that it was dangerous or reckless, he liked the attention. And if he got hurt, well, then maybe his parents would look at him that night.
That is to say, he often wondered if even the height from his bedroom to the grass of the backyard would be enough to kill him. Maybe it would break his bones, but kill him? He was doubtful.
Now, standing on his apartment's balcony and looking down over the railing, he's definitely positive it would mean the end.
Buck picks up his phone, not really feeling the movement the way he's supposed to. It's too detached, like it's not even him doing it.
He pulls up his contacts and thinks of maybe calling someone. Maddie, Eddie, Bobby- Anyone really. He knows he would want them to call him, would they be in a similar situation. And yet, Buck falters.
It's one thing for them to call him and a whole other thing for Buck to call them. Even if it sounds a bit contradictory, Buck just knows it's different.
They have real problems, they have family to think of, partners and children. Buck is just dissatisfied with his life, big deal. He wants too much, is too much, he knows. It's not like there is actually anything wrong. Or, well, there are definitely things that are wrong, but. He shouldn't be feeling this empty, not really. It's his own fault, afterall. Everything bad that's happened and the reason he's feeling so worthless, it's on him. He should do better.
Detachedly Buck look at the clock on his phone which reads 1:42am. Jesus, he's been standing out here for almost an hour.
A breeze passes through, making Buck shiver where he stands. Buck closes his phone and puts it back in his pocket. He wouldn't want to annoy anyone now, waking them up in the middle of the night. He's already exhausting as he is, and he wouldn't want to worry them. They have enough on their plates without Buck having to whine and make everything about himself. He shouldn't make feeling sorry for himself everyone else's problem.
Buck sighs, stares into the night a moment longer, then moves to get back inside.
Not tonight, he thinks and closes the glass doors to the balcony, looking longingly outside.
Not tonight, he tells himself when his eyes meet the shelves where he stores his alcohol, absentmindedly glancing at his bathroom and mulling over the painkillers in there. He still has the strong stuff from when his leg got crushed.
Not tonight, he repeats while he lays down in bed. He flickers off the lamp on his bedside table, decidedly ignoring the urge to rummage through his lower drawer to find the piece of broken porcelain there, waiting for him to succumb and greet his arms in a familiar sting.
“Not tonight,” he says aloud to the ceiling, and Buck–
Buck doesn't know why, but saying it feels a lot like defeat.