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“And I’m not. Don’t be boring, Parker. We’re young. Let’s go,” he says, his green eyes dancing with excitement.
I take a deep breath before pulling my t-shirt over my head. He watches me as I slip my jeans and shoes on.
Hudson leads the way as we walk through the penthouse. The other end of the house is just as bare and cold.
We finally reach a door at the end of the hallway and beyond that is a spiral of stairs leading further up.
I walk silently behind him, wondering why the hell I’m doing this to myself. He’s acting like a child. Maybe I can help him? Is that even a possibility? There’s something very wrong with Hudson and he needs help.
I need to email Dr. Vera Callahan later on during the day. She knows more about Hudson than I do. Maybe she can help me.
Hudson pushes the door at the top open and we step out into the cold at
2 a.m. with immediate goosebumps spreading across my arms.
He takes my hand and we walk across the Helipad. New York City is alive around us with its glittering silver and yellow light.
As we reach the edge of the tower, I look over and almost scream, but I manage to stop myself.
The wind stings my face as I look at the streets below and the air seems to leave my lungs. It only occurs to me how high we really are now that we’re on the rooftop.
“Isn’t it terrific?” Hudson asks and I look at him to see him staring below with actual curiosity plastered across his face. “I come up here a lot.”
“Why?” I ask.
“It makes me feel invincible,” he says, turning to me and smiling.
There’s a strange glint in his eyes. “When my father used to tell me to kill myself, I’d come up and I’d think about it. The fall, the rush. It would feel great. But I couldn’t do it. Some part of me was always a coward.”
I’m in shock at his words, so much so that I can’t even find the right words to speak.
“And do you know what he’d tell me when I couldn’t jump right off this building and just die?” He comes closer, his arms slip around me as he brings his lips close to my ear. “You’re so pathetic, you can’t even kill yourself.”
Hudson starts to tremble and my heart is heavy with pain as I let the tears fall freely down his t-shirt.
“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” he whispers.
“I’m sorry,” I choke out. “I’m sorry that you had to go through that.”
We stand like that for what seems like an eternity before we finally sit down on the concrete surface of the helipad.
We hold hands and watch as the sun rises on the horizon. I make a final note to email Dr. Vera Callahan later that day as I glance at Hudson.
I ask him more questions about his childhood, but he stares blankly ahead. He won’t talk about it again.
