It wasn't hard to see you were struggling. With the shadows growing in your heart and under your eyes, the heartache and migraines traced every movement and motion like the chemical traces of each new dye in your hair. Eating was a chore, spending any more necessary time where you could get noticed by the monsters sleeping upstairs was too much to risk. Instead of seeing them as family, they were these faceless beings that created a sinking pit deep in your stomach that clawed at you like vines and quicksand.

Over the new year season, the task force had taken a two month break to spend time at home with friends and family. It was necessary for them after the tensions of a particularly stressful mission just two weeks before Christmas, even if it meant disrupting their annual tradition of secret santa and hot cocoa under a makeshift christmas tree in the base's common room. They didn't know that while they were watching snow fall in front of fireplaces that half way across London one of their comrades were struggling more than ever before.

Voices blurred as screams overlapped, so did your vision as stubborn tears threatened to boil over. Every part of your soul seemed to ache, and it was as if your mind could go only to the darkest depths of its thoughts. Tucked away from the screams in your room you picked up the closest pen and paper, and soon also the few necessary items your racing mind could think to grab before climbing out the window. Your body moved on muscle memory as you opened the phone app, fingers hovering over Price's number with hesitance. The ringtone dailed for a few moments, and through a depressive haze of disappointment you pressed the red button.

The air was cold as music blasted into your ears at a deafening volume, a cigarette pack evenly weighing out your phone in the opposite pocket of your pants. The street lamps shone brightly in the night, lighting up the steel rebars of the bridge. Head spinning and hands shaking, you didn't notice anything change as you felt your body lean and sway in the wind, so close to the edge, so close to the end. The cars on the road behind you seemed so fast in comparison to how slow time was moving now, the headlights passing like insignificant flashes of time.

Then from behind there was a noise. The slamming of a car door and the rushing of footsteps. The clammour of voices and the panic of worried peers. From the blasting noise of your headphones you barely heard them, barely noticed them, until a desperate grip on your shoulders drag you away from the edge.

Price: "Shit- I should've picked up, I'm so sorry"