Chapter 1 – Olivia Bridge

Dan stood on the edge of the Olivia Bridge, exhaling a stream of smoke from the cigarette he held in his left hand. He told himself he liked the view, he told himself that he had came here because he needed some fresh air, even though it was December and freezing outside. Not because his grades, once fine, were sinking to substandard. Not because his arms were still sore from where the bullies at school had beat him up a week ago. Not because his life was utterly and unquestionably crap. Dan rolled up his sleeve and stared at his tattoo on his wrist, the one he had been born with. The countdown was stuck. The numbers, which had flowed freely, counting down the time until Dan met his soul mate, had suddenly stopped on his 14th birthday - the birthday in which Dan had first researched the height he had to jump off to die. Conveniently, a bridge that height was located a short bus ride away from Dan's house. The countdown had stopped right at the moment that Dan found the bridge. Dan had debated asking why, asking how, but realised that his father would, in a drunken evening at the bar, probably tell the whole street. No, scrap that, the whole school would soon know. All of those idiotic jocks would laugh at it, and Dan would be ridiculed even more. He imagined it now:

'Hey look, there's freak. Did you know that his number stopped?'

'His girl probably took one look of his ugly face on a photo and killed herself!'

So he told no-one. It wasn't hard, his father never bothered asking him about his life, and his mum was always too tired to talk to him. Instead he covered it up with long sleeves and plasters. He was now sixteen, and the number showed no sign of starting again. Dan had put it down to suicide, or maybe falling in love with a different person, or maybe one of them was destined to die before they could meet. And now the voices had started whispering in his mind again, just like they did for the first time on his fourteenth birthday, telling him he wasn't good enough to have a soul mate, that no one would want him as a soul mate anyway, he should be glad the number had stopped so that he would never have to explain to some poor girl just how much of a colossal fail he was. He should be happy. Now nobody would be disappointed if he stepped off Olivia Bridge. He had nobody to live for – not even a soul mate, which even his despicable brother deserved.

Adrian, his brother, had an unusually short number, and his whole family was excited. They'd marked the date on the calendar already, circled it twice in red pen. Sometimes, when Adrian was feeling particularly generous, he'd ask Dan about his number, but all Dan had to do was blank him before Adrian had even forgotten about the question. That was the sort of boy he was – ungrateful, greedy, self absorbed but good at sports and popular. Dan had always hated him, but his father had instantly seen himself in his second son and went about raising him as spoilt he could.

However, even though Dan was mostly left to his own resources and ignored, that didn't mean he could do whatever he wanted – far from it. Any wrong step and his father would condemn him for 'bringing shame to the family', or whatever that meant. His father's twisted, hypocritical ideals were forever branded in Dan's memory when his father had caught Adrian smoking in the back yard. He was twelve back then, Dan fourteen. Without even asking for an explanation, his father had stomped up to Dan's room and blamed Dan. Dan could still smell the hint of alcohol on his breath, hear the raspy voice telling him that he was ruining Adrian's life by teaching him to smoke, feel the raw pain and anger and helplessness. Dan had never touched a cigarette then. Today he carefully put out the stubs in the alleyway behind his school and relished in this little part of rebellion that he could enjoy. Adrian hadn't stopped smoking either, but Dan saw the terrified look that Adrien had had when he had come into Dan's room that night, maybe to pose an apology, but saying nothing instead, and figured that was why he always smoked far, far away from his father. Maybe with the rugby crowd instead.

Dan had been sent to buy bread from the corner shop, 5 minutes away from his house. He had been gone for an hour. He was pretty sure it was better not to return, to jump – the water seemed so welcoming – but slowly, painfully he stepped down from the stone wall and made his way home, to be shouted at.

It just turned out that that night was the last straw. Dan had finally had enough of being abused. As the weak rays of sunrise reached into his house, Dan had already hitched his empty bag onto his shoulder. He stepped out of his house and plodded 'to school'. Last night, however, he had decided he would not be going anywhere near that prison-like building. Adrian did not go to the same school as he did, he went to a sports academy, so he couldn't rat Dan out too soon, and it didn't really matter what the school would do once they eventually found out he was missing. Dan was going to Olivia Bridge. Today was the day.

When, a long time ago, Dan was making his plans, he noticed that there was irony behind the bridge he was going to being called 'Olivia' Bridge. Apparently, it was called this way because on it, on one frosty morning a few years ago, Olivia Bell's car had spiralled out of control, and she had fell to her death in the icy water.

After his research, Dan realised he had no one to write his note to. There was absolutely nobody he cared for. Perhaps his mum would cry at his funeral, if his father thought it was necessary to have one. Strangely, Dan thought he'd be more emotional when he stood yet again on Olivia Bridge, maybe shed a tear for that fond memory of his hamster in year two, but all he could remember was coming home one day to find that his perfectly healthy, young hamster had passed away. Maybe his father had finally had enough of the sounds his nocturnal friend had made. All Dan could remember was his father's drunken, mad face. He hated himself for being so weak and so untalented and useless, he hated himself for never standing up for himself. Never mind. Soon it would be over.

Dan's frozen fingertips fumbled with the buttons on his black coat. He tried for a while, then gave up unbuttoning it and taking it off. He'd jump like this. His shoe hovered over the edge of the stone wall of the bridge, his eyes shut, and his mind egged him on silently. Dan imagined falling, finally free. It would be so easy. He was there, he leant over, and just as his centre of gravity was tipping him over the bridge, Dan's eyes snapped open. He wouldn't do it. He wouldn't. He stepped back, stumbling off the wall. He couldn't even do it. He was too weak. Dan suddenly felt a peculiar pull at his wrist, and it started to burn. He rolled his sleeve up and stared, dumbfounded, at his wrist. started to form in his eyes from the burning pain, and he collapsed onto the ground, clutching his arm. Just as he saw blackness in the corners of his sight and was about to relish in sweet unconsciousness, the pain stopped. The numbers were moving again.

The cause of the stopped numbers were his suicidal plans. Of course, he should've guessed earlier. But maybe Dan wasn't as broken, as weird, as he had thought before.