IF YOU ARE IN CRISIS CALL 1-800-XXXX-TALK read the neon welcome banner before the bridge. If she closed one eye and focused on the water, it was the bridge beneath her feet that was ambling upstream on iron-veined legs.
He answered on the first ring.
"Crystal, babe, you can't call me here, the line has to stay open for emergencies." Matter-of-fact with an amuse-bouche of tenderness. Had he really said those vile things to her just an hour ago?
Despite her best intentions, a distinctly snotty sob escaped her lips.
A fraction of a second passed; time enough for her coordinates to appear on his screen.
"Oh Crys, no, wait..."
Crystal sailed through the air, tumbling and winking before hitting the water, skipping cheerily along the surface, then sinking through the green, brown, and ultimately colorless depths. It would take a few minutes for emergency crews to arrive at the scene, for Adam to lurch away from his desk at the call center, fling himself into his car, fumble the keys, hold himself rigid to control his shaking hands, review everything he'd said and done, beg God for a miracle, and wonder what he would say to...
...Robyn, who (having gleaned immense satisfaction from the vicarious murder of Crystal the Tramp) bade goodbye to the bridge and hopped on her scooter. She knew it wouldn't be long before Adam discovered that Crystal was very much alive - and scratching her blonde bovine head over what had happened to her cell phone. Still, she would always cherish those hours during which her so-called boyfriend's heart was raw and bleeding.
She would, of course, offer him a very helpful number to call.