What you wish for

Chase pulled hard on the car door to close it as he and the woman collapsed into his car. He instantly turned both the heat and the seat warmers on, shivering violently despite himself. He was still completely soaked through his clothes and desperately wanted to find a fireplace. However, he managed to push the desire away and reached into his backseat, pulling out a thick and fluffy blanket he kept there, and offered it to the woman.

Aside from her jacket, she had a pair of jeans, simple shoes and a t-shirt on. Of them, only the leather jacket seemed to be worth anything against the rain and wind, and it was clearly a smaller woman's jacket, more fashionable than practical.

She glared at him for a moment and he could still feel the burning streaks on his face that made him suspect he was bleeding.

"I know this is weird," he said, trying to sound soft. "But I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to help you."

"I didn't ask for your help and I don't want it."

Chase sighed. The woman was defensive, but he forced himself to be patient. After all, he couldn't easily explain how he'd been there in the first place, and she was clearly dealing with something horrible enough to cause her to want to leap from a bridge.

"No," he said. "But you're likely to get seriously sick if you don't dry off a bit. My name is Chase Martin, I'm an artist. I've been… I thought someone was in trouble, and I wanted to make sure they didn't hurt themself."

"You make a habit of walking on the bridge in the middle of the night?"

Chase forced himself not to laugh, trying not to upset her.

"Yes and no, I guess."

She glared at him for a few more seconds, then accepted the blanket and wrapped herself in it. Chase let out a long breath of relief, rubbing his hands together to try and get bring feeling back into them. He felt that he was supposed to wait, and so wait he did. Eventually, the woman spoke again, but in a much softer and gentler voice than the one she'd used a minute ago.

"Justine."

"I'm sorry?"

"My name's Justine. Justine Harper."

"It's nice to meet you," he said, without thinking.

"Seriously?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean anything by it. It's just a bit…"

"Awkward, yeah. I get that."

"Where you do want to start then?"

She seemed to seriously consider his question for a long moment. Twice she opened her mouth, and then shut it again, shaking her head softly, as if she couldn't decide between a few different options. She put her thumbnail in her mouth, biting it slightly while she thought. All the while Chase forced himself to remain still, aware of how very uncomfortable he was.

"Why do you care?" she asked. "I mean, you don't know me. So why do you care?"

"I wouldn't want to see anyone kill themselves, whether I know them or not," he said, honestly. "But honestly, I felt… led to come here tonight. I'm a Christian."

She scoffed at that, but he ignored it.

"And I had a vision of you jumping from the bridge a few months ago. When I left tonight and saw the bridge, I just… knew."

"Alright then, whatever you say."

He could tell she didn't believe him, but he had no idea of what he might say to convince her. So, he merely sat there and said nothing.

"Why were you going to jump?"

"To kill myself."

"I get that," he said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "I meant why."

"Shit's just been piling on for a while now. I tried to fix a lot of it and it just kept getting worse. Not really any of your business though, is it?"

"It might be," he said, trying to remain calm while he started to feel a little hot under the collar. "Seeing as how I just pulled you up from a free-fall a few moments ago."

She didn't say anything, but she didn't dismiss it either.

"Look," Justine said suddenly. "I don't know what your deal is. Maybe you're trying to help or maybe you've got a savior complex or maybe you're just a creep. Whatever it is, you shouldn't waste your time on me, alright? It'll just irritate both of us."

"No one's a waste of time," said Chase, almost more to himself than her, thinking of arguments he'd had with his parents when he'd first tried to become an artist.

She looked at him and sighed, relaxing a little as she slumped into the seat.

"Look… Chase. I think you might be a nice guy. That's great, seriously. But you should just forget all about trying to help me. I am one of the most severely fucked up people on the entire planet. So, for your own sake and mine, just go wherever you were going, and leave me alone. Alright?"

At that, Chase actually chuckled slightly. Justine stopped and examined him, a mixture of concern and irritation on her face.

"You're messed up? What makes you think you're so special? I'm a recluse artist who's only friendship outside of the church is a little old lady next door who I drink coffee with once a week. I draw for a living and have a borderline panic attack if I place an order at a sandwich shop or have to talk to the person next to me in line. We're all screwed up. Sure, I don't know your situation but you can't assume I have my stuff together just from looking at me. Still, I'd like to know you and help."

For a moment he was afraid he'd just dumped too much on her. Justine turned and looked closely at him, and he looked into her eyes. To his relief, he didn't see worry or apprehension in her gaze. In fact, she didn't seem to judge him for what he had said at all. All he saw was pain that she was trying to hold in with everything she had.

He didn't say anything, instead focusing on holding her gaze. Her eyes were a vibrant sky blue, and seemed to shine out of her face slightly, drawing his gaze to them. Now that they were out of the rain and wind, he could see that Justine was a very pretty woman. She had freckles on the bridge of her nose and parted, brown hair that came down to her jawline. Finally, she spoke.

"Alright then, because you refuse to give in. Just remember you asked."

"I am asking."

"Fine," she snapped slightly, taking a deep breath as she prepared to unload. "For starters, I'm a hooker."

That hit him in the chest like a sledgehammer. He really hadn't had any expectation for what she was going to say, but he wouldn't have thrown a guess at that in a hundred tries.

"Yeah," she said, seeing the shock on his face. "That's about the look I expected. I've been one for about two years now. You drink coffee with your neighbor once a week, right? Well, I shoot up with a bunch of other junkie whores every now and then!"

She was becoming more forceful in her words, and the tears she had been holding back were now spilling freely.

"That's what I had to start doing because drinking doesn't work anymore; all it does it makes me depressed. I'd give anything in the world just to stop feeling for a while, and so yeah… I want to kill myself. Actually, I suppose it's better to say I'd give anything to make it stop. So, you wanna help me now?"

Chase couldn't find the words, and had no idea what it was he wanted to say in the first place.

"Thought not. You gonna let me go now, or do you have more you want to say?"

It took him two full seconds before he could form a clear thought, and another second before he spoke. However, when he finally did he spoke without thinking or considering what he was actually saying.

"Are you hungry?"

"What?!"

"I'm sorry," he said, realizing how incredibly stupid that must've sounded. "It's just that I was going to a restaurant when I stopped here. And I thought that maybe it would help… You know what, never mind. Forget I said that, that was stupid. I shouldn't have said anything."

Justine laughed, a mixture of mirth and abandonment.

"You are messed up," she said. "Look, I do think you're probably genuine, kid, but you're way out of your depth here. I'm just going to get out now, alright?"

Chase panicked, and said the only thing he could think of.

"If you take one step towards that bridge, I'll call the police."

She stopped and looked at him, as if sizing him up.

"You know I already went out there once," he said, warningly.

Justine sighed deeply again, and opened the door.

"Look, keep a clear conscious alright? I promise I won't kill myself tonight, alright? Think I sort of lost all my nerve back there anyway. Go enjoy your dinner and forget I exist. It's really not that hard, people do it all the time."

Chase tried to think of something to say, but he couldn't. Justine got out into the howling wind, tossing the blanket back into car and began walking back towards town, back the way that Chase had come driving down the highway.

He sat there for several moments, watching her in the rear-view mirror. She seemed to be genuine about not going back to the bridge, and yet every fiber of his being was urging to go after her. Maybe he could… do what exactly?

Chase hadn't really thought much on what the girl in his dreams meant to him. Still, in his heart, or perhaps even deeper he had hoped that maybe she was the girl he was supposed to be with: his soulmate, or some such romantic nonsense. However, he'd met the literal girl of his dreams, and she was a drug-user and a prostitute. He had no clue what that meant.

He sat there, and began to pray, having no clue what he even wanted, only that he wanted something to make sense. It wasn't until he lifted his head that he realized he was crying. Eventually, he got back on the highway and took the nearest exit to turn around and head back home.

He couldn't be completely sure, but it seemed to him that somewhere on the other side of the road, there was a lone figure walking determinedly against the traffic and the rain. He went back to his apartment and collapsed into bed without bothering to change, and passed out almost immediately.

He dreamed again that night, only instead of seeing Justine on a bridge, she was huddled up somewhere against a wall, shivering and crying and in pain.

Of course, there was nothing he could do about.

His last thought before he sank into blackness was that God had led him to a whore, and that there was no chase that she was the one he was supposed to love.