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The voice was always there.
'Let go.' He wanted to let go, leave it all behind. He wanted to let go. He needed to let go.
He was only fifteen, young, popular, he had perfect hair and handsome eyes. He had everything to live for. But that voice, telling him to let go.
He had been a happy child, always smiling, always laughing. He had loved life, until that day. No one knew he was there, but he saw it all. He saw him as he charged towards her. He saw him as he hit her. He heard every painful word that he said.
'I'm going to kill you,' he had snarled. 'You broke my heart, now I'm going to break you.' He heard her blood curdling scream.
'No no!' She had cried. He smelt the stale blood in the air. He cried, but no one heard him, no one saw him.
That was the day he first heard the voice, it was her he was certain of it. She wanted him to let go.

The room was cold, the walls a dirty grey colour. Everything was quiet, a calming yet spooky kind of quiet. The whole room smelt musty and had an unsettling coldness about it.
He laid everything out neatly, the teddy he had given him as a child, his wallet, his favourite book, the last thing she had given him, and his favourite jacket folded neatly with his note on top.
'I saw it all. I'm letting go.'
He reached for the cold brass handle of the window, his warm hand clasping it tightly as he turned it. He gently pushed the heavy window open and he breathed in the cold crisp air. He leaned slowly and carefully out of the window. He jumped. finally he was letting go.