The Third Time I Died For You

The first time, I stood on the balcony of our unfinished penthouse apartment, ready to leap. Jasper saved me, only to accuse me of doing it all for attention. The second time, I washed down half a bottle of antidepressants with the whiskey he’d bought me. He’d burst in at the last second, clutching me and sobbing that he knew he’d been wrong. There’s always a third time, a fourth, and a fifth, isn’t there?