Isaac moved his hand toward his chest. I screamed and grabbed his wrist, yanking him backward and narrowly avoiding getting myself stabbed in the chest.

"Isaac, you can't do this!" I shouted, flipping him over and pinning him to the ground. Isaac struggled. I held firm.

"I can, and I will." He said stubbornly, sounding so much like the old, arrogant Isaac that I almost laughed. 

Almost.

"No, Isaac!" I yelled, trying to sound like my mother when she was chastising me. "You're not committing suicide! You're going to live!"

"Oh yeah?" Isaac snapped, attempting, again, to escape from me. "What makes you think that?"

"Because, your mother was a fighter, Isaac. Even if she did lose to cancer. She was a fighter. And she does not seem like the type of person that would just give up on everything. She would fight until the end." I said.

"What does any of that crap have to do with me?" Isaac snapped, squirming. I was starting to lose my grip, so I began to speak more quickly. "Depression is your cancer. Depression is the thing that you're fighting. So tell me, are you going to give up? Would your mother be proud of that?"

"Cecilia--"
"Would your mother just want you to give up?" 
"Ce--"
"OR WOULD YOUR MOTHER WANT YOU TO FIGHT THROUGH IT?"
"I don't--"
"WOULD SHE WANT TO WATCH HER SON TAKE HIS OWN LIFE?"

"She--"

"OR WOULD SHE WANT TO WATCH HIM TAKE ON HER BATTLE AFTER SHE'S GONE?"

"I DON'T KNOW, DAMMIT!"

Isaac stopped struggling. He stared at me, breathing heavily. I held on tightly to his shoulders and got nose-to-nose with him. "Tell me, Isaac." I whispered coldly. "Are you a fighter?

"Or are you a coward?"

Isaac closed his eyes for a moment. I pulled away from his face, still holding onto him tightly. "I'm a fighter." He whispered.

"Then drop the knife."

He didn't move. "Isaac. Drop. The. Knife." I demanded, using the most dangerous voice I could manage. Isaac opened his eyes and looked at me, a mixture of anger and determination and love burning in his expression.

Finally, after what felt like the world's longest staring contest, he dropped the knife. I took the risk of letting go of one shoulder and slid the knife away from him, watching it as it hit a wall.

"Are you okay to stand up now?" I asked, my eyes still on the knife. I didn't get a reply. "Isaac?" I whimpered suddenly worried. I looked down at him and started shaking. 

He wasn't moving. His eyes weren't open. 

I couldn't tell if he was breathing.