Falling into Us

by Jasinda Wilder

I never once found her writing in her journal.

  Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore. I found her sitting on our bed, knees drawn up, Kleenex in one hand, her phone in the other. She was scrolling through her pictures frantically, her thumb swiping across the screen over and over again, and with each photograph she bypassed, her features grew more and more panicked.

  I sank onto the bed beside her, sitting cross-legged with my hands on her knees. “Becca? Are you looking for a specific picture?” She nodded without looking at me. “Which one?”

  She then did something I’d never seen her do: She signed. I’d heard her say once that when she was really young she used sign language if she couldn’t express herself in verbal speech, but she’d abandoned the use of sign language by fourth grade.

  I didn’t know sign language, not even the alphabet. She’d formed an “L” with her right hand, starting near her forehead and drawing it downward to her right hand, which was held as if pointing at me, or a number one.

  “I don’t…I don’t know sign language, baby. ”

  She just shook her head and kept scrolling. I tried to take the phone from her, but she jerked away from me, turning in place so she was facing away. I watched over her shoulder as she scrolled, picture after picture blurring past on the screen, snapped selfies, pics of her and me, her and Nell, random things. Then she reached the end of her photo album on the cell phone, the image bouncing but not swiping. She swiped at it repeatedly, as if unable to comprehend that it was the last picture. She moaned, a high-pitched whine in her throat, and slammed the phone down on the bed, but then immediately picked it up and tapped the blue and white Facebook icon, brought up her photo album in the Facebook app and began the process of frantically swiping through the pictures.

  “Becca, honey, talk to me. What are you looking for?” She made the same sign, over and over again, L-shaped right hand brought down from her forehead to her pointing left hand. “I don’t know what that means, Beck. Please, talk to me. Please. ”

  She shook her head and kept going through her Facebook pictures. When she reached the end of those, she whimpered through clenched teeth and pressed the phone screen to her face, shoulders shaking. Then, with a burst of inspiration, she logged back into Facebook and brought up Kate’s profile page and found her pictures.

  That’s when it registered. “Ben? You’re looking for pictures of Ben?” She nodded, rocking in place in time with her scrolling thumb.

  Kate had taken down every single picture of Ben from her page. There wasn’t one, not a single photograph of Ben. Becca screamed out loud and threw the phone across the room, where it smashed against the wall, putting a hole in the drywall and cracking the screen.

  I gathered her in my arms and pulled her against my chest. She thrashed in my grip, screaming, pounding on my chest hard enough to cause pain.

  “I-I-I-I doh-don’t-don’t n-n-n-nnnn…don’t remem-mem-mem…remember what he luh-luh-luh-looks like. I don’t r-r-r-rem-rem-remember!” She shook in my arms, trembling violently.

  That was the most she’d spoken in more than a week.

  “We’ll find you a picture of him, okay? I’m sure your parents have one. We’ll get one. I’ll go there right now, if you want. ”

  “Everyone’s forgotten hi-hi-him,” she whispered. “Eev-eev-even Kate…and m-m-mmmm-me. Everyone. He’s guh-guh-gone, like he never w-w-wwww-wuh-was. ”

  “You remember him, honey. You do. You remember what he was like. You remember who he was. ” I had her wrapped tightly in my arms, and she’d stilled, barely breathing now. “When my grandpa died, I had this same fear. I loved Grandpa so much. He was Mom’s dad, and he was my favorite person in the whole world. He lived up north, between Grayling and the Mackinaw Bridge. He had, like, twenty acres. He had horses and dirt bikes and all this awesome stuff. I’d go up there for weeks at a time during the summers, and he’d let me do whatever I wanted. We’d go hunting and fishing and four-wheeling, and I’d stay up till midnight every night. Then one day he died. All of a sudden, just gone. He had a heart attack and died, just like that. I cried for days. Dad kicked the shit out of me for crying, but I didn’t care. I loved Grandpa, and he was gone. Then, like a month after he’d died, I had this panic attack. I couldn’t remember what he looked like. I thought it meant I didn’t love him, or that I’d forgotten about him. It was the only time Dad was anything like helpful. He told me you have to forget what they look like. Otherwise, you can’t learn to live without them. Forgetting is your brain’s way of telling you it’s time to try and move on. Not forget who they were, just…keep living. ”

  Becca seemed to shrink even further. “Why did he lee-l-l-l-leave me? Why, Jason?”

  How did you answer that? Telling her that I thought he’d taken the coward’s way out probably wasn’t a good idea. His suicide was confusing and tragic, and it had f**ked up so much for so many people. Like both Becca and Kate, I was angry at Ben. It felt wrong to feel that way, like I wasn’t being compassionate enough, but it was the raw truth of how I felt. Times like this, when Becca was falling apart, I hated Ben for killing himself.

  “I don’t know, Beck. I wish I did. ”

  She lapsed back into silence then, and eventually fell asleep in my arms. I laid her down on the bed and covered her with the blankets. She stayed asleep all that day. The next day was Monday, and when she showed no signs of stirring from bed by eight in the morning, I called the law office and told them she was sick and couldn’t come in. I think they understood what I meant when I said “sick,” because they didn’t argue or ask any questions.

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  I left her in bed to work out, hoping when I got back she’d be up and doing something, but she wasn’t. She was still in bed, but awake, staring at the ceiling. I stood in the doorway, watching her, unnoticed, for a long time. My heart was breaking for her, for us. She’d completely stopped living.

  “I think you need to start seeing Dr. Malmstein again,” I said.

  Becca glanced at me, furrowed her brow, and then shook her head dismissively.

  “You made me go when Kyle died. Remember that? Do you remember what you said? Do you remember what Nell went through because she wouldn’t let anyone help her?”

  “Leave me alone, Jason. ” She said it clearly, bitterness lending her fluency.

  “No, Beck. I can’t do that. You know I can’t, and you know I won’t. ”

  “Going to drag me in?” she asked.

  “If I have to. ” I sat on the bed in front of her, and let her roll away from me. “I love you too much to let you do this, Rebecca. ”

  She glared at me, then; she hated being called Rebecca. “Just s-s-stop. ”

  “No. I’m sorry. ” I tossed the covers away from her, scooped her up in my arms, and carried her into the bathroom.

  She didn’t fight as I set her on the toilet lid, but she watched me warily. I reached into the shower and turned it on, let the water run hot, and then adjusted it.

  “W-w-w-what are you…” She trailed off as I closed the shower curtain and then shied away from me as I tugged up the T-shirt she’d slept in. “No! J-Jason, s-s-sss-stop!”

  I lifted an eyebrow as she jerked away from me, crossing her arms over her chest. “Becca, either get in the shower, or we’re going to do this the hard way. ”

  She lifted her chin and pressed her lips together. “Leave me alone. ”

  I sighed. “I love you, Rebecca Noura de Rosa. I will not let you stop living. ”

  She wavered then, her chin quivering, her eyes shimmering, but she tightened her arms over herself and shrank into the corner of the bathroom. I grabbed her by the hips and pulled her against me, wrapping my arm around her waist and pressing my lips to her cheek, whispering.

  “Last chance, babe. You’re going in, like it or not. ”

  She rested her forehead against me. “P-please, Jason. Just give me some time. ”


  “If I saw you making an effort, I would. But you’ve just shut down. I don’t know what else to do. ”

  “So you’re going to f-f-force me to t-t-take a sh-sh-shower?”

  “I’m taking you to see Dr. Malmstein. She has an opening in one hour. I checked. ”

  “And ih-ih-ih-if I refuse to go?”

  “I’ll carry you. I’ll sit with you in that office for an hour at a time for as long as it takes. You know Dr. Malmstein helped both of us. You’re the one who said we needed to talk about it. Now you need it. You need to tell someone who knows what to say. You have to deal with it. Please, baby? For me, if not for yourself?”

  “Would you break up with me if I didn’t go?” She whispered the words into my tank top.

  “Nothing you could ever do would make me break up with you. Except cheat on me, maybe, but you wouldn’t do that. ”

  “Never. Never. ” She finally turned her face up to mine. “I love y-y-you. More th-th-than anyth-th-thing. ”

  “Then get help. Please, Becca. ”

  “I’m scared. ”

  I frowned in confusion. “About what?”

  “Of being told it’s wrong to hate him. To be so f**king angry at him. ” She spoke through clenched teeth, scripting her words with care. “I’m afraid that I’ll…end up like Nell. Hurting myself just to feel anything else. I want that, sometimes. I get why she did it now, Jason. I do. ”

  My heart constricted, and my stomach twisted. “Have you? Cut yourself?”

  She shook her head, meeting my eyes so I’d see she was telling the truth. “No, I s-s-s-swear. But I-I’ve thought about it. ”

  “All the more reason to go see Dr. Malmstein. ”

  The bathroom was wreathed in steam by that point, and it skirled between us, fogged the mirror, and dampening our clothing. Becca hesitated, then pushed away from me and peeled her shirt off, then her underwear, and stepped into the shower. I sighed in relief as she started washing her hair.

  Maybe she would be okay. Maybe.

  * * *

  Jason

  July

  She made slow progress. She saw Dr. Malmstein once a week, and I was pretty sure she did most of her talking there, because she still rarely spoke to me, or to anyone else. When she did, she was fluent, but that was little comfort. She was writing again, which was a relief. At least she was expressing herself. We’d started our senior year, and she was pushing herself at her usual pace, but it seemed automatic, out of habit.

  We hadn’t had sex since the day of Ben’s funeral. I hadn’t wanted to push her, pressure her, rush her. I was going crazy from need, but I knew she was hurting and I was trying to be understanding. I didn’t say anything, didn’t try to instigate it. She was still very much in her own headspace most of the time, and when I did engage her, she responded only as necessary.

  I woke up one morning well before dawn. Gray light filtered in through the open blinds facing the street. Becca slept beside me, hair spread in dark waves on the white pillow, her features at peace for once. She lay on her back, face turned to me, breathing slowly and evenly, chest rising and falling. I rolled to the side, facing her, and rested my hand on her belly briefly, then traced her jawline. She stirred but didn’t wake. I sidled closer to her so my legs brushed hers under the blankets, and let my hand roam her arm beneath the sleeve of her T-shirt, then to her thigh. I brushed the shirt up a little, needing to just feel her skin, feel her warmth. I caressed her hip, then moved up her side, across her ribs.

  I heard her breathing shift, and turned my eyes to hers.

  “Don’t stop,” she murmured.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up. ” My hand was frozen on her hipbone.

  “It’s okay. Keep…keep touching me. L-l-like you were. Please. ” She rolled so she was angled toward me.

  “I’m not trying to…start anything you’re not ready for. ”

  She placed her hand over mine, and I saw tears in her eyes. “I thought…I thought you didn’t w-w-w-want m-me…anymore. Because I’m too fuh-fuh-fucked up. In my heh-heh-head. ”

  I felt salty heat burn my eyes. A lifetime of conditioning kept the tears from falling. “Baby. No…no. I haven’t…. I thought you didn’t want…” I took a deep breath and focused. “You’ve been hurting. I didn’t think you wanted to. ”

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  “I don’t—I don’t know. I haven’t, I guess. ” She tangled her fingers in mine and slid our joined palms across her belly. “But now I need you. I need to n-n-know you still want mmm-me. ”

  Usually she would take over at that point. I loved it when she did that, when she showed me with such fiery domination how much she wanted me, how much she loved me. She was so demure, so quiet and proper in most other situations, that when she cut loose in the bedroom, it drove me wild.

  Now I realized she needed something else, something different. She needed me to show her the way back.

  I started with a kiss. I moved closer, my front to hers. Not over her, but face to face, on our sides. I slid my lips across her cheekbone, ghosted down to the corner of her mouth, kissed her there first. She gasped gently and held her breath, her hand resting on my ribs, the other tucked up between us. I grazed her lips, her silk merging with my chapped ridges, rough against soft. Heat and moisture met my mouth, and I ever so hesitantly moved our lips together, sealing our mouths.

  She didn’t return the kiss; she lay frozen beside me and let me kiss her, let me probe her slightly parted lips with my tongue. I pulled away, cupped her face in my palms, and kissed her again, deeper this time, more confidently. Her fingers curled against my skin, and now she finally moved her lips against mine, opened to my kiss and began to return it.

  I pushed her slowly to her back and followed so I was leaning over her. She splayed her palm on my shoulder, the other on the nape of my neck, and she kissed me back.

  Desperation built inside me, but I pushed it down, kept it bay. Gray blushed into hazy pink, and still we kissed, making out like we did in the days before the lines were crossed. I kissed her, and put all my love into that kiss, all my need. I kissed her to show her how much I missed her. She’d been there physically, but had been absent emotionally. Now she was coming back to me, and I kissed her in welcome.

  Her fingers clutched my hair, clawed against my spine. Then her calf snaked around mine, and it was time to push the lines again. I slid her shirt up, up, parted the kiss to pass the cotton between us and over her head, set it aside. Nothing beneath but taut, firm, dusky flesh. Peaked ni**les and the inward curve from breast to hip, br**sts pulled to either side by gravity, heavy, areolae wide circles darker than her flesh. She held the back of my head with both hands as I pressed a kiss to her shoulder, slid my lips across her skin to the rise of one breast. Her breathing caught, and I kept going. I dragged my tongue across her pebbled nipple and felt it rise beneath my lips, going erect under my breath. I thumbed her other nipple erect, circled it with the pad of my thumb, then scraped my fingernail across it gently as I pinched the other with my lips and teeth.

  “Jason…” she breathed.

  I wasn’t sure what she was begging me to do. “Tell me what you want, baby. ”

  “Give me…m-m-more. ” She rubbed my calves with hers. “Give me…sh-show me…more. ”

  I slid my mouth to lave kisses on her other breast, rolling her nipple between my lips. Then lower. I kissed between her br**sts, the undersides, then lower. I kissed her belly, over her navel, each hip. And then lower.

  I knew the moment when she realized my intentions when she drew her knees up to either side of me, framing me in the “V” of her thighs. She spread herself open to me, eager for anything I could give her. She wanted to feel, to escape, to be lifted away from the earth for a while, to lose herself in the waves of ecstasy.

  So that’s exactly what I planned to give her. Wave after wave of escape, until she begged me stop.
r />   I trailed feathery kisses along her thigh, up to her knee, crossed empty space and kissed her other knee, ran my tongue down the inside of her leg to the hollow between hip and folds. She arched her back slightly, a silent encouragement. I kissed her lower lips, spreading them with my mouth and driving my tongue inside her. She moaned in relief, clutching my head in her hands. I kissed her there slowly, sucking her clit into my mouth and flicking it with my tongue, licking upward and circling. When she began to buck beneath me, I slowed to soft, fat swipes of my tongue up her folds, and then gradually increased my pace until she was desperate beneath me once again.

  And then I slowed.

  She tangled her fingers in my hair and pulled me against her. “Please, Jason. Please. ”

  I gave it to her. I let my mouth and tongue match her wild thrashing pace, her hips lifting off the bed, her moans turning to ululating screams as she came. When she crushed my head with her thighs, I slid my fingers between our bodies and searched her opening, finding wet warmth.

  The warmth resisted, though, and I pushed gently inward.

  “Wrong…wrong place,” she murmured, gasping in shock, almost laughing.

  “Oh…oh, my god, I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t…don’t stop. It’s…I l-like it. ”

  I froze in surprise. This was something we’d never discussed, never tried. “Are you sure?”

  “God, yes. Just don’t stop. More. Every—everything. More. ”

  I flicked her clit with my tongue, and she arched off the bed, whimpering. Gently, hesitantly, I let my longest middle finger probe her tight opening. Becca moaned and shifted her hips, pushing downward. An encouragement. I pulsed my finger slightly, not pushing in, but testing her resistance. She whimpered and then gasped with her mouth open wide as I gradually insinuated my finger into her rear opening. My mouth worked on her clit, slowing and speeding as she bucked against me, driving my finger deeper into her. I felt her muscles constrict around my middle finger, rippling in tightening waves, and then she cried out in a breathless scream that turned to a full-voiced shriek as the orgasm washed over her. She came, and she came, and she came. Every contraction of her muscles worked my finger deeper, and with every inserted centimeter she widened her legs and shifted her hips lower. I laved her folds with relentless hunger, not letting her down from the second orgasm. Becca’s rocking hips and whimpering screams slowed slightly as the orgasm retreated, and then increased again as a third climax took hold. She was panting and barely able to moan by the time the third round of waves ended.

  “I need…y-you. ” Becca pulled me up to her level, crushed her mouth to mine.

  “Do you taste yourself?”

  “Yes…”

  “I like the way you taste. ”