Be Your Downfall

by Lizzie Fox

  My lip trembled, and I felt a lone tear stream down my cheek. I knew what she was saying—she was right. Of course.

  “Do you like him? Even a little bit? At all?”

  A little involuntary whimper escaped my throat, not ready to admit that with just a look he made my knees weak, or his smile made me breathless.

  “You do. Jess… just get to know him. Maybe he’s a dick.”

  “Maybe…” I doubted it.

  “But maybe he is everything you ever, ever wanted, but thought you could never have. Again.” Victoria let out a long sigh. “Blake would absolutely hate the way you’ve tortured yourself over the years. You realize that, right? First, with Adam. Now, with denying yourself something that might make you happy, on the idea that something might happen.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “—no, ‘yeah, buts’. How do you know Blake didn’t send him to you?” Victoria insisted sternly.

  I scoffed loudly. “Oh come on, that’s ridiculous.”

  “Bull. It happens all the time. There is so much out there we don’t understand in the universe. You never know. But one thing I know for sure—he would want you to be happy. Finally. He would be pissed for doing what he did to himself, and even more pissed for how it made you feel, and how you’re torturing yourself.”

  “Yeah… but I’m scared, Vics.”

  She sighed sympathetically. “I know you are. It’s hard to let someone in when you’ve been hurt—truly hurt. But think of it this way. You know, you could easily meet someone else, he would have no signs of depression or suicide or anything and it could still happen? Or there could be an accident. Shit, Jess… there are no guarantees. But at least you know what to look for now. Just get to know him.”

  I blew out a tense breath. “Yeah… okay. You’re right.”

  “Damn straight,” she said, with a chuckle. “Are you okay, then?”

  “I’ll be fine…”

  “Just… give him a little chance, Jess. You know how much you liked him and how much you regretted not getting his number or something before. Now you have your chance again. Don’t let fear and ‘what if’ get the best of you. Okay?”

  I grumbled quietly. “You’re right…”

  “Good. Look, I need to get going. Kieran and I are going to see a movie. But if you need me—just call. Okay?”

  “Yeah. All right.”

  “Good. Bye, girl. See you soon.”

  With a light groan, I tossed the phone onto the pillow. I flipped over until I stared out of the window at the lake slapping against the shore. Slowly, with tense motions I rose, and crossed the room to sit on the little window seat in the corner. Even though it was spring, and it was fairly windy, the lake was full of boats. Boats full of friends and families fishing, or partying or relaxing, and generally just having a good time. Independence Lake was a rather large lake that attracted a lot of people every year. That much I read on the town’s website. I looked upon them with… envy.

  I was thirty-three. I shouldn’t be starting over, my life should be well under way. I should have had another book deal, and this house—or one like it—should be full. Dogs. A cat. Maybe… kids. Well, I definitely wanted kids. Partially, that’s why I put up with Adam for so long. He was someone that could give kids a good home—at least I thought that at the beginning. Of course, they never came. One of us clearly had a problem and Adam refused to acknowledge it could have been him—and it was probably a good thing too, because he was an ass. I was pretty sure a baby, who had no schedule, would really give him issue.

  Blake would have loved it. He would have been the best Dad.

  “Dammit.” The tears started streaming down openly. Thirteen years later here I was, still mourning the loss of someone I couldn’t have any more. Maybe Victoria was right; Blake wouldn’t want this for me. Then again, if he didn’t… why take himself away from me?

  How do you know he didn’t send him to you?

  Victoria’s words slapped across my face.

  Absentmindedly, I went for the small, brown jewelry box on top of my nightstand. It was just a little thing that held just a few little baubles, and one curious object…

  …a shiny quarter with the year of 1984 on it. The same one Seth picked up and gave to me, that night at the Lagoona.

  “Know anyone born in… 1984?”

  “I do, actually.”

  “Then this is probably meant for you. I don’t know how true it is, but I hear spirits sometimes leave coins behind. Probably just a crock, right?”

  No… it couldn’t be. Just an amazing, amazing coincidence.

  I gingerly picked up the coin and turned it over and over again in my palm. Literally, there was nothing special about it, except that considering how old it was, it was remarkably untarnished and shiny. That didn’t mean a thing, though. It could have been part of someone’s coin collection they finally decided to spend. Why anyone would keep something as common as this, I didn’t know.

  I chuckled at myself, tossing the coin in the box and snapped the lid shut, feeling ridiculous. It was no big deal.

  If it was no big deal, then why did you keep it after all this time?

  So many questions, and so many answers I’d never have. And as much as I knew it was time to maybe form some new questions, I couldn’t be more terrified.

  You idiot—there is someone just a few feet away, if you were only smart enough to give it a shot. So much of me wanted to close the distance between us, but the littlest part of me that was afraid was strong, and it held on steadfast. It was a very real fear; coming home, and finding him hurt or worse—dead. By his own hand.

  The image of finding Blake in his brother’s basement—our home—with blood all over the white walls and… well it was so horrific I blocked it out of my mind. I saw the blood, and Blake slumped on the ground and screamed. Kyle, his brother wasn’t home when he died either, but he was by the time I found him, and he came running downstairs before I could get a closer look at him. At the time, I fought him tooth and nail, but now I was glad that he didn’t allow it.

  I didn’t want my last memories of Blake to be what he looked like after his suicide. From the little I saw, it was… gruesome.

  At first… I was horrifically depressed over it. I cried non-stop for about two weeks. I sobbed until I was dry, and too drained from despair and passed out. I didn’t even remember where I was half the time or who was with me, I was so overcome with grief.

  Then, I was angry. So angry. How could he do this to me? What did he think my reaction would be if I found him with his head blown off on the ground, dead? Did he care that little for me that he thought that would be a good thing? Or was he that far gone that he had no idea what was even real anymore?

  Then I was mad at myself. How could I miss that?

  Then back to grief, when I lost the baby. It was like losing him all over again. After that, I just turned numb. I’d open a bottle of wine and drink until I couldn’t feel any more, and then I’d start all over again the next day.

  It was Victoria and Kieran that saved my ass. They were in the beginning stages of their relationship, and they had to give so much of themselves to help me.

  Knowing all of that…remembering all of that…was that a road I really wanted to go down again?

  But, what Victoria said made a lot of sense. She was absolutely right, something could easily happen to anyone at any time. Life had no guarantees. Still… I was terrified.

  I could open up my heart again for a third time, and it could be the greatest experience of my life. Maybe we could really be something special. I mean… in such a short time he already made such a huge impression on me—and I wasn’t just talking about the alcohol spilled all over my shirt. I’m talking about the imprint his sexy eyes and gorgeous smile and velvet voice stamped on me, on my heart. No one since Blake ever left that sort of impression; the kind where you stayed up at night, dreaming of them for hours… how it felt to hold their hand, or what my fingers would feel li
ke running through his hair, or what he smelled like—did he wear cologne? Or was he all natural? How would he taste when we kissed?

  Or… I could come home and find him dead on the ground in a pool of blood.

  I felt hot tears sting like needles under my eyes. I rolled onto my stomach, and clutched the pillow against me, propping it up so I could bury my face in it.

  If only I could bury my fears so easily.

  8

  Seth

  This was not how I pictured my first night with Jessie, the jewel-eyed, beautiful woman who captivated me from across the room at my first show. I figured, if by some miracle I ever found her again we’d come together, and we’d talk and laugh like old friends, and then some. It was the “then some” I liked the most. I’d take her into my arms and kiss her, just like the movies, and then I’d take her home, and never let her leave again.

  Well…that sounded like a stalker. I wouldn’t actually not let her leave, but I’d be seeing her again.

  Now, she was so close—yet so far away. We were under the same roof, for shit’s sake, and we couldn’t be any more distant. The walls she seemed to stick up around her were strong, and seemingly impenetrable.

  So, I was going to have to do something I rarely did. I was going to have to be patient and go slow. Uggh. As much as my heart and my dick alike didn’t like that idea, I didn’t have a choice.

  Normally, I was pretty impulsive. Call it my bipolar nature, but I didn’t see any use in dicking around when I knew what I wanted. And, I wanted Jessalie. I really thought that even in a short time, you could tell if you were going to have at least potential with someone. Call it a spark, call it chemistry, call it instinct. Call it whatever you wanted; wishful thinking even. It was just who I was. I wasn’t a guy that refused to call after a first date because it seemed “needy” or too eager. No, I would call, and lay it all on the line, “So, so and so, this is how I feel, this is where I think things are headed, and that’s where I am. Is that okay? No? All right then, nice knowing you.” It blew up in my face more often than not but at least I wasn’t wasting time with things that weren’t going to work out.

  And someone who couldn’t accept me for who I was: a straight-shooter? Well, not someone that I was going to work out with anyway. Life was too short for such games.

  I knew a little bit of how Jessie felt. I was twenty-six. My birthday was coming up. Anyone I knew from home that I chose to keep any sort of contact with was married, pregnant, or engaged. Here, I was singing in garages and bars for a living, with no real prospects of having a real family. And, as much as I probably wouldn’t admit it out loud, that’s what I wanted.

  The guys were as close to family as I had. My mother I hadn’t seen in years, my father even longer and my sister was… unavailable. The concept of children scared me, but it wasn’t off the table. It just made me nervous as fuck. Not something I had ever had to think of yet. It didn’t sound like the best idea given our family history though.

  Generally, I was just drifting through life, alone. Sure, the band had some success. But what good was it when you couldn’t share it with anyone? I’d spent the better part of my life getting a handle on my illnesses. The bipolar. The PTSD. The panic attacks. The self-harm. This past year, living in Independence Point was a breakthrough. I hadn’t cut in months, and I only had one episode of mania so far.

  Now that I had, was I in control enough to share it with another person? To share with Jessie, who’d already had such horrible experiences?

  Stop thinking that way… you’re in control now, you’re better. It doesn’t ever have to end that way.

  Maybe if I kept telling myself I’d actually believe it. Or perhaps I’d be doing her a favor by keeping my distance.

  “Fuck…” I groaned under my breath to no one in particular. I lay on my back, on the bed in my “new” bedroom, my boxes and things set around the room in various spots; total chaos as usual. Like my brain, like everything in my life.

  9

  Seth

  Five days had gone by since I officially moved in with Jessalie. That was five days of being in “official” roommate status, nothing more. And, I was almost one-hundred percent positive she was avoiding me. Which made the being “patient” portion of our relationship much, much easier.

  Since we both didn’t work traditional jobs, it was quite awkward being in the same house, twenty-four hours a day with someone you were obviously attracted to but couldn’t do anything about. Unrequited desire at its fucking worst.

  The first full day I lived there, Jessie emerged from her bedroom only to take a shower and meet the cable and internet installer. I hung back in the kitchen, pretending to be all macho and menacing at the twenty-something bastard whose eyes kept wandering to her ass, which did look quite nice in a pair of black leggings. We spoke briefly, she got me a key to the house, and we made sandwiches in the kitchen; conversation kept at a polite minimum. After, she went back up to her room to write, shutting the door behind her, and I had band practice that night. After practice, we went out to dinner afterward as usual and when I arrived home, Jessie’s bedroom door was finally open, but she was out like a light, sprawled out on her bed and pillows with her laptop beside her. I felt like an ass watching her, but I did anyway… for just a short time. She slept on her side, with her hair splayed out over the pillows, her steady breath, and a thin strap of her tank top revealing a lot of skin, including a good amount of her breasts which were smashed together and looked extremely inviting. I will not confirm nor deny that I had a raging hard-on after that and needed to take matters into my own hands later.

  The next day she didn’t emerge until well after noon, and she talked to me long enough to say good-morning and ask me if there was anything I wanted from the grocery store in town. I promised her I could get my own food since I would eat her out of house and home otherwise, and that earned a smile. I felt like I’d just won gold at the Olympics after that one.

  That same day the band was recording, though, and it went later than normal because we were trying to speed up some of our existing songs, and it just wasn’t working. New stuff would be required, so the pressure was on. By the time I got home, Jessie was already intently working on her computer with a pair of earbuds in, furiously typing away. Not wanting to interrupt her writer’s vibe, I let her be, and spent the evening by myself watching movies on my laptop while I texted the guys about the band, our songs, or getting the third degree from Shane who wondered if I’d gotten her in bed and scolding me when I confessed I hadn’t.

  The next three days were just as uneventful. Band practice, another brainstorm session for new material that wasn’t working, and finally on Saturday we had a performance in Eau Claire at one of the clubs in town.

  Being patient was a real damned drag. I was going to have to kick it up a notch. Jessie seemed to have more barriers than Fort Knox, and patience wasn’t working.

  Sunday, I was exhausted after a late performance, and I rarely slept well without medication. I’d refused to take any the past five days just in case I had the opportunity to have…well any sort of encounter with Jessie. After several mindless movies, reading part of a book I couldn’t remember now, and thrashing in bed for hours I finally crashed Sunday evening, and didn’t wake up until Monday afternoon. Over twelve hours I slept, medication free because I’d missed so much of it. But, it got Jessie to come in and check on me; I remember seeing the apprehension in those green eyes as she gently touched my shoulder to wake me, and that relaxing exhale when she realized I was okay.

  Unfortunately long stretches of sleep and moodiness weren’t uncommon for me. I had just told her that because of the band demands—writing, recording, shit like that—I was beat all to hell because of it. It wasn’t entirely a lie. I was bushed from it, but mostly I was just trying to sleep off my frustration. Both sexual, and emotional. Patience and I didn’t agree very well. At all.

  Once she realized I was okay she excused herself and went back to
hiding in her room.

  Tuesday was a surprise. She emerged from her room late in the morning, wearing a pair of earbuds and flipping through her phone as she wore a pair of tight black shorts and a gray fitted t-shirt. I wasn’t expecting her as I left my room, going to the kitchen for a snack, and we crashed into each other. I caught her in my arms as she fell into me, and I held her for a bit longer than I should have, but she felt so warm and soft in my arms; a sharp contrast to all the hard lines of my lanky body. When she stared up at me with those inquisitive eyes, I nearly lost it. Unfortunately, the moment ended quickly as she righted herself, and said she was going for a walk.

  When she came home, red-faced from exertion and out of breath when I was downstairs, watching TV on the sofa, my dick promptly stood at attention as my thoughts wandered to wondering if that is what she’d look like pinned underneath me after I made her come. Not one of my finer moments, because she definitely noticed it when she sat down opposite of me on the sofa. I watched her out of the corner of my eye, and she seemed to want to say or do something, but she made no more than small talk with me. I had had enough.

  I pointed the remote at the TV, and switched it off. Turning to her with my arm draped over the back of the couch, I asked with all seriousness, “Okay, Jessalie. I think you’re avoiding me, and I want to know why, or what I did. Because I was under the impression we were going to at least be friends.”

  She blushed under my scrutiny. “You’re right,” she finally said after an agonizing few moments of silence.

  “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No, you didn’t. I just…” She sighed, wringing her hands in her lap, as if she debated what she was going to say to me next. “It’s me.”

  “You?” I asked uncertainly. “I don’t get it.”

  “You wouldn’t.” She replied bluntly but didn’t elaborate.