Risk the Fall

by Steph Campbell

  “Jesus, Sydney,” he gasps. My eyes drop in the direction he’s looking. My hands. My wrists, more precisely. I slide them in between my knees to conceal the bruises, as if he hasn’t already had an eyeful.

  “What the hell happened to your arms?” he asks, reaching for one of them. His touch is soft and careful, but I still shrug out of his gentle grasp and reach for the door handle.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I say, trying to end the conversation before it goes any further.

  “Seriously, what happened?” he demands, more firmly this time.

  “I…” My mind races. I want to tell him the truth – that my boyfriend is insanely jealous of him. That he saw us in the parking lot together and got mad at me. I want to tell him that this is why I can’t be sitting in his car right now. I want to beg him to stay away from me. But I say none of those things.

  “Gymnasts get bruises, Grant. My grips were too tight and I’ve been training really hard…” I stutter off a litany of excuses.

  He narrows his eyes at me, those gorgeous dark eyes full of equal parts doubt and concern. It’s painfully obvious that he isn’t buying it.

  “Really, thank you,” I say stepping out of the car. He continues to stare at me.

  “Sydney…” He starts. He lets out a low breath. “If someone…” he lets his voice trail off again. His hands tightly grip the steering wheel as he stares straight out the windshield.

  I shake my head at him and let out a little chuckle while flashing the most convincing smile that I can muster. I scramble out of the car, closing the door softly behind me and walk slowly up the driveway. I know he’s watching me walk away. I wish he’d drive off and not worry, or even think about me again. I don’t look back as I walk through the front door. I don’t want to see the look of pity in his eyes again.

  There’s a note taped to the refrigerator. Dad and Maisy have gone to Atlanta to do some shopping. I run upstairs to shower and change before Trevor gets here. The water is hot and soothing. I let it wash over my clammy skin, warming me. Calming me. I throw on some jogging pants and a long sleeved t-shirt and dry my hair before pulling it back into a loose ponytail. Finally. I’m home and comfortable.

  The knock at the door startles me. I’ve curled up on the couch and nodded off for what couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, though it was long enough that the house is completely dark when I wake up. I jump up, dazed momentarily and rub my eyes until I realize what’s going on. Trevor is waiting on the doorstep with a small bouquet of peonies, my favorite.

  “For me?” I ask, beaming.

  “Course,” He says. He hands me the flowers and I pull the door open for him.

  “Come in.”

  “Are we alone?” he asks, peering around me into the dark house.

  “Looks that way,” I say with an uncharacteristic flirty grin. I quickly do the math in my head to calculate how much time we have alone based on Friday night Atlanta traffic and what time Dad and Maisy must have left, before leading Trevor upstairs behind me. Trevor makes himself comfortable, sprawling out on my bed while I scan my playlists before choosing Damien Rice. I hurry across the room and into Trevor’s extended arms. It’s a risky move, not knowing exactly what time Dad will be home. But the overwhelming desire to be close to Trevor tonight outweighs the risk. I’m desperate to make the week we’d just had disappear. Trevor touches the hem of my t-shirt and starts to pull it up over my head. Rather than pushing his hand away, I shock him by helping. The warmth of his breath on my skin is electrifying

  I guess because I know what to expect, I’m not so nervous. He kisses me, I kiss back. I let his hand be my guide, and it’s sweet, almost a game. His fingers on my skin are soft and gentle, and he lets out a low groan when his fingers dip below my underwear and I move my hand into the waistband of his boxers.

  “Touch it,” he breathes, his mouth close to my ear, the weight of his body suddenly heavy on my chest.

  “Okay.” I ignore the way my voice wobbles and move my hand down. I touch him, but maybe it’s not what he wanted, not quite right, because his hand is around my wrist suddenly and he’s pressing harder, faster. He pulls back and his mouth is pulled tight. He’s breathing hard, and I feel invisible under him. I feel like all the sweetness just got stomped out of this moment, and I feel stupid for not being able to please him and having him have to use my hand like the rest of me isn’t even connected. “Trevor? Please, can we stop?”

  “Stop what?” He’s in a rhythm now, and when I let my hand go slack, he tightens his fingers on my wrist.

  “This. I’m…uh, it just feels…” I can’t force the words out. I don’t know how to tell him. The first time it all went so smoothly. How do I do this?

  “Sorry,” he mutters, dropping my hand and yanking my underwear down my legs. “I just get so turned on with you. You make me lose my mind, Syd.” His smile is sweet, and I feel a crush of relief. There he is again; there’s the guy I love. He races his fingers up my leg and presses into me, a little fast and hard. I try to suck back the gasp of shock, but I’m not quick enough.

  He misinterprets my pain. “Ready? Oh, you’re so ready. You’re so damn beautiful, Sydney.” His lips are on my neck, pressing so hard on my cheeks and lips, I worry he’s going to bruise me.

  He pulls his hand back and presses into me, quick and rough, his grip tightening on my hips when I try to pull away. He leans his forehead hard on mine and pumps into me, his eyes shut, his teeth barred.

  I stop wiggling, even though I’m not quite comfortable. He’s whispering how good it feels, how much he loves me, and I hate that I can’t be more into it. I want to love it the way I did the first time. I screw my eyes shut and wrap my arms around him, even though I don’t like it. Because I love him. And I know that this is just a stage. Just like my muscles scream and ache when I’m learning a new move, my body isn’t attuned to this yet. But it will be. And I’ll like doing it as much as Trevor does. Right now, it’s for him, but soon it will be for both of us, and I’m fine waiting on that.

  Finally, he’s done, and, even though I don’t have the same glow I did after the first time, I feel satisfied

  “I love you,” he whispers as we hold each other afterward.

  “Love you, too,” I sigh. The crappy week dissolves. This moment replaces it.

  “I’m so sorry about this week,” he says. He traces a line from the middle of my forehead, down my nose and to my chin. I crinkle my nose every time he brushes his finger near my eyebrow, which makes him do it repeatedly.

  “It’s over,” I say.

  “Well, it’s not going to happen again. I love you so much.”

  “I know.” I really don’t want to talk about our fight anymore. “We’d better get dressed. I’m not sure what time Dad will be home.” I sit up and nudge him, then fumble around the dark room for my clothes.

  “Hey Syd, I meant to ask you.” He pauses to pull the v-neck over his head.

  “Yeah?” I’m already dressed and waiting by the bedroom door.

  “Where’s your car?”

  “My car?” I choke out. My stomach lodges itself into my throat.

  “Yeah, it’s not out front.”

  “Ugh, it wouldn’t start after detention,” I say unhappily.

  “That sucks, you should have called me. I would’ve come to get you,” he says. He follows me down the hall with his hands in my back pockets. With him this close, can he feel me trembling?

  “I didn’t have my cell, and I don’t know your number by heart.” I stop at the top of the stairs and look at him, weighing the options of telling him the truth or not. I hold my breath. I know the question that’s coming next.

  “So, how’d you get home?”

  “It was a total conspiracy against me today.” I try to joke. “There was no one left at school, it was all locked up. But Grant was there and he drove me home.”

  Trevor opens his mouth to respond, but I reach up with my small hand and cover his lips with my finger
s. His eyes swirl with anger. Surely he’s not going to let a stupid ride home ruin tonight.

  “Before you get all worked up, he just drove me home. It was pouring rain and I was stranded. That’s it,” I say. I take my hand from his mouth and wink. “You should be glad someone was there to save poor little me.” I try for sweet and flirty.

  I fail.

  He doesn’t say a word. He just glares at me with the same livid eyes that he had that day in the kitchen when he’d found the soup Grant brought over. The flash of anger that I’d found so new and unrecognizable that morning has become familiar.

  “You make me sick,” he says flatly. He shakes his head in disappointment.

  My mouth falls open in shock. Did I hear him correctly?

  “Trevor! That’s not fair. It was just a ride home,” I say. I’d expected him to be upset, but really, what did he expect me to do in the situation?

  “You little slut,” he mutters under his breath. His lips curl around the harsh words. He pushes past me aggressively as he bounds down the stairs.

  I follow. Not because I intended to. Or even because I want to. But because when he pushes past me, I lose my balance and tumble down the steps behind me. I wince at the pain as I somersault down the hard, oak stairs. My head strikes each one with a thud. I throw my arms out to try to stop myself, but it does no good. I continue to fall. Trevor doesn’t stop to help when I finally land at the foot of the stairs. He turns for a split second to stare down at me with a wicked, sickened expression before walking out the front door. He slams it behind him without a word.

  As the door closes, I pull my knees up to my chest and sob. My hair has fallen out of the ponytail holder and has mixed with tears, matting it to my face just as the rain had earlier. Did he really just walk out without even checking on me?

  Everything aches. My head. My ribs. My arms. Even my face hurts. I can’t remember a time when everything felt as out of control as it does right now. Not even after Mom died. That was out of my hands. There was nothing to do but grieve. Now. This. This is my own doing, and I feel completely helpless to stop it.

  The first argument Trevor and I ever had was after we’d only been dating for a month or two, and Trevor had gone to a party with some of his lacrosse buddies. He and I had plans the following day to go into Atlanta. I waited the entire day for him to pick me up. He never showed, and he wasn’t answering his phone.

  When it started to get late in the day, I got panicky that something bad had happened to him. I remember pulling up to his house and being so relieved to see his Range Rover parked outside. At least he’d made it home. My relief was short lived though, and my insecurity took over. We were still new in our relationship and I was still unconvinced that he could actually like me. I was sure that he’d met someone else at the party and that was why he refused to answer his phone. I stood on his porch for a good ten minutes before I worked up the nerve to ring the bell. His mom let me in and she said that he’d been downstairs in his room all day long.

  I felt like such a fool. Of course he’d met someone else. There was nothing special about me at all, and it was widely known that he could do so much better than me. My heart sank when she remarked at what a great mood he was in. He’d had a great night, and he didn’t want to be bothered with me. I thought about walking out right then and there.

  In retrospect, maybe I should have walked away. Cut my losses then. Instead, I stood outside the basement door and knocked lightly, barely a tap. I told myself that if he didn’t open the door right away, I would turn and leave, saving myself the humiliation. But the door flew open and he stood in front of me beaming. I’d never seen him so cheerful.

  “Hey gorgeous,” he said. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me in for a deep, intense kiss. I jerked away from him. Up until that point, the physical aspect of our relationship had been pretty limited, and I was mortified to think that his mom might be within line of sight.

  He led me into the basement and closed the door behind me. Trevor pressed me up against the closed door and quickly found my mouth with his again. His hands wandered places on me that they hadn’t been before then. I wasn’t used to that type of affection. It left me a little out of my mind. I’d almost forgotten why I’d even come over in the first place. And obviously, he wasn’t mad at me. I pulled away from him and he let out a low, sexy moan.

  “Where were you? We had plans,” I demanded, my head still foggy from his kisses.

  “We did?” He looked genuinely confused.

  “Uh, yeah, we did. We were supposed to go to Atlanta today. How could you not remember?” I asked. I watched him process this, looking like he was searching through his memory to try to find the one with our plans.

  “Oh hell, Syd, I’m so sorry. I completely forgot.” He frowned and his features turned boyish and apologetic. I would’ve forgiven anything then just by looking at his sheepish smile.

  Did that level of forgiveness still apply after tonight?

  He reached for me again and pulled me into his arms. Smothering me with warmth. And the smell of Trevor. A little bit of sweat and that same clean-smelling cologne he’d worn since I met him. His arms used to be my protective place. When I pulled back from him though, something was off. It was something about his eyes. They were wide like saucers. His pupils were tiny pinpricks of ink. They didn’t look normal, for sure. I remembered what his mom had just said about his abnormally good mood. All of the little pieces started to click into place.

  “Are you on drugs?” I demanded, cocking my head to the side. I was being completely serious, but he laughed loudly as if I was joking.

  “You are! You’re high, aren’t you?” I said. He continued to chuckle until he looked at me. He saw the seriousness in my face turn to tears. I don’t know why I started to cry. Maybe it was because he was keeping secrets from me. Maybe it was because he was laughing at me. Maybe because I felt like I was losing him. Hot tears streamed uncontrollably down my face. His smile faded, and he looked like he might cry as well. And I was responsible for it. Just like I was the reason for him being so upset tonight.

  “Syd, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.” He put his face in his hands.

  “What did you do?” I demanded. I tried to pull his hands away from his face so that I could look at him, but he wouldn’t budge. He didn’t answer immediately, so I repeated the question.

  “It was just one line,” he said

  “One line? What were you doing, cocaine? Are you completely insane?!” I yelled louder than I probably should have with his parents in the house, but I didn’t care. I stormed across the room and headed for the door.

  He caught my arm and turned me back toward him. Not sternly like he had more recently, he was much gentler with me back then.

  “Please don’t leave. I’m so sorry. I swear it was a one-time thing,” he said. The look on his face made me pity him. I didn’t know how to react to this side of Trevor. I’d only seen the public Trevor that everyone else knew up until this point.

  “I just can’t believe you did that,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say. For the first time, I’d felt disappointed, let down by someone else.

  He dropped to his knees in front of me. Despite my anger and disappointment, I knew he felt bad enough. I tried to pull him back up off of the carpet, but he wouldn’t stand. Instead, he clutched my hands softly in his.

  “Please don’t hate me Sydney,” he said

  “I don’t hate you. I’ll never hate you. Just please get up.” I couldn’t understand why he did what he did, but I wasn’t willing to lose him over one mistake.

  He stood up slowly, almost unwillingly. His hands wrapped soothingly around the back of my neck.

  “I’m so sorry. I won’t let you down again,” he said

  “I know. I believe you.” And I did.

  He leaned toward me, his forehead rested on mine. He looked at me, like no one had ever done before, really looking at me. In to me.

 
“I love you so much, baby,” he whispered.

  I’m pretty sure that my heart stopped beating when he said those words. I’d never expected anything serious with Trevor. Honestly, I hadn’t even really expected him to stick around as long as he had this far.

  No one other than my family had ever said that to me before. And it was the most magnificent statement ever.

  “I love you, too,” I sighed.

  I never told my friends about the fight. I didn’t want them to think badly of Trevor. I wanted them to like him, and approve of him, and us. It felt like if I told, I was betraying what Trevor and I had—or could have. So I kept quiet. Just like I would do now.

  That fight felt like the end of the world at the time. But now, as I sit at the foot of the stairs, it was just a minor hiccup in our past.

  I really have to pull myself together before Dad and Maisy get home. I hobble to the bathroom to check out my injuries. Please don’t let my face look terrible. I can work through the pain of an injury at gym, but I can’t hide my face from Dad, Sam, Quinn … the cameras.

  The left side of my face is already badly swollen; I worry about what it’ll look like tomorrow. My ribs ache, but thankfully, they don’t feel broken. I swipe some thick foundation on my face and mask it all with a thick layer of pressed powder before and rush into the confessional booth. I feel like there’s a time bomb attached to me. I need to get in one more segment before tomorrow when I’m certain my face will look like hell. Besides, if there’s any way to prepare for Dad’s certain round of questioning, it’s in front of a camera.

  I get in a few minutes of mindless jabbering when Dad knocks on the door.

  “Come in,” I yell back. I breathe in deeply and hold it longer than I need to. I wonder if he can see anything yet, especially with the bright lights blazing down on me.

  We talk for a bit. I’m feeling good about my acting skills. We decide to deal with my car in the morning so that neither of us has to go out in the rain. I’ll take his car to gym in the morning. Dad isn’t one for fixing things himself, but he’ll bring it in, and promises it’ll be running by Monday. It’s not until I get up from the overstuffed chair and hobble to turn off the lights that dad notices something is off.