Catch My Fall: A Falling Novel

by Jessica Scott

  It all comes out in a rush. I'm surprised by the violent spike of rage and frustration that burns in my chest at the words. At the utter and complete bullshit that the Army made of my life. "I was actually fine before and during Iraq. But I got hurt. And it fucked with my head and I made some really bad choices. I guess the powers that be decided I should pay for them for the rest of my life."

  He's still not writing anything down. He's not flicking the pen. Or even moving. "Jesus, Kels. I…"

  "Didn't know. I know. I didn't tell anyone. I mean, it’s not the kind of stuff that comes up in regular conversation."

  He's grinding his teeth so hard it looks like his jaw might crack. I really wish I could distract myself away from the ache in my chest but it's pounding in time with my heart. Dark and violent and filled with anger.

  I turn my wrist over, looking at the om symbol there. Trying to focus on everything I've learned and done in trying to deal with the chaos that is my life. Deep breaths. In through the nose. Slow. Release. Again.

  But the frustration remains. It doesn't ease back.

  His hands slide around mine. I breathe deep, drawing on the strength in his touch. I look up at him. Wishing I could see myself the way he sees me.

  But I can't.

  Because the way he sees me is built on memories of who I used to be.

  Not who I am now.

  Deacon

  "Do you realize how amazing you are?"

  She smiles but it's kind of watery and forced. "I know, I'm good between the sheets."

  I laugh because she needs me to. "Besides that."

  "Deacon, I know what you're going to say. But that stupid medal doesn't mean jack shit at the VA. My characterization of service isn't honorable."

  I want to shake her. To rail at the system that's put her in this situation, where she needs treatment and has to deal with the bullshit at the VA to get it. "I thought they changed the rules," I say when I'm sure I can talk without letting the anger in my voice escape.

  "This VA hasn't gotten the memo. Something about they're waiting for guidance from higher up. But that's even assuming they have me in the system. I've been fighting with the VA for months about just trying to get them to keep me on file." I scowl, confused. "They keep deleting me from their database. Or never adding me. One way or the other, I don't exist for them."

  I push out a hard breath, rubbing my thumb over the om tattoo she'd explained to me the other night. She shivers beneath my fingers.

  I close my eyes at the rage and frustration and utter helplessness that claws at me.

  "There's nothing to do," she says after slipping one hand free from mine and taking a sip of her coffee. "Well you've got at least one story to put in your paper that ought to punch people in the guts."

  I'm still stuck, locked in the past. Remembering.

  I am absolutely still.

  She's tossing her stuff into a reusable grocery bag. Her bra is hanging from the lamp near the bed. My bed is filled with the warm smell of sex and her shampoo and tequila.

  "What are you doing?"

  She doesn't look at me.

  "Leaving."

  I try to stand up but I'm still drunk. The room spins wildly and I sit back hard on the bed.

  I try again and succeed this time, staggering toward her. "Why?"

  "Because."

  I'm drunk enough to get pissed.

  "That's not really an answer."

  She doesn't say anything.

  I grab her arms. "What the fuck is your problem?"

  She yanks away. "Don't." Snatches up the small bag. "I need some space. I can't do this anymore."

  "Is this about me leaving? I don't have a fucking choice. The Army put me on orders."

  She snatches her bra off the lamp and slaps it into the bag.

  "I can't do this right now."

  "Are you fucking kidding me?" I wheel away, spinning wildly and slam my fist into the wall by the bedroom door. "I'm so sick of these fucking games." My words are a shout, violent and tainted with hard liquor.

  She slings her purse across her body.

  "You're just going to leave?"

  She pauses by the door. "It's what you're doing. I'm just doing it first."

  The door closes behind her.

  Just before the bottle of tequila explodes against it, shattering into a thousand golden shards of liquid and glass and pain.

  "Hey."

  Her voice penetrates the memory but the hurt is still there, tight around my heart, squeezing my lungs.

  I rub one hand over my mouth. Shame rips at me, tears at my heart.

  "You're not really processing this very well, are you?" Her words are meant to soothe but the rage beneath my skin is too hot.

  "No, not really."

  I rub both hands over my mouth now.

  "Which part?"

  "All of it?"

  "This isn't yours to be upset over. It's in the past. I can't fix it. I can't change any of it."

  The rage crawling beneath my skin snaps free. "So you're going to just do fucking yoga and hope that the VA eventually lets you see a real doctor and hope that you don't get really fucked up in the head in the meantime?"

  "I've already been fucked up in the head. Spent eighteen months getting acquainted with it, thanks very much. How I chose to try and put the pieces back together was rather a matter of necessity."

  "Kels, this is a fuck-ton more serious than chanting in some yoga class can fix."

  She holds up her palm. I see the little om symbol at the base of her wrist. Her voice is as steady as her hand. "You can be angry at the Army, the VA. You can be frustrated with the system and with me, for that matter. But don't attack something that is fundamentally really fucking important to me because it's something you don't understand."

  Part of me, the part of my brain that realizes I'm falling into old patterns and terrible habits, is screaming at me to shut the fuck up before I drive her away.

  But the rest of me is really not being rational right now. “This is your solution?”

  “It’s the best I’ve got,” she says quietly.

  I look at her, dumbfounded at the shit show she’s managed to overcome. At the calm way she told her story, as if it had happened to someone else.

  At the calm way she walked away, protecting herself from the toxic hurt I brought back with me from Iraq.

  I can’t do this right now. I walk away. Leaving my notebook. Leaving my backpack. My feet carry me away, but the weight of my sin is lead pressing on my shoulders.

  She’s always needed more from me.

  And I was never man enough to give her what she needed.

  Fuck, I never even noticed any scars. Not now and definitely not when I first came home.

  All I wanted to do was keep fucking like we’d done in Iraq.

  The memory of the night she left slams into me. I never asked if she was okay after the attack. We never once talked about it.

  How I expected her to fuck my brains out until I moved away. How I expected no attachment sex. In Iraq. Back at Hood.

  How I failed her in every single fucking way possible.

  And she still let me back into her life.

  It hits me then. Powerful and raw and ragged.

  It’s not her who hasn’t let go of the past.

  It’s me.

  27

  Deacon

  It’s been far too long since I’ve sat in the silence of my apartment. Walking away from Kelsey in the library was a dick move but sometimes, space is the only right thing to do.

  Sometimes, shit is too raw, too overwhelming to put into words.

  For the second time in my life, the magnitude of my selfishness has hurt someone I care about.

  I rub the scars on my chest, hidden beneath the branches and the crow tattooed there.

  I was drunk that night. Just another junior in high school who thought the rules didn’t apply to him. I still wonder if Kyle would be alive if I hadn’t dared him to race
Mitch on that old strip of road.

  I never talked to Mitch about that night. I just graduated and joined the Army, getting the fuck out of that Michigan town as fast as I could.

  I heard he died a few years ago. A toxic mix of pills and alcohol.

  I wonder what would have changed if I’d had the fucking courage to talk to him about that night. To just say I’m fucking sorry.

  I guess maybe that’s why I don’t talk to many people from high school any more. The memories kind of suck.

  Guess it’s true that those who don’t learn from the past are bound to repeat it.

  I never asked Kelsey if she was okay. Never asked her to talk to me about the firefight.

  I was so used to her having her shit together downrange, I assumed she wanted the same thing I did.

  I assumed she was fine with drinking and fucking and me leaving her behind when the Army put me on orders.

  I scrub my hands over my face.

  And despite all of that, she let me back in. Once again, she was the stronger one. She had the fucking courage to let me back into her life.

  I didn’t mean to lash out at her about the yoga. I was just too overwhelmed that it was something she could seriously use to work through…all of that. The VA needs to do its fucking job. It can’t keep using bad paper to keep denying vets services.

  An idea slams into me and I pull out my phone, dropping a note to Professor Blake. I finally know what I’m doing for my thesis. I just need her help to maybe pull this off.

  Because Kelsey deserves better than what the VA has given her.

  She deserves better than what I’ve given her.

  She is everything I want.

  She’s so much better than I deserve.

  Kelsey

  Despite the terrible ache in my chest, I go to work. I don't want to. I don't want to see Deacon.

  I don't have the energy to process why he walked away, leaving everything behind. He’s lucky I’m not pissed at him and I gathered his bag up, bringing it with me to The Pint.

  I mean, I'm the one who got fucked over by a bomb, a shitty surgery, and a bastard brigade commander. I should be the one who's pissed.

  But maybe I've spent enough time down in that pit. Maybe it doesn't have any power over me anymore.

  It's strange, not being angry about it. In my mind, I'm holding the anger, cupping it in my hand. Dusting it off a little bit and putting it away, a little less powerful than it once was.

  "You're quiet tonight." Eli pours a mixed drink and shakes it.

  "Just thinking."

  "Does it have to do with the reason Deacon's not at work tonight?"

  A heavy sigh. "Got it in one."

  "Are either of you going to quit on me?" he asks, sliding the glasses he’s poured across the bar to a customer.

  "I'm not planning on it. I rather like free drinks any time I need them." Except that tonight, I haven't had a single drink. The urge just isn't there.

  Eli turns to face me, his expression serious. "Look. I love you and I love Deacon. But I fucking hate seeing you two hurting each other like this."

  I press my lips into a flat line. "Turns out, he doesn't have healthy anger management techniques."

  Eli grunts. "Today in No-Shit-Sherlock. Most of us don't."

  "I've actually been working on mine."

  "Yeah, Parker told me she's going to start going to yoga with you."

  I close my eyes against the stab of hurt that lances through my chest. I'd been looking forward to doing more classes with Deacon.

  "Nalini’s is a really great studio. Lots of awesome classes."

  The bar is quiet tonight. Eli looks around it, then sighs. "So are you guys finished or just fighting or…?"

  "I don't know." I pour a drink and give Eli the quick recap of the afternoon.

  "Jesus, Kelsey, why didn't you ever say anything?"

  I toss back a shot of whiskey. "Really? You know how hard it is to feel like you're part of this group? I'm supposed to waltz in and be all ‘yeah, had my reproductive organs blown out. Fucked with my head pretty good.’" I shake my head and pour another shot. "I handled it the best way I could. I've been handling it better since I got here and since I got all of you in my life. I've been working on it. And for Deacon to flip his shit for reasons I'm still trying to decipher…I'm not okay with that. I've got enough of my own shit to carry around. I don't need his, too."

  Another shot and I close my eyes as it burns all the way down.

  The next thing I know, Eli's hands are on my shoulders, pulling me close into a solid embrace. I rest there for a second, knowing he's my boss, knowing in my soul that he's the big brother I never had and better than anyone the universe probably would have given me.

  "You don't have to be strong all the time, Kelsey." His voice rumbles beneath my ear and I finally push back, away from his support.

  "I know. Trust me, I've had my share of weakness. I'm tired of it, to be honest. I'd like to be a little stronger, if it's all the same to you."

  He grips my shoulder, over the first lotus I had inked into my skin, celebrating thirty days of not falling apart. "You're the strongest person I know."

  I offer a half-grin, still to this day unable to take a simple compliment. "Thanks," I say and turn to the dude who’s just walked in with a woman way too young for—"Holy shit! First Sarn't Sorren?"

  I'm around the bar in a flash, pulled into a massive hug. "You look like shit," I tell him.

  "Yeah, well, nice to see you, too," he says roughly. "What's with all the fucking tattoos, Ryder? Don't answer that." He turns to the young woman with him. "Jamie, this is Kelsey. I trust her with my life. But if you don't want me to have another heart attack, please for the love of God, don't get any fucking tattoos."

  She reaches her hand toward me, rolling her eyes at her dad. "I'm Jamie."

  "My daughter," he adds.

  I share the eye roll and shake her hand then turn back to my first sergeant. "Nice to meet you. What are you doing here?"

  "Campus visit with the offspring. Sarn't Major training down at Bragg the rest of the week."

  I can’t contain my excitement and surprise at his announcement. "They're promoting you?"

  "I know; they haven't figured out their gross overestimation of my abilities. But apparently since none of you degenerates died on my watch under the rear d…" He shrugs, palm open. "Anyway, we've been touring campus all day."

  "This is my first pick school," Jamie says.

  "It's a really great campus," I tell her. "If you come here, definitely look me up. I'll help you get settled."

  First Sarn't sighs happily. "Exactly what I was hoping you'd say. Keep my little girl safe and keep me from having to mainline nitroglycerin pills. Win-win all around." He frowns. "Where's shit-for-brains?"

  On cue, my phone vibrates in my back pocket, and I pull it out to check the text the vibration signals.

  All the blood rushes from my face as I look up at First Sarn't. My voice breaks as I whisper, "In the hospital."

  28

  Deacon

  If there is a hell, it's found in the emergency room. There’s a machine that triggers the blood pressure cuff around my upper arm to randomly inflate and cut off the circulation to my fingers. The stench of disinfectant is pungent. It’s eerily quiet on this side of the ER. Apparently, I was moved to the brain injury side of the house where it’s supposed to be quieter.

  I guess the silence and the dark is supposed to help with brain injuries and shit but it’s creepy. I’m glad I’m not alone.

  I'm still not really sure how First Sarn't Sorren convinced them to let him back here but damn it's nice to have company.

  He’s been sitting with me in this hell for the last three hours and hasn't said a word. He just walked in, as big and badass as I remember him and sat down, scaring three little kids and a meth addict.

  "You know, being here really triggers my PTSD," he says after a while.

  A lady in the next bed
looks at him like he's lost his mind.

  "Ouch, don't make me laugh. It hurts to breathe." I choke back a wet laugh as he pulls the curtain between us. "That's so fucked up."

  "I wish I was kidding. I fucking hate hospitals. You'd think I'd be better at this shit by now."

  I glance over at him. "Things still rough back at Hood?"

  "Worse than when you were there. Nothing has slowed down. The troops have been at the breaking point for years. No one cares because it's not their kid and not their war."

  I rub my hand over my mouth, trying not to wince as the movement jars my bruised ribs. "Why do you stay?"

  "What else am I going to do, hand out stickers at Walmart?"

  The idea strikes me as absurdly funny for some reason and I start to laugh until the tears leak out, partly because of the pain and partly because the visual of him in a blue Walmart vest is really fucking funny.

  "I'm good at this Army shit. I'm good at teaching kids how to kick in doors and pull security. As long as there's a war going on, I'll stick around. At least until I piss off the right colonel or general officer."

  When I can breathe again without hurting my cracked ribs, I finally start talking. "It's funny. I spent so much time running away from the Army, I never really thought about everything I gave up when I left it."

  "Yeah, well, you're not missing much. Instead of sitting in a hospital in Durham, you'd be sitting in the ER at Darnall. Some things haven't changed."

  "Why aren't we doing better at this shit?" I finally ask him.

  He leans back into the chair and sighs hard. "Lots of reasons. Too many to unpack in an emergency room soul-baring session." He closes his eyes. "Kelsey is pretty pissed at you right now."