Before I Fall

by Jessica Scott

  We needed deploying fighters, not people sitting on the shrink's couch.

  God, but I wish I'd sat on that couch. Just once. Just to get an azimuth check. Was I still normal? Would I ever be again?

  "I think we need to assess whether the benefits you receive from these medicines outweigh the risks."

  It's not an answer I want to hear. Some docs will do anything to keep from prescribing medication. Others are pushing pills on you the minute you walk through the door.

  I leave with a fresh prescription ready to be filled.

  I have referrals to a pain clinic. And the burn clinic. And the psych clinic.

  Fucking great.

  I should have gone to Stats. I probably would be feeling less crazy.

  Chapter 19

  Beth

  I'm in that weird space that's not a breakup, but the fresh and shiny newness is dull and damaged.

  I'm tender today. I know in my heart that Noah wasn't lying about the doctor's appointment, but I can't shake the feeling that something is very¸ very wrong.

  "Don't tell me the honeymoon is already over?" Abby leans forward in the mirror, dabbing her index finger beneath one eye.

  My hands are tight in my lap, my fingers twisted together. "I'm not sure."

  She turns and leans against the sink. The small bathroom we use to change for work is empty except for us.

  I'm not sure I want to talk about it. I'm not sure what to say. We didn't have a fight. There was no disagreement. We were fine and then between one moment and the next, we weren't.

  "Have you talked to him?"

  I shake my head. "He canceled his tutoring today."

  "Is he sick?"

  "I don't know."

  She folds her arms over her chest and makes a tsking sound. "I never figured that you'd fall this hard this fast."

  "I'm not sure falling is what happened."

  "Sure it is. He's missed one day with you, and you're acting like someone just stole your puppy and threatened to sell it on eBay."

  I smile, if only to try and get the subject changed. "So can I ask what you've got planned for me Friday?"

  "What's your favorite color?"

  "Black tie doesn't exactly scream color options."

  "Something sophisticated. I think a deep emerald green would be an amazing color on you."

  "Abby, at this point, I'll be happy to not look homeless."

  She beams at me in that impish way that tells me she has a plan. If I didn't know her better, I'd be worried, but Abby's plans always have a way of working out. I don't know if it’s her constant optimism or just plain good luck, but she's definitely got a knack for miracles.

  I'm not worried about what she's going to come up with. No, I'm distracted by thoughts of a guy that has taken my world and turned it inside out.

  My shift goes by in a blur. I smile and make all the appropriate conversation, but my mind is a million miles away. I want to leave and call him. I want to know if he's okay.

  There is a part of me that hates him for making me worry. But I don't have that claim on him.

  That knowledge hurts more than his distance. The knowledge that I let my heart trip over the line and fall for him before I even knew what was happening. It's too fast, too abrupt.

  It's too much everything. I don't know what to do with the aching want inside me.

  The emptiness knowing that he's out there and not with me tonight. When did this happen? When did I become this needful thing craving just a note, a text, something that tells me he's okay? That it's all in my head and everything is okay?

  I want to rewind everything and start over. I want to go back to that first stats session and set down clear boundaries. I don't care if I miss out on the blindingly powerful attraction or the brief moments of peace I've found with him.

  I don't want the hurt. And this hurts.

  My shift ends. Abby hands me a card with a list of things I need to bring tomorrow and tells me to meet her at her place at four with my black patent leather pumps.

  "Hey." She stops me before we step into the darkness. She rides the bus home and her stop is in the opposite direction from where I'm heading. "I'm sure everything is fine. Maybe it's just school stuff."

  "You’re defending him?" I’m surprised because she’s usually the first one to tell me to kick anyone not worthwhile to the curb.

  She shrugs. "I've never seen you like this." She leans forward and gives me a quick hug. "I'd like to see you catch a win for once. You work so hard for everything you've got. Maybe I was hoping this would be easy for you."

  Her words make my throat close off. Like we're already sitting around toasting the demise of another relationship that failed to get off the ground.

  She disappears into the dark, and I stand there a moment, letting her words wrap around me. They were meant as a compliment, but they don't feel like it.

  I tuck my hands into my pockets, peering up at the sky. Only the brightest stars pierce the city lights. My heart sinks a little in my chest.

  I start down the sidewalk. It's damp, and there's a chill in the air. The perfect melancholy night.

  A shadow moves from the darkness and takes shape, stepping into the light.

  I stop breathing. He's okay. But then I see him, really see him and realize that no, he's not okay. He's alive. He's standing there.

  But he is not okay.

  And I don't know what he's going to tell me that will make it better, but I hope that I'm strong enough to deal with whatever it is.

  Noah

  I wish I didn't see the hundred thousand emotions flash across her face. At least half of them are different shades of hurt.

  "I'm the world's biggest asshole." It's a hell of a greeting, but it's the only thing I can come up with.

  She offers me a sad smile. I suppose I deserve a lot worse.

  I toe the cement in front of me, wishing I could come up with some grand speech to explain myself. Something that would make her understand and bypass the pity I never wanted to see in her eyes.

  "Nah," she says. “As assholes go, you’re a relatively small one.”

  I smile despite myself. I want to approach, but I'm stuck to the pavement. I had a plan about what to say when I saw her. A brilliant explanation for being a dick.

  "I know I don't deserve it but would you come with me?" I suck in a deep breath. "There's something I need to show you."

  She starts to shake her head. I step into her space then. Rest my hands on her shoulders. "Please, Beth? Trust me just this once?"

  She presses her lips together in a flat line. She's going to leave. She's going to say no. My fucking psychosis has broken us before we even had a chance.

  She breathes out. A surrender. "Okay."

  I start to speak, then decide against it. Instead, I lead her to my car. She sits quietly as I drive us away from campus toward my place. Her arms are folded over her middle. Protective.

  I can't say that I blame her.

  There's no moon tonight. There's silence but for the crunch of our feet on the gravel walkway to my front steps.

  I close the front door behind us.

  She's standing in my tiny kitchen. Waiting.

  The light over the stove creates dim shadows in the tiny space. I stand there for a moment, uncertainty a live thing in my belly. Knocking my fist against the counter, I finally start unbuttoning my shirt.

  "Noah."

  I can't speak. I don’t stop, though. Button after button, I strip away the protective barrier. The shield that hides my body from the world. From her.

  I know the moment she sees the damage. I hear the sharp intake of breath and the silence that follows. I know what it looks like. I've seen it, of course, but only when I was really fucked up and able to stand the sight.

  I can't look at it sober. At least not as sober as I am right now, which is somewhat more than normal. Without the haze of drugs, the scars bring back all the memories, the smell of burned skin, the terror and panic rippin
g through me as my body burned.

  I want meds now. I’m physically craving the release from the fear twisting in my guts.

  I suck in a trembling breath. I don't know what I'm going to say until the words start.

  "I want to fucking forget the goddamned war." A heavy pause. "I came home. I want to pretend it never happened. That I'm just another college student with nothing to worry about but how to pay for school." I close my eyes. I can't see her looking at me. She deserves to know everything, but even now, exposed and vulnerable, the entire truth remains locked in my throat. "I want to forget it, but it's carved into my skin. For the rest of my life, I will carry this with me."

  I'm terrified of turning around. I can't do it. The fear is raw and cutting and slices through any bit of sanity I've scraped together since I left the army and the war behind.

  I feel her a moment before her hands connect with my skin. Her gentle, soft palms are flat against my back.

  And then I feel it.

  The press of her lips above the damaged skin of my shoulder blade. Her hands slide over the thick scars on my shoulder and bicep. A soothing caress as she finally folds her fingers over my heart.

  "If this was supposed to scare me, you'll have to do better than that." Her words are a whisper across the good skin on my back.

  A ragged sound escapes me. Something that might be a laugh or a sob. I don't know. I'm folding her in my arms, burying my face in the softness of her hair. Relief shudders through me, powerful enough that my eyes burn with it. I can't tell her everything. I can't.

  But she's here. She didn't run away. There's no pity or revulsion in her eyes, or any emotion in between.

  She put her hands on my scars, and goddamn if that didn't heal a piece of my damaged soul. I want to give her everything. My heart. My life.

  Everything but the truth. I can't. Not yet. Maybe, just maybe, I can change what the truth is before I have to tell her about it.

  She cups my face. Her palms are cool and soothing against the fire beneath my skin. I want to say something profound. Something meaningful that she'll remember for the rest of her life.

  But she kisses me. Her lips are soft and warm and moist. She sucks gently on my bottom lip. I'm ragged enough that I can do nothing beneath the sensual slide of her tongue against mine. She shifts and her body is flush with mine. Her hips rock slow and sensuously against me, driving me wild with her tiny rhythmic movements.

  "You scared me," she whispers against my lips.

  My fingers clench against her back. "I'm sorry." I'll probably do it again, but I'm selfish enough to want to keep her with me for one more night.

  I don't think. I lift her against me and she wraps her thighs around my hips. The pressure against my erection is pleasure and pain all at once. I want her naked against me. I want to feel her body beneath me. I want mine to tell her everything that she is to me.

  I stumble to the bedroom, and we fall into the bed. There is no finesse tonight. There is simply tearing clothing and lips and hands on skin.

  And then I'm there, her thighs wrapped around my hips. She's naked and beautiful beneath me. She slides her hands up over the damaged skin on my chest and shoulder to pull me down. Her mouth opens beneath mine and she urges me home. She's sweet and wet and swollen and ready. I've somehow managed a condom, and then she's squeezing me, welcoming me, her body tense and tight and the sweetest sensation.

  I slide from her warmth then back again. Smooth and slow. Her fingers find mine and our hands are bound like our bodies. Palm to palm, skin to skin, the erotic friction burning her into my soul. Her release starts as a tremble, something deep and quiet, building with gasps and that sound I love. I kiss the spot on her throat as she comes apart beneath me and I join her, tearing apart at the seams that are barely holding me together.

  Chapter 20

  Beth

  His heart beats slow and steady beneath my cheek. My own heart nearly drowns out the sound. I don't know what to say to him.

  What is the right response when someone shows you what war has done to their body? I'm sorry feels trite and insufficient. Does it hurt is just stupid and cruel.

  What do I say that isn't patronizing or self-indulgent?

  I press my lips to his heart. "I'm glad you made it home," I finally whisper. Because I've got no other words that come close to the turmoil of emotions twisting inside me.

  He goes still beneath my hand. "I don't know what to say to that."

  I lean up so I can see his face. There is misery and fear there - uncertainty and terrible, terrible pain. I cup his cheek. "You don't have to say anything."

  He frowns a little. "I never really thought about it like that."

  He shifts and pulls me close once more. I go willingly into his arms. It's so much more poignant and special after the day I’ve spent filled with worry for this man.

  There is more he isn’t telling me, but tonight, I've seen what it cost him to show me the damage the war has done to his body. I can only imagine the depth of the scars I cannot see.

  It has taken so much for him to trust me with this. I see that now, and I understand so much more about the man in my arms.

  My eyes burn. Before I fell for him, I wouldn't have considered being where I am at this exact moment. I would not have let myself fall for a soldier, a man damaged by an unnecessary war. I hated the war before because of what it did to my father. I hate it more now that I've seen what it did to Noah.

  My father hates the weakness in his body, and he is a grown man. Noah is my age. Guys our age are busy trying to hookup at parties and going to games and living it up.

  But not Noah. It’s like the war has robbed him of his youth. He is older than his years, the weight he carries heavier than anything I can imagine.

  My body warms again and without thinking, I slip my thigh over his hips, sliding up until I'm straddling him. His eyes widen slightly. His hands rest gently on my hips, caressing my thighs. I slip over him, surprised to find him hard again. My body is slick and wet and ready for him. I slide over his length, the gentlest erotic friction. His stomach clenches as I rock over his erection.

  He presses a condom into my hand. My hips are moving now against him, a riot of sensations against my swollen heat driving me, driving him, wild with unmet need.

  Slowly, I roll the condom into place. His hips jerk as I shift back, the tip of his erection poised just there. I wait until he meets my eyes. Watching, watching, I slowly, so slowly, slide down his length. Inch by inch, I take him inside me. He fills me, satiating the emptiness inside me. He's deep, so deep, inside me. I rock gently, using my body to clench around him.

  His gasp is enough to drive me closer to the edge. His fingers dig into my hips, urging me to move faster.

  I dig my nails into his skin, anchoring myself against him as I lift my hips and then press my body against his again. He groans, and it's the sweetest sound. I want this. I want him. Harder. I want him to take control. To pound into me until he can feel everything I feel when I'm with him.

  We roll and he's there, driving into me, sending me spiraling wide. I reach between us, my fingers finding the exact spot I need and I'm coming again, violent and powerful. A scream tears from my throat and he captures it. The waves crash over me - pulsing, pounding sensations. Powerful, so powerful.

  I dig my nails into his back. Urging him, whispering nothing and everything. Telling him with my body that I'm glad he's home. That he's here and I want nothing more than to be here with him at this exact moment.

  And when he comes, it's a storm, a powerful release that touches the part of my soul I have tried to protect.

  I'm open now, exposed and vulnerable. With a word, a touch, Noah can destroy me. There are no words for what he's done to me. I've fallen and fallen hard for this man.

  There is nowhere I would rather be.

  Noah

  Her body trembles a little when she's in that space between sleeping and waking. I need to get her home, but I don't thi
nk I can move.

  I'm broken. The stone around my heart has been shattered. It's in her hands now. There's nothing I can do to take it back.

  I'm not sure I want to.

  She's seen the damage. She knows at least part of what the war has done to me, and she's stayed. I'm so fucking grateful and overwhelmed, I can't speak.

  I kiss her forehead. She makes a sleepy noise and nestles closer. I love the feel of her body against mine. She makes that sound again. I almost hope she's asleep and I can keep her with me.

  I want to fall into her arms tonight, not Princess Ambien. There's no magical cure for what ails me, but tonight, I have at least the faintest sensation of sleep reaching up and pulling me under without the sleeping pills dragging me down first.

  To sleep, really sleep, is a temptation I'd forgotten how to crave.

  But I don't know how to ask her to stay. I can't tell her I need her. It's not fair to put that on her. Maybe someday. Maybe after I talk to the docs, I'll find another way. And maybe, her dad will be well enough one of these nights that she'll stay.

  But I can't ask that of her. I can't - I won't - make her choose between her father and me. I'll make sure she gets home. Because I might be crazy, but I have a little bit of honor left in me.

  "I hurt you," I whisper. "I'm sorry."

  She slides her palm down until it's resting over my heart. I cover it with my own. The contrast between our hands is stark. Hers have committed acts of caring, of love and devotion. Mine, acts of war. I have been cruel, and not just to the enemy. To Beth, to someone I care about more than breathing.

  "Please say something. Tell me to fuck off and die or something."

  She smiles and makes that sound. "I'm not going to tell you to fuck off and die." A quiet pause. "I don't know what to say. I worried about you."