I Fell In: A mostly true story about lust, redemption, and true love.

by Tiffany Winters

  He opened the door to my car for me without a word, slamming it hard before stalking to his side and throwing himself behind the wheel. I watched as he turned the key in the ignition, wondering if we were going to spend the ride home giving each other the silent treatment. Fine with me; I'm not the one letting Slut McSlutterson make like wallpaper against me. I crossed my arms and stewed.

  The engine running, Tru just sat there, staring at the garage door of the house for a moment before he spoke, his voice raspy with irritation. "I didn't notice she was even standing next to me until she leaned against my shoulder. I was about to move away when you came out of the bathroom looking to draw blood."

  He turned then, his big palm caught my jaw and pulled my face to look at him. His eyes softened even as his voice became steely. "If she touches you or does anything to mess with this beautiful face or body, then I will step in, and I won't be nice about it. Don't care if you're in the right or wrong, either. No one touches you. Don't put me in that position, Jessa. It'll mess with the band. Charlie will be pissed that I've had to put his stepsister in her place, and the family will be up in arms. Save us both a headache, and let it go, baby. OK?"

  I sagged against his hand, pressing my face into his rough palm. I hadn't thought about the aftereffects of getting into a physical fight with Jen. I hadn't thought about hurting anyone, ever, until she continued to push my buttons at every show the band played. But I had to remember they were kind-of cousins, even though Charlie was of the twice-removed variety, and Jen wasn't biologically related to any of them. Family was family. There would be consequences.

  Tru watched me work this out in my head before pulling me toward him. He kissed me gently, the warmth of his mouth a welcome sensation, since the heater in his old car was broken. I could never resist his lips. When he pulled away he was smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that way I loved.

  "Jen could show up to a gig buck naked and beg me to fuck her. If you're in the room, I'd never even notice."

  He kissed me again, soft but quick, and I couldn't help it; his words melted my anger away, and his body, solid and sitting right next to me, reminded me who he belonged to.

  "You are the only one I see. You're the only one I will ever want, baby. She can try, but it's never gonna happen."

  Two years together, six weeks apart, but he was mine again.

  ***

  I'd come over to the house early. It was midwinter term, and the cold weather had taken a toll on the old pipes in the Psych building on campus. When it flooded, classes were cancelled for the afternoon.

  I'd wanted to surprise Tru, but lying on his bed with his scent on the sheets, I'd fallen asleep instead.

  "Such a fucking idiot!"

  I sat up, alarmed at the angry tones drifting up the stairs from the dining room. I crept to the door and opened it, walking to the banister overlooking the stairs leading down, but what I heard next made me stop in my tracks.

  "How was I supposed to know the framing wasn't secure? Matt was supposed to do that part." Tru's deep voice was strained, a combination of intimidated and restrained fury.

  "You cost us at least a week of work, you stupid fuck. We have to re-do everything at no cost, the weather is getting worse, and we were behind schedule in the first place. I knew I never should've brought you on. You've always been a worthless piece of shit!"

  His dad's roar made me flinch. I couldn't imagine what it was like for Tru. I wanted to go to him, but my body wouldn't cooperate. Fear had me rooted to the spot.

  Tru mumbled something. It had to be an apology, since that was what usually placated Pete and got him out of Tru's face. Pete had never been an abuser, at least not of the physical variety. I'd seen him shove Truman or Sawyer out of the way as he was moving out of a room. I'd watched him resist the urge to throw something. He'd even approach menacingly, his eyes narrowed with an anger so deep I wondered if there was any love inside of him for his two sons. But he'd never hit.

  Instead, what he did was worse.

  Icy contempt was what Pete did best. Worse than a physical blow, it had robbed both of his sons the opportunity to become the kind of men who had pride in themselves. They'd never had a role model worth emulating. Grace, being a daddy's girl, managed to escape his wrath. Though I'd worried about her, too. She'd witnessed enough in her short life, I could see its effect on her, as well. What kind of man would Grace be drawn to when she was grown?

  I forced my feet to move toward the stairs. Pete's voice, ragged after years of cigarettes, booze, and unsuccessful restraint, tore up the stairwell again. I shuddered and took another step.

  Dammit. Things had been going so well. Tru had started to sound hopeful about his future. I imagined Pete's voice inside his head had started to fade, replaced by something else. Tru's own voice, perhaps. A voice that told him he could have more, do better, that whatever Pete's opinion of him was didn't mean it was right.

  There's a vulnerability in being optimistic. You have to let go of the old, negative thoughts in order to grasp new dreams. In that period of time between the two states of mind, symbolic palm open, what you have is essentially nothing but air. Truman was at a point in his life, he was right there. Bruises would've healed, but what was happening in that living room would cut Truman so deep I wasn't sure he'd ever recover. My hands curled into fists at my sides, knuckles straining to the point of pain. Pete picked that moment to deal the final blow.

  "Sometimes I wonder if you're even my kid. I mean, maybe your mom was fucking around with some other jock at the same time as me. What do you think, Cosette? You spread your legs for someone else in high school? All this time I thought I was the one to pop your cherry, but this fuckwad makes me wonder if I haven't been snowed this whole time."

  The harsh intake of breath from Cosette matched my own. Truman was the spitting image of Pete. To imply anything else was lower than low. I heard a loud thud, followed by a crash, startling me out of my shock. I raced toward the stairs, no longer afraid of Pete, as much as I was afraid for him.

  Truman wasn't a violent person, but I'd seen him one-punch a smartass or two. There was always someone jealous of his popularity, some idiot wanting to make a name for himself by challenging Tru, thinking they could get away with it because Tru was always such a congenial guy. No one had ever tried twice, and anyone who witnessed what he could do with his fists in half a second never felt the need for a personal lesson.

  I was almost to the bottom step when Cosette yelled for them to stop, her voice agonized as she watched her son and husband put hands on each other. The room came into view. I'd been right about Tru—he was standing stiff, barely breaking a sweat. Pete's mouth was bleeding from the corner, his hair and clothes disheveled, panting as though he'd gone ten rounds. Pete was looking at Cosette while Tru was staring at Pete, tense and ready for more. The final stair creaked as I reached the bottom, causing all three of them to turn toward me. Tru's eyes widened in surprise, right before humiliation flashed across his features.

  Pete pointed his big, beefy finger at Tru. "You fuck up again, boy, and you'll find yourself out of a job and out of this house. I won't have your stupid ass costing me work. Makes me sick to look at you." The volume was lower, but the menace remained, before Pete stormed through the front door, slamming it behind him.

  I approached Tru with caution, relieved his dad was gone, but paused when he raised his gaze to mine. It was all there—the anguish of Pete's rejection, the humiliation at my having witnessed the whole thing. Cosette's hand grazed my shoulder as she passed on her way out of the room, a silent message to me that I should take care of Tru. Anger, hot and volatile, made my cheeks bloom. She was his mother, it was her job to help him understand.

  Whatever was wrong with Pete, whatever had broken him, it wasn't about Tru. She was probably the only person in the world who could convince Tru of that. Instead she was leaving his care to me, the one he loved, but not the one he needed most in that moment.

  I wan
ted to call out to her, to tell her all of this, but I couldn't break eye contact with Tru. "I'm sorry."

  I'd never meant anything more. I was sorry I'd witnessed it, not wanting his humiliation to be more complete than it already was. I was sorry Pete was such a dick and that Tru, who was now his own man, had never had another man look at him with pride in his entire life. I was sorry I could see the progress he'd made slipping away.

  The emptiness in his eyes was unsettling. I put my hands to his face, but he moved his gaze to a spot over my shoulder. I fought the hurt of him shutting me out, after all we'd been through, but I understood he was suffering. I wanted him to look at me, to see it in my face, that whatever bullshit Pete had spewed was just that, and it didn't affect my love for him.

  He put his hands on my hips, and I leaned into him, ready to hold him. Instead he moved me to the side and walked toward the stairs, his steps heavy. I followed him, waiting at the bottom as he continued on ahead of me. When he made it to the top I called to him.

  "Tru?"

  He paused, his back to me, but he turned so I could see his profile. "Yeah, babe."

  I relaxed at his endearment, hoping it was a sign that we'd be OK. I started up after him. "That was...so fucking lame. I mean, not lame, because lame doesn't begin to cut it, but just..."

  The right words wouldn't come, but I wanted Tru to know I was with him on it, and that I didn't believe a thing Pete said. I just didn't want to humiliate him further by showing pity.

  "Yeah." He turned away from me toward his room, and I followed. Unless he told me he didn't want me there, I wasn't going to leave him alone. I walked on shaky legs, terrified he'd tell me to leave, knowing Pete's job would be complete if a wall were erected between Tru and I.

  When he waited for me in the doorway of his room, I breathed a sigh of relief, walking past him and letting him close the door behind us. In there, we were in our own little world. I collapsed against him. His body stiffened but after a moment he leaned into me.

  It took a full minute before his arms slid around me. It was then I let the tears fall. When I pulled back and had his eyes, finally, I shuddered at their vacant darkness. Until then, I'd held on to hope Pete's words hadn't struck as deep as I'd feared. Looking at Tru, I knew it was the opposite; he'd taken a hard hit. So hard, I wasn't sure he'd ever be the same.

  ***

  "Truman, slow down."

  He'd entered me, fast and deep. I wasn't ready. His cock was like sandpaper inside of me. I tensed and closed my eyes while he moved in and out, each thrust pushing me further up the bed toward the headboard.

  "Tru. Kiss me, baby." I gripped his face, ignoring the whiskey smell on his breath as I willed him to look at me, hoping I'd see my Tru reflected back in his gaze. I hoped a kiss would move my body in the direction we both wanted it to go. He lowered his mouth to mine, but kept his eyes closed, his torso heavy over mine as he clumsily pinched my nipple through the thin t-shirt I had on.

  I winced but kept trying, diving deep into his mouth with my tongue. He groaned, the sound reverberating down to my core. I wrapped my hands around his back, pushing against his rapid thrusting, pulling him toward me in a rhythm that was slower. It worked, he slowed down but broke the kiss, burying his face against my neck.

  "Jessa...I miss you." His lips moved against my skin. I couldn't tell if my goose bumps were from the sensations in my now-warmed-up pussy or his words.

  "I miss you, too."

  He'd allowed me to comfort him the night of his fight with Pete, but the next day he'd disappeared. Three days and multiple unanswered calls, and he'd finally picked up, letting me know he was safe, but that was all I got from him. Now it'd been a month and he still hadn't gone home, sleeping on Charlie's couch or the occasional drunken visit and sleepover with me, the last one having been two weeks earlier. I'd begun to wonder if I'd missed some conversation where he'd broken up with me. When he'd snuck into my apartment late tonight, I'd welcomed him with open arms.

  Now, I bit my lip to stave off the tears, closed my eyes, and tried to imagine we were back to the beginning of us, when we'd fuck like this, primal and raw. Back then it was all about connecting with each other rather than simply satisfying a physical need. But I couldn't pretend we were there now. I squeezed my eyes shut and focused on willing my body to enjoy finally having Tru back. But it was no good.

  He stopped mumbling and went back to thrusting, fucking me like it was his last time and he was on a tight schedule. It was nothing more than a physical release for him. The lack of intimacy made my heart heavy. I had hoped he'd pull himself out of his hole and come back to me, whole. Or open up and let me help him. Each day that passed with neither of those things happening had me sinking deeper into my own well of sorrow.

  Tonight, the man in bed with me was a virtual stranger, a shell of the one I loved so fiercely. I watched him move, eyes squeezed shut, vein in his forehead pulsing before he groaned his release, his cock jerking inside me. It was a sensation I normally relished, his hot cum always felt like a culmination of the love we shared. And I was usually coming, too. Tonight, Tru only took.

  He rolled onto his back, bloodshot, unfocused eyes to the ceiling as he panted. His hands were clumsy as they reached for me and patted my leg, as if to say I'd done a good job. He fumbled with his pants, attempting to pull them up before surrendering to the effort and leaving them around his thighs. His flaccid, satisfied dick mocked me.

  I closed my own eyes then, but the image of him, my wounded man, was burned into my mind. It wasn't about the fact that he'd left me hanging and didn't seem to care if I was satisfied or not; it was the fact that what had just happened seemed to symbolize everything that had gone wrong for Tru. At the shift of my body away from him, he got up and went to the bathroom. I threaded my feet through my panties, pulled them and the comforter up around me and curled to my side.

  He came back and toed off his shoes.

  "Are you staying?" As much as I'd missed him, I wasn't sure what I wanted the answer to be.

  He nodded. "Yeah," then stopped and tilted his head as he swayed on two feet. His eyes were bloodshot from the booze, the weed, or both as he squinted over at me. "You want me to, right?"

  I propped my head on an elbow, frustration boiling to the surface. "Yes, I want you to stay, but don't do me any favors."

  He looked at the ceiling but didn't say a word.

  "Be offended, Tru. Get pissed at me. At least then I'll know that what I say means something to you. That I'm more than just a hole you can use whenever you decide you want company."

  He scowled. "What the fuck?"

  I sat up, pulling the comforter around me. "I'm telling you to reassure me that we're good! Tell me we'll get through this because no matter what shit is happening around us, to us, it isn't going to kill what we have. Or should I say had?"

  He rolled his eyes, too drunk to be able to engage in the deeper meaning of my words. "Jesus. Can't we fuck and sleep without any drama?"

  I rolled to my back, my eyes to the ceiling again, only now the fear of what was happening to us was eclipsed by anger. Anger at Pete for being the biggest dickhead father in the universe, angry at Tru for letting Pete ruin him. It was late, I was tired, and that fatigue made it almost impossible for me to censor my thoughts, otherwise I might have thought better than to poke the bear. Instead I said what was on my mind.

  "Yeah, sure. We can fuck and sleep. I'm at your service." I could hear the sarcasm in my voice even as the muscles in my throat threw out the words, like tiny darts heading straight for their target.

  Tru sighed and sat on the bed beside me, but he didn't get in. "Are you pissed I've been taking some space, or that I showed up? You can't be both, Jessa. What the hell is up with you?"

  There was no point in talking. It wasn't like he'd remember it tomorrow, anyway. "Nothing. Let's go to sleep, OK? I don't want you driving home like this."

  I reached over and turned out the light on my side of the bed. He stayed t
here, staring at me. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled with awareness, but he didn't say a word. God, what I would've given for an apology...anything to indicate my Truman was still in there somewhere. Instead, nothing except the sounds of traffic outside my window. After a few minutes he crawled into bed but stayed on his side. I could feel the warmth of his back, but he never got close enough to touch. It took a long time, but finally, I fell asleep.

  ***

  Amy and I were at Sy's, our usual hangout, shooting the shit. She was going on and on about how much she loved Henry; I was pondering the cracks in the concrete floor and wondering if we should tell Sy his place needed a makeover. Suddenly, my bite of pizza ceased to be food and instead felt like some kind of foreign object.

  I tried to swallow, not wanting to gross Amy out with my need to eject it from my body immediately, but my throat wouldn't cooperate. For a moment I thought I might choke. The bite was heading down, but my throat was blocking it.

  I coughed, my body taking over and ensuring my survival, grabbed a bunch of napkins and gagged the bite into them. Amy laughed at first, patting me on the back. No, no, no, no. The words echoed in my mind. I was unprepared. I was out in public. I'd never had an attack in public. My body had mercifully always waited until I was at least in the stairwell of the dorms or close to home before unraveling.

  I had no game plan for handling this here. When I finished spitting the pizza into the napkin, black spots appeared in my peripheral vision. I raised my head to look at Amy. I could see the look of terror on my face reflected in hers. I hadn't shared the full story of my attacks. I'd minimized them, blaming them on stress (true) and saying they were no big deal (false), and because I was always calm when giving this explanation, no one had any reason to doubt me.

  Seeing Amy's wide eyes, I knew my secret was out. I thanked God for the millionth time that my best friend was an ace in an emergency, because she didn't require me to talk.