by Ryan Michele
Needing To Fall by Ryan Michele
©Ryan Michele 2016
Editor: C&D Editing (http://cdediting.weebly.com/)
Proofreader: Silla Webb (http://tinyurl.com/AlphaQueensBookObsessionAS)
Cover Designer: Melissa Gill at MGbookcovers (http://mgbookcovers.wix.com/mgbookcovers)
Cover graphic: Shutterstock
*This book is intended for mature audiences only due to adult situations, sex, and violence.*
**Warning: This book covers many tough issues—including, but not limited to, depression, anxiety, post-traumatic stress disorder, and abuse. It is a very highly charged, emotional read. Please note: depression, PTSD, and other issues covered in this book take different lengths of time to combat—some take a lifetime. In this book, time is skewed and sped up to flow with the story line.
This book is dark. It deals with tough issues that many of us don’t talk about because we’re afraid of being exposed and cut open raw, but to heal, we must lay it out there. We must go there to find our sunshine and hope like hell that we do. Depression and suicide numbers are on the rise, and we need to be aware.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system—without written permission in writing from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.
All rights reserved.
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Other Books by Ryan Michele
Preview of Letting Lox In by S.M. Donaldson
To those of us who have seen the dark, lived it, been sucked so deep in the sticky tar we thought there was no hope. The pain was too much to take, too much to live with another day, only to find that small ray of light that gave us purpose to climb up. It gave us strength, gave us the hope we thought we would never have. This book is for us. There is light; I have seen it. Even though I never thought I would, I did. It was dull in the beginning, and it wasn’t easy to achieve, but it was there. Reach out, take ahold of it, and rise.
Need Help? Are you or someone you love in need of assistance? Please seek it immediately by contacting your physician. Here are some contacts. There is help.
YOU ARE NOT ALONE.
Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1-800-273-TALK
https://www.afsp.org/preventing-suicide/find-help
https://www.nimh.nih.gov/index.shtml
http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/getinvolved/locator
http://www.ptsd.va.gov/public/where-to-get-help.asp
http://veteranscrisisline.net
The door creaked, and then not so silent footfalls hit the hardwood floor. I closed my eyes tightly, praying he would go away and not hurt me. Unfortunately, I didn’t believe in who I was praying to, because He had never helped me before, so why would He start now? Why would He care about a kid like me, who no one wants, no one cares about, no one gives a damn about. A Nothing. Except for Drew, the boy in the next room who had always cared. However, I didn’t want to wake him, didn’t want him to know.
Drew was all I had in this world. I couldn’t survive without him. I only had two more years before I could get out of here without anyone looking for me. Two more years to be legal, two more years and I was O-U-T: out. Two years, and Drew and I could get on with our lives, far away from here.
The footsteps came closer, and before I could breathe, he was above me. I didn’t see him, but I could feel his slimy heat. I hoped he would think I was sleeping. I hoped he would go away.
Hope was something a girl like me should never have, because it never came.
His hand trailed up my leg, my flesh rising with bumps of resistance from his touch. It was the Eww factor times a thousand. I wanted him nowhere near me, not even breathing the same air as me. Regardless, I had no choice. I never did.
“Reign.” His voice sang with humor, and if I wasn’t mistaken, slurred from too much drink.
Mr. Peterson had a problem with that, but I had never said a word, not wanting to stir any pots. I had been in enough foster homes to know it was always best to keep my mouth shut and mind alert.
“Reign,” he said again, but I feigned sleep while clocking his movements next to me.
When his hand glided up the inside leg of my shorts, my body went ramrod straight. I tried to stop myself from the movement yet couldn’t. In turn, I gave myself away.
Mr. Peterson pushed my shoulder hard, laying me flat on my back, and my eyes sprang open.
“I knew you were awake.” His face was sunken in, eyes droopy, and hair slicked back. What really caught my eye, though, was the smile on his face: devious, cunning.
On instinct, I gripped his wrist, trying to stop him.
I had been fighting for everything I had since I was six years old. Fighting was in my bones from top to toe, even though I told myself not to. Although I told myself to keep quiet, I couldn’t help myself. Some things were so engrained they never went away.
He full-out laughed, thinking my trying was a joke. “You think you’re gonna stop me? No, you’re gonna take those little tease of shorts off and fuck me.”
My stomach rolled and bile rose in my throat. This wasn’t the first time Mr. Peterson had come to visit, and I knew it wouldn’t be the last. I hated it, but he always ended up playing the one card he knew he had on me.
“Please don’t,” I begged him, knowing he would do whatever he wanted and my words meant nothing to him, but I always felt the urge to try. He didn’t care about me or Drew. We were paychecks to him and his wife, and I was a toy to him.
He ripped his hand out of my grasp and began to pull my shorts down my legs. “You little slut, you know you want it.”
I fought, my instincts not letting me stop.
His hand came down hard across my face, and pain speared through it before red hot fire followed. My eyes burned with tears from the force as he tore the shirt from my body.
“You fucking little bitch. You want it hard? I’ll give it to you hard,” he said as I began to kick and use my long arms to hit and nails to scratch. “You want me to go next door and do this to Drew?”
My movements seized like my mind had finally caught up to my body in that exact moment. Cold ice seared my veins like a physical pain.
Mr. Peterson always threatened to hurt Drew; that was the only way he could get me. The only way I would stop fighting him, the only card he could play to get what he wanted. And the enti
re time Mr. Peterson did what he wanted to me, I thought of Drew and how I was protecting him, because he was the only one who mattered.
The door to my room flew open with a hard crash, hitting the walls and shaking them. Somehow, I got enough strength from the panic to get out from under Mr. Peterson and jump from the bed, my heart pounding.
“What the fuck!” Drew screamed loud enough to wake the entire house.
I scrambled, trying to find something to cover my nude body as tears spilled over my eyes and down my cheeks. I never wanted anyone to see me like this. No one … but especially not Drew. Never, ever Drew. I never wanted him to see me as Mr. Peterson did: a slut, a whore.
The pain on his face sliced through me like a razorblade. I felt more than exposed. I was turned inside out. Drew’s face twisted then, his upper lip curled, eyes narrowed and hooded, and his brows came together. He was disgusted at the sight … of me.
I felt worthless, ashamed, and completely shattered. I could have died in that moment and disappeared from the face of the earth from his one look at me. I was utterly gutted.
“You fucking piece of shit!” Mr. Peterson growled, standing up and pulling his pants up.
Drew went after him, clenched fist in the air, ready to make contact with Mr. Peterson.
“No!” I screamed as Mr. Peterson punched Drew so hard in the stomach I could envision each molecule of air pushed from his body in a gush. Then Mr. Peterson kicked him in the legs, pushing them out from under him and making him fall to the ground with a hard thud.
I ran to Drew, driven to protect him. I threw myself on his body, shielding him, but Mr. Peterson picked me up as if I weighed nothing and threw me across the room, which slammed me into the wall, narrowly missing the sharp edge of the dresser. I choked down the agony my body felt. I needed to breathe and stay focused.
Mr. Peterson stood just as Drew got to his feet, and in Mr. Peterson’s hand was a gun. I didn’t know where it had come from or how he had gotten it. All I knew was that it was pointed directly at Drew. At once, time stood in slow motion.
I screamed, knowing I couldn’t get over to Drew, knowing this was going to end badly.
As the shots went off, Drew fell to the ground in a heap, his bones like noodles, giving him no support. His green eyes locked on mine as the metallic scent of blood filled the room. I wanted to rush over to him yet feared moving. The bile from my insides churned, filling my mouth. I tried choking it back, but it burned.
Drew made some strange, gurgling noises along with some moans. Pain like no other speared me as I watched the spark that was my best friend in the entire world, my everything, slowly die in his eyes.
I woke from a sweat so cold I could have had icicles forming on my nose. I rubbed my fingers together, the nightmare so real I could still feel Drew’s blood between them. No.
I grabbed the gun beneath my pillow and threw off the blankets, looking around the space: white walls, chair in corner, and dresser against the wall. I moved to the first door, opening it and tossing on the lights. The bathroom had no one inside, just the standard toilet, sink, and shower. It didn’t slow my heart rate, though. Nothing would until I knew the house was safe. Next, I checked the closet, finding it empty. Windows locked. I opened the door to my room, flipping on the lights to the living room/dining room/kitchen, checking all the small areas and finding nothing. The sliding glass door and front door were locked, undisturbed.
Not until everything was checked did I let out a sigh, and it wasn’t of relief, because that never came. Never. To never feel safe at twenty-one years old was pathetic. Living in this apartment for four years and still being so scared all the damn time was pathetic. I couldn’t stop it, though. I couldn’t make it go away. The fear that they would all come back for me, find me, was too intense, so much so it was almost blinding.
I was forced into therapy when I was younger. That was what the foster care system did when they struggled to get a foster kid settled anywhere. They sent us to therapy to learn better coping skills.
I didn’t need someone to listen and twist my mental state. I just needed to survive until I could get out. I’d learned the hard way never to speak about what went on in the homes I was sent to. I was who I was.
But after running away five years ago, it was beginning to get ridiculous. Nothing had happened to me since I moved here. I was safe. I should have nothing to worry about, but damn if the nightmares didn’t keep plaguing me, the unease riding me hard every second of the day.
I knew I wasn’t going back to sleep. Therefore, I pulled out my cell and typed: You awake?
Not seconds later, the response came.
Be over in a sec.
I’d met Andi two years ago at a waitressing job I still had. I was so damn closed off—hell, still was—but somehow, her happy-go-lucky spirit broke through to me. I didn’t know how, but her little ray of sunshine, no matter day or night, was the only thing that kept me sane. Andi was my positive in the midst of all the negativity.
A knock came to the door, causing my heart to pound at the sound. Checking the peephole, I was partially relieved to see Andi. The other part wouldn’t be relieved until she was behind the door and it was locked so I knew she was safe.
I threw open the door, grabbed her arm, pulled her in, and locked the door, all in one practiced swoop.
“Reign, you have got to relax a little,” she said, tossing her purse on the chair then plopping herself on the couch.
She had on sleep pants that had little, brown dogs all over them and a blue hoodie. Andi was what most guys called beautiful with long, golden hair that had a slight curl, and big, blue eyes that showed compassion I had only experienced one other time in my life. I was pretty sure that was what pulled me to Andi two years ago. Her eyes were never fake or clouded over.
She wasn’t out to fix me, and she never looked down on or pitied me. Every day for months, she would strike up conversations, but I wasn’t in a good place at the time. Hell, I was never in a good place, yet somehow, with her persistence and kind smiles, I opened to her, letting her in inch by inch.
Deep inside, I needed to believe Andi was true, so each day, I let her in a little more. It took six months, but she finally whittled her way in, filling me with sunlight I so desperately needed.
I fell down on the couch beside her. “Can’t.” She knew this. We’d been over it continuously. Nothing would ever change.
Andi reached over and grabbed my hands, pulling me so I had to turn my body sideways to face her. You would think this small touch was easy for me, but it wasn’t. It was gut wrenchingly painful and took what seemed like forever to allow.
After gathering everything we needed, Andi and I sat in the far back corner table of the diner with a shit load of sugar, salt, and pepper bottles to fill, and like usual, when the place was slow, Andi was rambling on about this and that. She never had a quiet moment. One would think this would be annoying, but for some reason, it wasn’t to me. I actually liked it.
The way she talked about simple things, like watching the sun rise and its beauty, put a new spin on the dreary, gray world I lived in. I didn’t buy into what she was saying, but it was a nice thought.
“My nana was wonderful. She taught me how to make peach cobbler. Sure, I was only seven, so I don’t remember much about how to make it.” She talked as if I were listening to every word, and I was. I wanted to hear her good stories, because I didn’t have those in my life. I didn’t really know they existed until Andi began her “talks” with me. Now, I sucked in every one of them like I was dying of thirst, dying to find something good in this miserable excuse of a life.
“I do remember her laugh and smile and how she’d scrape off the measuring cup with this flat thingy like it was the most important thing she was going to do all day, such precision and pride in what she was doing. Then we’d wash the dishes together.” She looked up from her salt container. “I was still short back then.” She giggled, and I liked that sound, too. It was an
other thing that had only been in my life when Drew had been there. A sound many took for granted, but Andi gave it so freely I let myself enjoy it for just a bit.
“We’d make these big bubbles and then start throwing them at each other.” She laughed full out, lost in her memory, her joy.
Her hand came out and landed on mine. I froze and stared at her hand like it was poison that was seeping into my pores. She couldn’t touch me. No one could touch me.
It took me merely a second to get my shit straight.
I ripped my hand away from hers, making the smile that was on her face disappear. It felt like a kick to the gut. I wanted to feel bad for doing that to her, making her feel like that, but I couldn’t breathe as the panic took over and my throat closed, suffocating me. I inhaled, but nothing was getting in my lungs. I was choking … on air. Then I was coughing on it violently.
I gripped my throat, and Andi came near me, reaching out to me to help, but I shook my head profusely and scooted back into the booth as far as I could, needing space.
“Reign, it’s okay,” she cooed like I was a small child, and in that moment, I was. “I won’t touch you. I’m gonna move back over to the other bench, but you’re gonna have to breathe for me.”
I nodded as she moved out of my space, her frightened eyes never leaving mine for a second.
I watched as the two lone patrons in the diner looked at me like I had every screw loose in my head. Little did they know they were right. I did, and those screws were all I had left.
I sat on the cushy vinyl and closed my eyes then took three huge breaths. This time, the air went in, and my body began to relax. When I opened my eyes again, Andi was staring at me like she didn’t know what to do with me. Hell, I didn’t know what to do with myself, but Andi was so damn patient, not pushing when she knew I couldn’t be pushed.
“You okay?” she asked, and I nodded. “You need anything?” This time, I shook my head. “Girl, you scared the shit out of me.” She heaved out a big breath, and I knew in that moment that Andi was a keeper.