Fall Into Forever

by Beth Hyland

  “It’s a prescription. But I don’t have any left.”

  “Then I’ll go to your room and get them. Just tell me where—”

  “What I mean is, I’m all out.”

  “Can you get a refill? I can go down and—”

  She cups my face in her hand, strokes her thumb over my temple. “Thank you for trying to take care of me.” Then she sighs. “But I don’t have any refills left, either. That’s the problem. I need to see a doctor up here to get more.”

  “Then let’s go. The Student Health Center is open on Saturdays and they take walk-in appointments.”

  “Jon…I…” She hesitates, blinks.

  I search her expression, looking for what’s wrong. “What?” She doesn’t answer. “Ivy, tell me.”

  She looks down at her hands. “I need to go to the Student Counseling Center, not the health center.”

  “Okay, that’s cool. I don’t know if they’ve got Saturday hours. Do you?” I pull my phone from my pocket.

  “Jon. No.” There’s an insistence in her voice that makes me look up from the screen. “We’re talking a shrink here,” she says, biting her lip. “A doctor for crazy people.”

  “You’re not crazy, Ivy. You get migraines. Besides, I’m pretty sure any doc can prescribe migraine meds. You don’t need to go to the SCC for that.”

  “But they’ll want to know my medical history. And when they do…” Her voice trails off.

  “Ivy? What happened? Tell me.”

  She bites the inside of her lip. “Jon, I…I haven’t told you everything. You know that accident where I almost died?”

  I nod.

  A single tear runs down her face. “The last thing I remember was walking home from class that day. Not the party or the fight with Chase or getting into his car. But everyone who was there said that—”

  “Wait. Chase the asshole, controlling boyfriend? He was in the accident with you?” So she wasn’t in love with him after all. My mind races back to why I made that assumption. It was Tate. Goddamnit. Why the hell did I ever listen to him?

  “Yes,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “The most pivotal event in my life and I can’t remember what happened, just tiny bits and pieces before and after the accident. The doctors call it retrograde amnesia with islands of memory. Except that I feel things a person in my shoes shouldn’t feel. Wrong things. Horrible things.”

  “What are you talking about, Ivy?” I try to take her in my arms, but she pushes me away. “Are you feeling guilty because the guy was a jerk and now he’s dead?”

  “Yes, I guess that’s part of it. And then there was my breakdown. My mom likes to call it an incident, because that sounds better. It happened out in public. I…I lost it.”

  I sit next to her on the bed, but she refuses to look at me. I put the tips of my fingers under her chin and lift her head. “You’re not crazy, Ivy. And you’re not fucked up, either. When you’ve been through a lot, like you have, things can build up inside. It becomes a perfect storm of emotions, where everything converges at once.”

  She sniffs and gives me a small smile. “Another movie reference?”

  I hadn’t thought about it, but yeah. “What if I went with you? You really need to talk to a professional about all this. It’s too much of a burden to carry around yourself.”

  She frowns. “Come with me? To my appointment?”

  “Not into your appointment, but to the SCC with you. I could wait in the waiting room. Would you go then?”

  “You’d do that?”

  “Sure.”

  She’s quiet for a moment. “Have you…ever been to counseling?”

  “Yeah.” If telling her about my experience will help her decide to go get help, then it’s worth it. “After my mom died, I went to a dark place. Started hanging out with a bad crowd. Drinking and smoking weed. That’s when…when I got into some trouble.”

  I tell her about the Saturday night fight club. Selling weed. Breaking into Mr. Hoffman’s house.

  I put my head in my hands. Of all the shit I’ve done, I feel the worst about the break-in. With the other stuff, I was doing the shit to myself, not some innocent person. We were high and I got talked into looking for a few easy-to-sell electronics. The guys I was with ended up trashing the place. I tried to stop them, but it was one of me and three of them.

  Feeling her hand on my back, I look up. She gives me an encouraging smile.

  “And then what happened?”

  “I…uh…got sent to juvie. Through some miracle that probably had something to do with Stella, they agreed to defer my sentence and expunge my record when I turned eighteen if I went to counseling and stayed out of trouble.”

  I suddenly feel like a phony, spouting off this shit like I’m some kind of expert. The truth is, if they hadn’t made me go into counseling, I’d never have done it on my own.

  “And did it help?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe. I ended up making the football team my senior year after missing the year before, and I managed to get decent grades.”

  The front door slams downstairs and then there’s the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. A moment later, someone is pounding on my bedroom door.

  I get up and unlock the door. It’s James.

  “Dude, I’ve been texting you. Are you getting the beer for tonight or am I?”

  Tonight? Shit. That’s right. There’s another party. I glance over at Ivy. I doubt either one of us will be in a partying mood tonight.

  “I don’t think we’re going, bro. In fact…” I pull him out into the hall and close the door.

  “What’s up?” James asks.

  “I haven’t talked about this with Ivy yet, but can we stay at your family’s beach house tonight? After what happened last night, it would be good for her to get away.”

  “Yeah, sure,” he says. “I’ll get you the key. Just make sure to wash the sheets in the morning.”

  It takes us a little over an hour to get to the beach house that James’s parents bought as a vacation property when he started at PSU.

  On the way down, we stop at Subway and pick up some sandwiches for later. The weather is pretty decent, so as soon as we arrive, we drop off our stuff and head for the beach. The house is on a bluff overlooking the water, so we zigzag down several flights of steps, which dump us right onto the sandy beach.

  We spend a couple of hours just walking, picking up broken shells and rocks that Ivy says are pretty. My pockets are filled with her finds.

  “I still don’t feel like I know you, Jon,” she says, as she examines a small, mustard-colored stone.

  “What are you talking about? We just bared our deepest, darkest secrets to each other.”

  “Yeah, but do I know your birthday? Your favorite color? Your favorite kind of animal? No.”

  I laugh. She does have a point. “November 13. Navy blue. Ocelot.”

  She makes a funny face. “Ocelot?”

  “Yeah, they’re these really cool small leopards. Plus, I like the name. Say it three times really fast.”

  “Ocelot, ocelot, ocelot,” she says, laughing.

  “See what I mean? Ever since I did a report on them in the third grade, I’ve liked them.” I grab a stick and start writing our names in the sand. “Except for your birthday—January 14—I don’t know those things about you, either. Unless a lemur is your favorite animal,” I add, remembering her stuffed animal.

  “It’s one of them,” she says. “I also love meerkats. I’ve watched every episode of Meerkat Manor.”

  I nod. “Flower was cool.”

  She knocks me in the shoulder. “Get out. You watched it, too?”

  “I can’t say that I’ve watched every episode, but, yeah, sometimes. And your favorite color?”

  “I switch off between teal and purple.”

  Given what she was wearing the first night I met her, I should’ve known.

  Once we get back to the house, we have a fancy dinner of Subway sandwiche
s and Diet Coke. It’s too cold and windy to be out on the deck, so I grab my guitar and sit on the couch. Ivy stretches out on the other end, with her head on the armrest and her toes—in matching socks this time—tucked under my leg. As I pick at a few random chords, she props a book on her chest—a collection of poems—and starts reading.

  It feels good to just hang with her. Doing nothing. Saying nothing. Just being in each other’s company.

  “Can you play me something?”

  I look over and her book is laying facedown on her chest.

  I start playing one of my father’s lesser-known hits. I can play all his songs, but this one is my favorite. I stop when I realize what I’m doing.

  “Nice,” she says, smiling. “Is that something you wrote?”

  I’m glad she doesn’t recognize it. “No.”

  I change chords and a different melody fills the room. This time, it’s a song I wrote. Or I should say, am writing. I’ve never been able to get the ending right. And I’ve never played it for anyone before. Ivy is the first.

  They say you’ll always like the music you listened to in high school because it takes you back to a time when things were simpler. When everything was new. First kiss. First love. First time you have sex. You’re standing on the edge of your whole life with the world stretched out before you. Everything and anything is possible.

  For me, that time wasn’t simple. I don’t have fond memories that I relive when one of those songs comes on the radio. It’s when a lot of bad things happened. Plus, my father had a top ten hit at the time that everyone was listening to. I couldn’t get away from it. Hell, the marching band even played it at halftime once. I lost my shit during the second half and ended up getting kicked out of the game.

  So I started writing my own music. Not to take after my father, but to get him out of my head. This song calms me, takes me away from all that.

  The air around me stirs. I open my eyes, not realizing I had closed them. Ivy is sitting on the floor at my feet, her chin tilted upward, listening. I put my palm against the strings and the sound fades away.

  She frowns. “Don’t stop, Jon. It’s…it’s beautiful. I want to hear the rest.”

  I’ll tell you what’s beautiful. The girl in front of me. I exhale a long, slow breath, hoping I’m not in the middle of a dream right now.

  “Tell me you wrote that one, because—”

  “How did you know?” I ask, curious. She wasn’t nearly as confident when she asked the same thing about my father’s song.

  She shrugged. “I don’t really know. It…it sounds like you, I guess.”

  The initial chord sequence came to me while I was living in the basement of my foster family’s home. I’d sit down there for hours, often stoned, and play it over and over. Ivy’s right. It is a part of me.

  “Mmmm.” She closes her eyes. “Keep playing.”

  So I do, starting from the beginning. After the third chorus, when I get to the part I usually struggle with, the song changes slightly. For some reason, I reverse the chord sequence.

  I stop, replay that part. It’s…it’s perfect. I can’t believe it didn’t come to me until now. I play it again, start to finish. Holy shit. That one little change has made all the difference.

  Suddenly, I’m staring down into her warm green eyes, and she’s staring up at me. Something shifts between us. An awareness. A shared secret.

  Without saying a word, she moves closer. With the song still echoing in the air, she removes the guitar from my grasp and sets it on the floor beside the couch. Her eyes are dark with need, echoing my desire. She hooks her thumbs under the waistband of my sweats, so I lift my hips and she slides them down. My erection springs free.

  “Jesus, Ivy.” I can’t get inside her fast enough. I start to pull her up on my lap, but she stops me with a hand on my chest.

  “Not yet,” she says and pushes me back in my seat. She frees my feet from the sweats and tosses them behind her. Which leaves me sitting on the couch, naked from the waist down, my cock jutting out at her. “I admit I had that in mind, but seeing you like this—” The tip of her tongue darts out. “—makes me want to do something else first.”

  Holy fuck.

  I’m pretty sure I just got harder.

  “Is that okay with you?” she asks, a smile tugging at the corner of her luscious mouth.

  “Of course.” She could ask me to do anything right now and I’d gladly do it.

  She positions herself between my knees, leans forward and takes me into her mouth.

  I groan loudly, grabbing the armrest to keep from holding onto her hair. Instinctively, I know that could make her panic. And believe me, stopping is the last thing I want her to do right now.

  What is it about Ivy that hits all the right notes with me? She makes me laugh, makes me feel good about myself, and I’m not just saying that because she has my dick in her mouth right now. She has this amazing ability to drive away the darkness that has always been a part of my life.

  At this rate, I’m not going to last much longer, and as much as I want her to continue, I want her to experience this, too.

  Wordlessly, I lift her to her feet. She lets out a surprised laugh when I scoop her into my arms, carry her to the bedroom, and set her on the mattress. My mouth crashes over hers as we strip off our clothes. Without breaking our kiss, I grab the box of condoms I brought. Goddamn it. You think they’d know people don’t want to spend much time trying to figure out how the box works. I wrench myself away from her, rip it open, and little foil packages go flying.

  “Fuck!”

  She laughs.

  I tear one open with my teeth and quickly roll it on. Her hair spreads over the pillow, her lips slightly swollen and parted. I fall on top of her, my mouth finding hers again as I guide myself like an arrow. There. The tip slides in, right between her folds, and I stop.

  “Baby, you ready?” I ask against her lips. “After what this naughty mouth of yours just did, I’m about to explode.”

  “Yes,” she whispers, kissing me back.

  That’s all I need to hear.

  With my weight braced on my forearms, I flex my hips and push into her. She hisses in a breath. I still myself briefly, allowing her a chance to get used to me being inside her. She’s so hot. So damn tight. I’m not going to last long.

  “Fuck me, Jon.”

  Oh shit. My mouth crashes over hers and I thrust into her. Once. Twice. Three times.

  “God, Ivy,” I groan into her hair. “I hope you’re close.”

  She cries out my name and arches her back, allowing me to slide a fraction deeper. Her inner muscles tighten around me. Guess that’s my answer.

  I’m…I’m there, too.

  I need this.

  I need Ivy.

  She’s mine.

  My release rushes over me with a force so strong that, I swear, my heart stopped beating for a second. I hold her tighter, wishing this could go on forever.

  “Yes,” she whispers softly in my ear. “I need you, too.”

  chapter sixteen

  You are the candle that lights the whole world,

  and I am an empty vessel for your light.

  ~ Rumi

  Ivy

  The next day we get up early because I have to work at noon. I strip the bed, wrap myself up like a burrito, and head to the laundry room to start a load. Jon laughs at me and the little steps I’m taking. (It’s hard to walk like a burrito.) I yelp when he grabs the other sheet from me and puts it over his head like a ghost.

  “I’m coming for you,” he says in a spooky voice, holding out his arms.

  I scream, hitch up my sheet, and run down the hall, but before I reach the laundry room, I hear a clunk.

  “Ouch.”

  I turn around. Jon is rubbing his head. Not being able to see were he was going, he bumped into the corner of the door.

  “Let me kiss your boo-boo.”

  We end up leaving a little later than we planned.

  M
y shift at work literally drags on forever. Everyone’s talking about what happened to Maddy. When they find out I live in the same dorm, I’m bombarded with lots of questions. Because I hate being the center of attention, I keep my answers vague and manage to avoid telling them that I was the one who discovered her. I’m sure it’ll get out though. Things like that always do.

  Now, I’m finally back at the White House, sitting in the family room with Jon and his roommates.

  “Let your goddamn cousin sleep in your goddamn bed!”

  With my eyes downcast, I try to keep a straight face and let Jon handle this.

  Cassidy got back from Portland a few hours ago. The police still haven’t caught the guy who attacked Maddy, but they have a few leads. Even though they’ve rekeyed the entire residence hall, including all the dorm rooms, Jon insists I stay here with him, which is okay by me. However, I don’t want Cassidy to stay at the dorm alone and since Tate is her cousin, it only makes sense that she should stay here, too. It was Jon’s idea, actually.

  “Then where am I supposed to sleep, huh?” Tate adjusts his PSU ball cap, pulling it lower on his forehead. “Didn’t anyone think about that? Why doesn’t anyone seem to care about me or my needs?”

  I glance at Cassidy. “Is he always this way?” I mouth.

  “Baby of the family,” she whispers.

  Rick, whose grandmother owns the house, claps Tate on the back. “We love ya, buddy. But she’s your cousin, which means you give her your bed.”

  Tate gives him the evil eye. “Thanks for the support, ass-wipe.”

  Jon points his beer bottle at him. “I’ll bet if you’re really nice to James—you know, make him dinner or something, rub lotion on his feet—he’ll let you sleep with him.”

  “Fuck you, Priestly.” James props his long legs on the coffee table and clicks the remote.

  “That’s okay,” Cassidy says. “I can sleep on the couch. No big deal. I’m just happy I’m not at the dorm. Half the girls on our floor have moved out until they catch the guy.”

  Jon sets down his beer with a bang, his face stern and angular. “This is Tate’s problem, Cassidy. He needs to fucking man up and take the goddamn couch.” He glares at his roommate. “It’s not like you’ve never passed out and slept on it anyway.”