Fall to Pieces: A story about addiction and love

by Shari J. Ryan

  Dr. Pakerton inhales sharply through her nose, crossing one leg over the other knee and folding her hands on top of her thigh. "That makes perfect sense, August. I know you were the giver. You had the patience of a saint, never spoke negatively about him, offered him a team spirit, and stood by his side. You did everything a person could do for another. It is perfectly understandable to feel relieved."

  I feel reassured just to hear her say this. I didn't think anyone would understand my feelings. "Thank you."

  "I do have a concerning question for you, though?"

  "What's that?" I respond.

  "Why is it that when you walked into my office, I noticed a powerful smell of alcohol on you? Your records indicate that you have never been a drinker, and in fact, have less than one drink a month. Has something changed?"

  "Yes, it has." I feel as though I can speak freely without judgment. I'm not committing a crime. "I have been drinking, so I know what it feels like to devote myself to a lifeless, unfulfilling, meaningless beverage. I feel it will help me understand this screwed up world."

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chance

  These pop-up storms here are making it hard to get my work done, but at least I got a few hours in today. I thought I'd get the whole job done in one day because it's just a split level ranch that didn't need the old shingles stripped.

  "You're here early," Luke says. "It's only five, ain't it?"

  "Yeah, but the rain won't quit."

  "Yeah, I heard something about back to back storms brewing up the shore. Do you want your burger?"

  "Yeah, that'd be great. Thanks," I tell Luke.

  "Dude, Annabelle was going on and on about that chick, August, last night—asking questions as if I know her better than the few times she's been in here."

  "She jealous?" I ask. Annabelle isn't the type to get jealous. Plus, she's so used to Luke working in bars that she hardly ever says a word about the people who come in.

  "Oh God, no. She's worried after everything she heard and saw."

  I shrug and steal a coaster. "What does Annabelle want you to do about it?"

  "I don't know. Maybe I shouldn't be serving August."

  "That's discrimination, bro. You can't just tell someone they can't drink at your bar."

  I wonder how many people are like me, avoiding their life. I'd like to believe that people who are living have chosen that lifestyle. After everything I went through growing up, I thought I was that person wishing more than anything to be by myself. Then I realized being alone isn't that much better.

  Twenty-two years ago, when I was eight years old, I sat on a twin size bed, covered with an army green polyester comforter that irritated my skin. Three other beds mirrored mine in the small space.

  The walls were made of wooden planks, making the bedroom hard to illuminate with just the two lamps we had.

  After spending years in an orphanage, a foster family finally decided I was worthy enough to take home. It seemed like my wish was coming true. Someone wanted me. Foolishly, I thought all foster parents wanted to give a kid in need a home, love, and a family.

  As an adult, I know this isn't always the case. I also see the difference between selfish and selfless. The foster family who took me in was purely selfish.

  The Johnsons took me in between second and fourth grade. Because the town had a track record for poor academics (or so they told me), they decided to homeschool three other children and me. The other children were younger, between the ages of four and six, but since Mrs. Johnson taught us simultaneously, we focused on their skill level, not mine.

  To me, the other children were babies who still found enjoyment in playing with stuffed animals or junky plastic toys. They seemed to be innocent and free from the truth that would eventually find them.

  I wanted to be outside, running and playing, but we weren't allowed outside because we lived on a busy street. That's what Mr. and Mrs. Johnson told us.

  Most days, outside of the hours when we were learning about letters and numbers, I would sit on my bed and read whatever I had been able to get my hands on. I found books in the basement, most of them were old thrillers or sci-fi, but it gave my mind a place to run free.

  My imagination was the only part of me that wasn't lonely. I kept to myself and didn't speak unless someone asked me a question. The department of child services warned me it was the best way to act if I wanted hope of being adopted, but as each year went by, I lost hope of finding a "forever home." I could never understand what it was about me that no one wanted.

  Just as Luke was talking about whatever trouble August might be in, she walks through the front door as if she knew we were talking about her.

  She's dressed casually today, unlike anything I've seen her wearing until now. Torn jeans and a semi-sheer white tee that accentuates the dark-colored bra she is wearing underneath. I don't know why I'm relieved to see her wearing flat shoes after witnessing the pain her heels were causing her yesterday.

  August's casual cross-body purse gets caught on the lock of the door, yanking her backward as she attempts to continue her forward stride. "Jesus," she grunts, freeing herself from the lock.

  Her eyes gloss over as she glances past me to the empty seats at the bar. No hello, no wave, no acknowledgment that I'm alive or tried to help her yesterday.

  She stumbles awkwardly to her seat, grabbing the backs of a few bar stools on the way to steady herself.

  She's already drunk.

  "Lukey," she calls out as she drops herself down onto a seat two spots away from me. "Whiskey me."

  "Girl, are you cheating on this Bar?" I know Luke is joking with her, but I'm almost positive he's inquiring about how much she has already drunk tonight.

  "I don't cheat," August responds. "I'm as loyal as they come. That doesn't mean I can't be a bartender though, right?"

  Oh Lord, she has a problem.

  "I guess so," Luke responds, keeping his tone friendly.

  "Fill me up," she says again.

  Maybe I should just mind my own business. I have enough to worry about at the moment. I tend to my phone, scrolling aimlessly through social media, finding a friend request from none other but the infamous August. I can only assume she saw my profile through the mutual friendship of Keegan's page. I posted my condolences before I realized the two of them were an item.

  I skip over the request for the time being, not sure how I feel about it. I head over to CNN, finding nothing but the reporters recycling old news.

  "Hey," August calls over, holding the glass in her hand. "Are you ignoring me?" She accentuates all of her vowels, seemingly trying not to slur.

  "What's that?" I reply.

  She smirks before taking a sip from the cocktail straw she stuck in her glass after Luke handed it to her.

  "I sent you a friend thingy on Facebook," she says.

  "Ah, I wasn't sure if that was you or not." Lie. Knowing my luck, she probably just saw me scrolling through Facebook.

  "I saw your name on Keegan's page. I haven't met many Chances," she says, snorting a laugh following her statement. "Get it? I haven't met many channnces?"

  "Yeah, I get it." I've never heard that one before.

  "Well then, are you going to accept my friendship?"

  I shrug. "I guess that all depends."

  She swats her hand in the air and puckers her lips before returning to her glass for another long drawn out sip. "Whatever," she says. "Don't be my friend. I don't care." "I never said that," I tell her.

  Luke places my burger down in front of me. "Enjoy, man."

  "Thanks, bro."

  "Mmm, another dry, dark burger. My favorite," August drawls.

  I sigh with frustration. This girl is driving me bonkers, and I'm not quite sure why.

  "Sorry. I didn't mean to offend your meat," she says, stifling a snorting laugh into the back of her hand.

  I take a bite of my burger, staring over to the TV mounted behind the bar, but my peripheral vision confirms t
hat she hasn't taken her eyes off me. "Want me to get you a burger too so you can see it isn't as bad as you think?" I ask, keeping my gaze firm on the TV.

  "Sure, Chance. I'll try a dry, dark burger."

  Luke overhears the conversation and gives me the thumbs up while punching orders into the register.

  Maybe some of the bread will soak up her whiskey.

  August grapples her drink and scoots down two seats to sit beside me. "Thank you for yesterday," she says beneath her breath.

  She's sincere … I think.

  "You're welcome. I'm sure it isn't easy losing someone you love."

  "I didn't love him, Chance. I was his caretaker longer than I was his girlfriend if that makes sense."

  It doesn't make any sense because I didn't think Keegan needed a caretaker. He seemed to be taking care of himself every night just fine.

  "A caretaker, huh?" I question.

  "He was sick for years."

  "I had no idea," I tell her, keeping my focus away from her face.

  He kept secrets like no one's business, I guess.

  "Luke, could I bother you for another drink, please?" she calls over to him, holding up her empty glass.

  I catch the unsettled look in Luke's eyes, but then he goes about his business.

  "Whatever. What's done is done, right?" August mumbles.

  I wouldn't be saying that just a week after a man died, but I'm not one to judge the stages of grief, I guess.

  I finish my burger just as August receives hers. "Do you put anything on this or just pray your teeth don't break?"

  "Ketchup if you must, and you do need to pray," I tell her, snorting a laugh.

  I pass the ketchup down in case she would like to add it on, which she does.

  "Okay, here goes nothing."

  August takes a giant bite out of the burger. The burger makes her face look tiny in comparison. She tries to be neat about it, rushing a napkin up to her mouth following the bite.

  "ErmIgod," she mumbles through the mouthful. I don't know if that's a good reaction or a bad one. She chews up the bite for a minute then swallows it. "That was the best dry burger I've ever had."

  "You eat dry burgers often?"

  "Nope, never, but this is good."

  "Hmm, thought so."

  "Don't be so cocky, Chance Miller. It's just a burger."

  Luke places down her new drink. "How is everything?"

  "Fantastic," she says.

  "Good, let me know if I can get you anything else."

  "Did you know this guy here; he's a burger consewer?"

  "Consewer?" I ask.

  "Yeah, a consewer," she repeats.

  "Conosuir, you mean?" I correct her pronunciation without thinking through the consequences.

  "Do you like to embarrass women, Chance?"

  Dear God. I can't win with this one. I knew that was coming.

  "Sorry," I offer.

  "It's fine. I was just kidding. I know how to pronounce conosuir."

  While taking down her burger, she also polishes off her whiskey. Of course, without even a water break in between, she's requesting another.

  Rather than argue with her, Luke pulls his next card and tries to stall the process, acting like he's busy around the empty bar. If the bar were busy tonight, it wouldn't clear what he is trying to do.

  "Um, excuse me, Luke?" she questions after a few minutes. "Did you forget my order?"

  "Nope, I didn't. I'll get to it in just a moment."

  "Is this what you do with drunks in your bar? You stall them?" I'm a little surprised to hear her put the question out there. For someone in her mental state, I wouldn't expect such a sharp assumption.

  "No, ma'am. Just trying to get things cleaned up real quick before a crowd comes in."

  "Did you ever stall Keegan when he was getting drunk?"

  Another record scratch neither of us saw coming. Luke drops his dishtowel that he's been using to dry glasses. "Can I be honest with you?" Luke asks August.

  "I would hope so," she responds.

  "Keegan never appeared to be drunk, hon."

  "Well, he was," she tells him. "All the time except for a few months here and there when he was trying to get sober."

  Thinking back now, I recall periods when Keegan wouldn't come into the bar, but I never thought much of it. We were just acquaintances who would share a joke about a sports game or something stupid on the news.

  "I had no idea," Luke tells her.

  "Yet, you think I'm a drunk, don't you?"

  "I didn't say that," Luke argues.

  "Then, could I please have my drink?"

  "Sure thing," Luke concedes.

  Pains in my chest inform me I'm feeling way too much about this girl who's more or less a stranger. I don't understand what she's trying to prove publicly or to herself, but I want to tell her it won't help the situation. Luke walks away to make up her drink, and August twists her body to face me. "After this drink, do you want to get out of here with me?"

  Another reaction pumps through me, one I shouldn't be having. "Um, what do you mean?"

  "Do you want to go for a walk or something?"

  "Uh, yeah, we can—we can do that." I feel like I'm asking for trouble, but maybe I'm doing her a favor too.

  "Cool," she says. "Oh, and accept my friendship, please."

  "Consider it done," I tell her.

  Her eyes widen but through a struggle. She looks tired and worn out. "No way. Do it right now so I can watch you."

  She sure is a fireball. "Okay, all right, give me a minute." I open up the app on my phone and click the little white icon.

  "See, look how many people want to be your friend, Chance Miller. Are you against having friendships or something?"

  "I'm not a big social media guy. I like to scroll, see what's goin' on in the world, and sign back off. I guess you could call me a spectator."

  "I see, well, this way you can see what's going on in my world, maybe."

  Is she flirting with me? It sure as hell seems like it.

  She's drunk.

  She's distraught.

  She is troubled.

  Her hand is on my arm. "I'm sorry for being a jerk to you when you were trying to help me."

  "Don't mention it."

  I glance over at her hand, the light pink polish on her short-rounded nails, and the two decorative rings on her pointer finger. She has dainty hands, small in comparison to mine.

  Luke places her drink down with reluctance. "Just give me a minute to polish this off, and we can get out of here."

  All I see is Luke's questioning eyes flashing back and forth between August and me. His lips form into the shape of a small O as he's questioning what the hell I'm doing. With a subtle gesture, I hold up a hand to show him I'm not planning to do anything stupid.

  Luke shakes his head with concern. "I'll add all this to your tab," he says.

  "Oh, I'll pay for mine," August follows.

  "Don't worry about it. I gotcha," I say.

  "You sure? I wasn't trying to get a free meal out of you ..."

  "No, I know. It's my treat."

  "You're sweet," she says. "Thank you."

  Chapter Sixteen

  August

  Maybe this is why you came to this bar every night. Everyone here is so friendly and easy to be around, unlike your devoted girlfriend at home who was so often worried sick about where you might be or if you were lying in a ditch somewhere.

  I shouldn't have been lying in bed at night wondering which scenario would have been worse: finding out you wrapped your body around a tree-trunk as your mama did or knowing that you finally called yourself a weak enough man who couldn't handle his troubles. Unfortunately, I think I would have rather seen you wrapped around a tree. I might feel a little sorry for your stupid ass. Then again, maybe I wouldn't.

  With Chance following my footsteps, I lead the way out of the bar. Maybe I see a way out of my deep, dark depression, or perhaps I'm sick and tired of channeling a
ll of my angry thoughts through a glass of whiskey, but Chance has been the only one who has shown any concern for my well being this past week. I know it's not necessarily the right time to be enchanted by another guy, but companionship wouldn't hurt right about now.

  "Where were you thinking about going, miss August."

  "Just for a walk. Is that okay?"

  "Sure, it is."

  I wonder what he thought I meant. I suppose I could have been more specific and asked if he'd like to join me for a walk. Maybe I made Mr. Confident squirm a bit. Nothing wrong with that.

  We walk side by side down the narrow sidewalk. If I stumble, the back of our hands might touch, but I'll try to behave and keep myself in a straight-ish line. "I was with Keegan for thirteen years. We started dating during our sophomore year of high school."

  "Ah, high school sweethearts," Chance responds.

  I slip my hands into my back pockets and hold my focus on the lined gap in the center of the sidewalk, trying to keep my balance. "Not exactly. I mean, yes, and no."

  "At first, I was definitely into him. He was mysterious and intriguing, but he was hiding a lot of what was going on inside of him, and I ended up being his safe person—his only person. When you're a rock for someone, you can't just walk away, you know?"

  "It makes sense, but I think even the strongest rocks sometimes crumble," Chance responds.

  "Yeah, well, I put my life on hold for him. He was my best friend, but then he became dependent on help."

  "What kind of help?" Chance asks.

  I figured it was obvious what kind of help Keegan needed, but I guess it's only apparent to the person who spent half her life watching him self-destruct.

  "I guess I was faithful in keeping my promise to him, but he won't know if I break that promise now." I take in a deep breath, pulling in the smell from the pub's grill we're walking past. "Keegan suffered from alcoholism. It was in his genes. His mother was an alcoholic who eventually wrapped her car around a tree. That was the beginning of the end for Keegan. I tried to help him."