Fall to Pieces: A story about addiction and love

by Shari J. Ryan

  "What can I get ya, honey?" a man asks me from behind. I'm not sure if he's offering to order me a drink because no one is serving me or if he thinks he's buying my time. In any case, I just want the drink.

  "Whiskey sour please," I tell him. The man isn't my type. He's bald, packed full of muscle and his clothes are too tight like it's intentional.

  "I like a girl who can handle her whiskey," the man says. "Aaron, nice to meet ya, sweetheart."

  This situation is not going to end well, and this little connection is not going any further.

  I hand over a ten-dollar bill, making it clear I don't want Aaron to pay for my drink, whatever his reason is. "I got this, honey."

  "No, thank you. I'm happy to pay for my drink."

  "I see," he says. "No expectations. It's on me, though. You look like you've had a rough night out in the rain. This weather is something else, ain't it?"

  "It is. I suppose we could use the rain, though, right? And thank you for the drink," I offer, hoping he's honest about having no expectations.

  "Where are your friends at?" he asks.

  "No friends here tonight," I respond. "I'm just here to grab a quick drink after a long day."

  He yells my order out over a few heads, receiving immediate attention from the bartender.

  The drink is in my hand within a matter of minutes. "Thank you, again," I offer.

  "Anytime, honey." Aaron places his hand down on my shoulder and leans toward my ear. "Just holler if you need me to grab you another one."

  I smile to thank him for the offer while spotting Chance's wondering eyes peering in through the front window.

  He doesn't give up.

  To piss Chance off, I press up on my toes and kiss Aaron on the cheek. "Thanks for being a good guy," I whisper.

  His hand immediately wraps around my back. "I can be whatever kind of guy you want," he says.

  Yup. Aaron is who I figured he was—smooth as pie, trying to play his cards right, so he doesn't seem like he's working on a game of pick-up.

  Chance makes his way into the bar, and I take the opportunity to slip away from Aaron's vicinity, hoping to create some space between myself and Chance. I realize the encounter is inevitable with him because I've come to learn that Chance Miller doesn't give up easily.

  I already know it's no use moving to the back of the bar because, by the time I get there, Chance will have me cornered. "What is your problem?" I ask him. "You are seriously starting to annoy me."

  "Yeah, well, you're pretty irritating too. I'm trying to be a decent human being after watching you self-destruct over the past week. Girl, you need help, and I wouldn't be able to sleep at night if I didn't think I at least tried." Chance runs his fingers through his damp, dark hair, appearing frustrated. How can anyone be so frustrated with a person they hardly know? "Haven't you ever seen someone in need of a hand and offered it to them without thinking?"

  Oh my God. Is that what Chance sees when looking at me? Am I another form of Keegan in his eyes? A helpless person fighting off the side effects of abuse and neglect—a person lacking desire to make her life better? He doesn't have a clue who I am. He doesn't know that I count on one hand how many drinks I had before last week. Why do people assume they know everything? "I'm not who or what you think I am, so you can go on home and sleep comfortably knowing that. You don't have to worry about me. We're strangers—more or less."

  "You're driving me nuts," he says.

  "Yeah, well, you're driving me bonkers too. So, we're even."

  "We're not even. If you saw someone acting like you out in public, I would hope you'd step in to help too."

  "What am I doing that's so terrible? Having a drink like you do every night? And what makes you think I'd stalk someone that looks like they have issues?"

  "You're not just having a drink, darlin'. We both know this."

  "Mind your own business and get a Band-Aid while you're at it. You're bleeding."

  He touches his fingers to his cheek, then pulls his hand away to inspect the damage. I don't recall seeing that cut on his face at Kenny's. I wonder what happened. "Fine. I'll stay away. Okay? Happy? Good luck with everything." Chance's anger is evident by the downturned look in his eyes and the crease in his red forehead. His chest is heaving heavier than usual, and his lips press together in a tight line.

  I slam my glass down on the table next to me, feeling my eyes bulge at Chance. He's infuriating. "Good luck with everything? With what? Mourning over a suicide? Gee, thanks, 'friend.'"

  "That's not what I meant, August."

  "Yeah, well, that's what you just said, didn't you?"

  "Just stop and talk to me for a minute, okay?" He does not give up.

  "I've got nothing to say to you," I tell him. "I want to be alone. Can you just do that for me? Let me be alone."

  For as little time as I've known Chance, it seems out of character for him to grab my glass and finish off what's inside, but that's what he does, then mirrors my action of slamming the glass down on the table.

  "What the hell? That was my drink," I snap at him.

  "Oh well. I'm sure your boyfriend over there can help you get another free one."

  My heart is pounding, and my face is hotter than if I were sitting out in the sun. I cannot continue arguing with this idiot. "He's a nice guy. I bet he'll buy your sorry ass one too," I tell him.

  I brush by Chance, knocking my shoulder into his ribcage, and nudge a few others out of my way as I make a quick exit out the door.

  I swear to God, the floodgates from hell must have opened. The sidewalk is filling up with water. We aren't used to weather like this, and our drainage system clearly can't handle the deluge.

  Thankfully, I wore running shoes to go along with my yoga pants and sweatshirt today. I pull my hoodie over my head and make a run for the bridge, where I need to be.

  I can hardly see the water because of the rain, but I pull my daily note out of my pocket and unfold it.

  Dear A**—Keegan,

  I begin to read.

  Remember your first day of fifth grade at Bater Elementary? I promised you I'd be your friend. Want to know why?

  I knew what it was like to go without a friend. I knew what it was like to be left out and never asked to hang out with anyone. I never understood why it was like that for me, but I didn't wish that feeling on anyone, so I thought Mrs. Donahue had some insight that I didn't have. I think she thought if I could help someone like you, I wouldn't feel so left out anymore.

  Do you know how seriously I took that request from Mrs. Donahue? I thought about it every day, Keegan. I never gave up on you. Never.

  And you know what, not once, not even once did I say, "What about me?" Sure, my life was great at home, unlike yours, but I felt sad a lot. I felt alone a lot, and you were more concerned about me being your friend than you, being mine. Life was always about you. Every worry and concern were because of your stumbling steps. I tried to fix your pain; I stood there, day after day, trying to help you get better, and all you did was purposely make yourself worse.

  I wish I never promised Mrs. Donahue that I'd be your friend because it is the biggest regret of my life. You broke my heart and left me without a friend in the world.

  Thanks a lot,

  August

  I step up on the railing of the short wooden fence that borders the edge of the bridge. I lean forward and toss the note like I have done almost every night since Keegan passed. Except for tonight, the wind pushes it back, causing it to fall on the other side of the barricade.

  I reach over, dangling my fingers, hoping to pinch it between my forefinger and middle finger, but I can't reach. I press up on my toes to get a little more wiggle room and seesaw my body over the side, feeling the liquid in my stomach press into my organs. It burns.

  I finally make contact with the note, but my feet slide off the wet piece of plywood, and I slip forward, realizing I had more weight on the other side of the fence. A thud against my head completes an unw
anted flip off the side of the bridge, and I splash into the frigid water.

  My head throbs as I sink for a moment, but then I notice the water is glowing from the lights above, making everything look blue around me. It's beautiful. It's peaceful.

  Maybe I'm dreaming because I didn't think my notes could survive underwater for long, but handwritten notes are floating around my body. They're all mine.

  They're all made out to Keegan.

  Except for one letter, it has words written in red. It says:

  Please stop. Go on and live your life.

  It must be in my head.

  The sensation of floating relaxes me, so I shut out the blue glow, as well as the floating notes. I make it all go away so I can forget.

  Is this why you did it, Keegan? To feel weightless and free? To be left without having to care for anyone. Even myself.

  I get it now.

  It's too hard to be alone with your horrible thoughts, but I still don't forgive you. You were a coward, and you did this on purpose.

  A voice in my head repeats my words to Keegan, but it's me who should be listening to the meaning.

  "You did this on purpose."

  Yes, I did.

  I need to understand … but I still don't.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chance

  I've come to learn I'm a glutton for punishment when it comes to decisions I make in life, but I'm also a firm believer in following my gut. It’s possible I see the pain in others more clearly or have a sixth sense. It's easy to pass by people on the street without taking a second look. It's easy to say, "Oh, I'm sure so-and-so are fine. They're just having a difficult day." If everyone just took an extra few minutes to take a second look or an extra-long glance, possibly ask a question or two, this world would be a better place. Sometimes people just need a hand to grab onto—it should be so simple.

  Despite the firm, unforgiving speech August gave me, making it clear as day that I should leave her alone, I didn't think twice about following her out of the bar. I know she's wasted and not thinking straight, especially after what I witnessed last night. I can't understand why a girl who appears to be as smart as she is would be a repeat offender of the mistakes she's making night after night. I know the pain of a hangover, and it isn't something I would choose.

  The pub we were at was the last one lined up on the street. I'm at the end of the curb, staring through a four-way intersection that separates Main Street from the bridge August likes to frequent at night.

  I continue over to her spot, trying to see through the torrential rains. It's hard to see more than a few feet in front of me, but I spot some fog rising from the lake's surface. I also notice an unnatural swirl in the water's flow. A few bubbles are floating around too. For a moment, I wonder what could be moving around under the water, but when I lean over the edge, I see a body ... sinking.

  I kick my boots off, climb to the top of the bridge's barrier, and dive into the water. It's murky as hell, but I continue downward in a straight form until I make out more movement. It isn't until I'm hovering over the floor of the lake that I can see it's August's body.

  I lunge for her, forcing her unconscious body onto my back as I swim up to the surface. When I emerge, I look in every direction for the best way to get her out of the water. I scream, "Help!" at the top of my breathless lungs.

  I spot an area where the lake rolls onto a small patch of rocks. I can make it up to the street level that way. I swim over and carefully hoist her lifeless body onto the boulders, then pull myself out next. I make it onto the solid land and lift her onto my lap before placing her down flat on her back. Her lips are blue as far as I can tell with the dim light around us. I press my ear against her chest, listening for air and a heartbeat. I have trouble hearing much, so I search for her pulse on her neck, finding it beating lightly against my finger. Thank God. She's alive but not breathing.

  I tilt her head back, and then with my hands formed into the shape of a triangle, I begin chest compressions. I tilt her head back, pinch her small nose and press my lips to hers, wishing I never had to feel the softness against mine under these circumstances. I hate how much pain I'm feeling in my chest. The pressure of keeping this poor woman alive is overwhelming, and I don't know if administering CPR the correct way.

  I force air into her lungs and return to chest compressions. The thought of reaching for my phone slips away as I realize my phone is likely dead from being submerged in the water. My voice carries a little louder as I scream for help again. "Please, call 9-1-1," I yell, hoping if someone hears me, they understand the urgency.

  It feels like minutes before someone answers my shouts. An older man cautiously walks around the bend of trees, appearing worried about the scene he's witnessing. "Sir, please, could you call 9-1-1. I'm going to lose her." Hearing the words aloud makes the pain in my chest worse. I wish I could tell her that the anger she's been taking on for Keegan is causing me to be angry too, but I don't want her end to be the same as Keegan's. I won't let it.

  I continue with my attempt at chest compressions and mouth-to-mouth, finally getting a face full of choked up water. I press the side of my head to her chest, praying for the sound of flowing air.

  I hear meek breaths accompanied by a gurgle of water, so I turn her onto her side and briskly rub her back. “Stay with me, darlin’. Come on.”

  The sirens echo in the distance, and though I'd like to feel a sense of relief, she's still unconscious. I'm just grateful there is a bit of airflow.

  When the paramedics rush over, I answer the questions as fast as possible, trying to give out as much detail as possible. There are two ambulances worth of paramedics crowding around August's small body, making it so I can't see what they're doing.

  "Sir, are you with her?"

  "She's a friend of mine, yes. I wasn't with her when she fell. I don't know how long she was underwater. I saw something in the water, so I jumped in." I realize my statement might be making me look suspicious in this case, but I don't care about that right now. I jog over to the bridge and grab my boots to go along with her to the hospital.

  "You're welcome to come along in the ambulance," a paramedic says.

  Lord knows August would chop my head off before inviting me in if she was conscious, but no one else is here to keep an eye on her.

  I step in after the stretcher is locked in, and take a seat on the shiny elephant gray padded bench, realizing I have never had to sit inside of one of these before, thank God. There isn't much room between my knees and the edge of the stretcher, so I take August's hand and squeeze. "It's okay," I whisper. "You're going to be okay." I don't know if she's going to be okay, but if she's in there somewhere ... fighting, I want her to have a reason to fight.

  My gaze falls to her fingers, noticing how white her nail beds are. Her hand is cold, and I try to warm it up by placing my other on top.

  Her hair is everywhere and considering how prim and proper she always seems to look, I can assume she wouldn't want anyone to see her like this. She looks so pure and helpless, though. There's redness on her chest from where I was pressing, and I'm afraid she will have a bruise tomorrow. Even her lips look swollen.

  The ride to the hospital is quick, and we arrive within a few minutes of leaving the lake. I'm left in the wind as they wheel August toward the emergency entrance for ambulance arrivals. I follow even though I hear a sheriff chasing after me with more questions.

  My attempt to follow August becomes pointless when a nurse stops me in the hallway. "I'm sorry, sir, you're going to have to wait in the waiting room."

  I feel like I'm losing someone I love, and it's only been a week. I can't understand why I feel so much, but I do. August needs me. She doesn't know it yet, but dammit, she needs me.

  After answering a dozen more questions, I take a seat in the waiting area and reach into my pocket, pulling out my phone. I assumed the thing wouldn't even turn on, but somehow, there's power. I stare at my phone, realizing I don't have Ma
y's contact information. I only gave her my number. I have no way of reaching August's family.

  I toss my head back against the wall and close my eyes. I can't help but recall the last time I was sitting in this same seat. I've managed to stay out of this place since I was five.

  It was the last night of what I knew to be a normal life.

  My parents and I took a walk into town to get ice cream because it was a scorching hot summer day, and it was Ice Cream Wednesday. Each of us loved ice cream just as much as the other, but I remember them saying if they could eat ice cream every day, they would, but they'd all weigh more than the state of Texas, so we had to keep it to one night a week. It gave me something to look forward to in my long four-hour days in pre-kindergarten.

  We found it easier to walk to town since there weren't many parking spots on the side streets. It was only about a mile away.

  The four-way stop before the small downtown area hardly ever had more than one car at a time. Except for that night. That random Wednesday night at seven-fourteen p.m. when two teenagers were racing to wherever they were going. One stopped at the sign, but the other went right through the crosswalk. Thankfully, no one had left the sidewalk yet. The other teenage driver seemed to be a little smarter than the other one and let us cross while he waited.

  My dad waved. My mom grabbed my hand, but I pulled away to skip ahead. "Chance, come back here. You know what I've told you about holding my hand in the road," she shouted.

  It was the last thing I heard her say.

  If I had been holding her hand—

  When the screech of skidding tires pierced my ears, I slowly turned around, scared to see what I'd find.

  Evidently, there was another impatient friend in the bunch, and he flew around the patient driver, striking both my parents in an attempt to swerve around me.

  I was on the sidewalk by the time I saw what had happened.