If I Fall

by Britt Morgan

  “Sorry about the mess,” Jay said. He reached down for an empty coffee cup—one that was sitting on a doily—and set it in the sink.

  “No fucking kidding. What a pig-sty.” I looked around, admiring the spotless living room with morbid fascination.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Jay asked.

  “A nice bottle of chilled tequila sounds great right about now,” I joked. Jay didn’t smile. I made a mental note not to crack booze-related jokes in his presence.

  “You could have been killed tonight when you drove drunk,” he said. I watched him go to the kitchen, get a glass from the cupboard, and pour some orange juice. He came back around and handed it to me. It wasn’t booze, but it would do.

  “I’m an idiot when I drink.” I sat down on the comfortable suede sofa and sipped my juice. Jay sat down next to me.

  “It could have been you in that ER tonight,” he said. “What would have happened then?”

  “Well, it wasn’t.” I finished off the juice and set it on the coffee table, careful to set it on a cup holder to not stain the shiny wooden top.

  “What would Carter think?” Jay asked. He looked over, forcing me to meet his gaze. He was awfully intimidating when he wanted to be. I swallowed, feeling a lump in my throat, unable to imagine what Carter would have thought had he been here. It was too depressing to think about.

  “Carter’s not here.”

  “That’s not the point, Khloe.” Jay sounded so much like Carter when he was annoyed that I wanted to laugh, but I couldn’t even bring myself to smile. Tonight had been a rough night, one that I did not intend to repeat.

  “Do you believe in heaven?” I asked. There was a moment of silence, and Jay looked away, as if pondering an answer he thought I would like to hear.

  “I don’t know,” he said finally. “Death sounds like a scary fate if there’s nothing else out there, you know?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I know.”

  “What about you?” he asked. “Do you believe in heaven?”

  I paused, and my eyes flickered over the wall across from us . . . a wall holding several framed, personal photos. I squinted, recognizing the blond boy in one of the pictures: Carter and Jay, standing on top of a mountain after a hike, their thumbs in the air and silly grins on their faces.

  “No,” I said. “With heaven comes God. I can’t believe in a God selfish enough to take someone like Carter away from us.”

  * * *

  I didn’t sleep well that night, tucked into Jay’s expensive sofa. My mind reeled as the darkness of the condo smothered me. In the bedroom, I could hear him snoring even with the door closed. I stared at the ceiling, into the darkness, my hand resting over my forehead as I listened to a mixture of snoring and the hum of the refrigerator. I needed a drink. Or a hit. Or both. Preferably both. Compared to my tiny apartment on a busy street, Jay’s condo was quiet and peaceful—but I didn’t like the quiet, and I didn’t like the peace. It rattled me.

  “You couldn’t be quiet if your life depended on it,” Carter once said to me. “Relax, Ladybug, and just try to be…”

  “Be what?” I’d asked, and he’d laughed.

  “No. Just be. You know, in the moment.”

  But even then, I hadn’t slowed down. My mind had kept on reeling, kept on racing. Sleep had never been normal for me, really, and especially not now. Recently, the only time sleep was gracious enough to come was when I was blackout drunk, and even then, only a few hours of shut-eye was all I could manage. And now, since Carter had been gone, the spinning in my head, the late nights, and the bad decisions—all of it was even worse.

  Chapter 20

  The next morning, we woke early to go see Ava in the hospital. Jay waited outside the door while I went in. It made my heart hurt to see her lying there, pale and sick looking, an IV in her arm. She saw me come in and smiled, her dark chocolate eyes flashing with happiness.

  “Es maldita hora!” she said. “Where have you been?” Her voice sounded raw and scratchy. I set the bouquet of flowers that Jay had bought for her on the stand near the bed before sitting down and taking her hand. She squeezed it weakly. I couldn’t help but notice that there was already a bouquet before ours—that one was from Ty.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked. She laughed, but it was not with amusement.

  “Like defunción warmed over.”

  “I can imagine.” In my mind, I saw her again, lying cold and limp on the bathroom floor, on the brink of death—no heartbeat, no breath.

  “I heard you’re the one that found me,” Ava said. “Ty told me.” She caught my eye, her face suddenly serious, and I found myself looking away.

  “Yeah,” I said. “When you didn’t answer your phone, I got worried. And when I found you—you were almost dead.” Ava’s gaze didn’t even waver as she stared at me.

  “A little demasiado at once, I think,” she joked, but this time I couldn’t find anything amusing about the situation. She’d almost died, and I’d had to save her life. What if I hadn’t found her in time? I’d have two dead friends. As if the first one hadn’t almost sent me over the edge. I wasn’t cut out for this—for God sakes, I could barely take care of myself, let alone take care of Ava.

  “We’re you trying to kill yourself?” I asked. Ava looked caught off guard, her face scrunching up in a look of distaste.

  “Of course not.”

  “Do you realize that if I hadn’t walked in, you’d be dead right now?” An image of Ava laying cold and stiff in a coffin in the rain made me sick to my stomach, and I had to look away. I envisioned her being buried next to Carter; my two best friends. My two best dead friends. Their headstones would be pretty, but the birth dates and death dates would be too close together. People would stop and stare with pity. They were only kids, they’d say. What a tragically short life. And then eventually, after some time, my own headstone would join them. I would be nothing here on earth. Just a memory. Just a distant memory. My name forgotten—I would be forgotten. After Carter’s passing, I was certain there was nothing else in the world I could lose that I cared about. I was wrong. If I lost Ava, that would have been everything.

  “You’re being a little dramatic, aren’t you?” said Ava. “I’m fine, Khloe. It was an accident.” I got to my feet so I wouldn’t let my hand slip and slap her for being so Goddamn stupid.

  “A little dramatic,” I agreed. I turned back around, meeting her eyes. “I had to revive you, Ava. Your heart was not beating.”

  “Khloe,” Ava said. “I’m fine. Relajarse.”

  “No, you are not fine,” I snapped. “In fact, neither one of us are fucking fine.” That was it. My temper had reached boiling point, and I wasn’t sure whether to do the smart thing and walk away now or just continue yelling.

  “Of course we are.”

  “No,” I said. “We’re not. I drove to Jesse’s place last night drunk, and you overdosed in the bathroom. Which part of that is okay?”

  “Oh, please,” Ava turned her head away, her face etched with annoyance. “It’s thanks to you that I’m still in this fucking place, Khloe. I had to get a psych evaluation and the doctor is thinking about keeping me in this bed for longer.” She paused, seething. “I can’t do that. I can’t fucking stay here. They think I’m a drug addict, Khloe. They think I’m a fucking drug-dependent whore.”

  “I wonder why,” I said, letting the sarcasm flow heavy. “Maybe keeping you in here is a good idea, Ava.” I should have regretted those words, and should have wanted to take them back, but I didn’t. I couldn’t.

  “You don’t mean that,” she said, and I watched as she struggled to push herself into a sitting position. “You know I can’t stay here.”

  “Maybe this is just what you need,” I said. “Maybe this is your chance to detox and get clean.”

  “Ugh!” Ava fell back against the pillow, scowling. “Here we go again with your ‘getting clean’ spiel. I don’t know why you insist on being under some warped impression tha
t if you get clean, your whole life will suddenly come together, and shit will be all sunshine and rainbows.”

  “I’m not under any sort of impression like that,” I told her. “But aren’t you getting tired of it all? The drugs and the booze and the hangovers?”

  “No.” Ava said. She fell back against her bed and folded her arms. “Not even a little bit. So, fuck you, Khloe.” At that moment, Jay came into the room, presumably hearing the emotions on the other side of the door rise. He paused at the door, eyes flickering back and forth between Ava and me.

  “Everything okay here?” he asked. Ava sneered at him.

  “Oh good,” she said. “I should have figured you’d be here. Khloe can’t seem to get by day-to-day without at least one fag friend.”

  “Ava,” I snapped, but Jay looked unruffled, calm, even. I wanted to smack her.

  “Maybe it’s time to give her some space,” he said to me. “We’ll come back tomorrow—when she’s feeling better.”

  “Don’t bother,” Ava said. “I don’t want either of you here.”

  “Done,” Jay said. And just like that, we were heading out of the room and out the ER doors before I could even react.

  “She can’t just kick us out!” I cried. “I’m, like, her best friend. She has no one else.”

  “People need space sometimes,” Jay said. We got in the car and headed towards Jesse’s place so I could pick up my car. “Give her some time. She’ll get over herself.”

  “Ha. You don’t know Ava.” I hesitated for a moment, wondering if I should go back to the hospital and convince her of what an ass she was being. But I didn’t. I knew Jay was right. Giving Ava space was the best thing we could do right now, even if it did hurt. It was impossible to help someone who didn’t want help, despite my best efforts.

  Jay pulled up to Jesse’s complex and we got out near my car. I was relieved to see it hadn’t been broken into or sabotaged while I’d been away. The side of town Jesse lived in was sketchy, to say the least. Then again, I’m not sure why anyone would want to steal Missus Betty, anyway. With a sigh, I slid into the driver’s seat and turned the engine. When it squealed, I saw Jay wince.

  “You weren’t kidding,” he said.

  “I don’t kid about Missus Betty,” I told him with a straight face. Jay’s eyebrows shot up, and I had the urge to laugh.

  “I’ve heard a lot of people name their cars, but I’ve never heard one quite like that.”

  “I got this car in high school.” I patted the steering wheel lovingly, making a mental note to wipe away the four layers of dust that coated the dashboard. “My sophomore year. Carter helped me pick it out.” Jay backed up, his eyes flicking up and down the old beater.

  “I can tell,” he said finally, and I leaned out and punched him playfully in the arm.

  “There are a lot of memories involving this car,” I said. “A lot involving Carter, too.” I paused, swallowing the lump in my throat. “We took this car on our road trip to California. It broke down four times, but each time all it took was some fiddling under the hood and we were back on the road.”

  “I bet that was a fun trip,” said Jay. I smiled and nodded, imagining Carter’s playful smile. I remembered us back on the beach, our toes in the sand, the tide rolling up and splashing our feet and legs.

  “I got stung by a jellyfish,” I told Jay. “It hurt like a bitch. Carter peed on me. I was pretty sure I was going to die.” Jay laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

  “Did the urine help?”

  “Much to Carter’s glee, yes,” I admitted. “But that was the last time I put my feet in that damn water.”

  “I can’t blame you there.”

  “Yeah.” I sighed and leaned my head back against the seat, watching the memory fade from my mind like a worn-out page in a novel. “I miss him so much,” I said quietly. “He was everything, Jay. I don’t know how I’m going to survive without him.”

  “You will,” Jay said. “We both will.”

  Chapter 21

  September 5, 2016

  I’ve done it again. I’ve fucked up the best thing in my life. I shouldn’t have pressured him. I shouldn’t have told him to come out. Now he’s gone, and im alone. I’m an idiot. God, I miss him so much. Khloe keeps asking me what’s up, but I just don’t feel like now is the time to tell her. I hate hiding this kind of shit tho. I know it hurts her. It definitely hurts me.

  I don’t know how im going to survive this.

  * * *

  I shut the journal and looked down at my arm, flexing my hand, watching for the vein to pop to the surface. When it did, I uncapped the needle and pushed it under the skin, wincing. A moment of pain was worth every moment of the high that would come soon after.

  “I’ll survive this,” I whispered. “I’ll survive this without you, Carter.”

  I withdrew the needle and set it aside before covering the hole in my arm with a piece of tissue. For a moment, I kept pressure on my arm to keep it from bleeding. But as I laid there, the drugs traveling through my blood and into my system, I allowed my hand to drop and I watched with morbid fascination as the blood pooled to the surface again and dribbled down my arm, seeping like a trickle of water. Outside my apartment, that same stupid dog was barking, and I felt the overwhelming urge to scream at it. I sat up, dizzy from the shots of liquor I had consumed earlier in the day, before picking up the journal again. On the coffee table was a bottle of pills; I didn’t know what they were, and I didn’t care much. I reached for the bottle, ignoring the blood running down my arm, and then sat back against the sofa. It smelled of wet dog and rotting food. Funny. I didn’t even own a dog.

  I took a deep breath, watched— as if in another body — as my hand opened the cap from the bottle, and poured some of the pills into my palm. I didn’t count how many there were before I tossed them back and washed them down. Closing my eyes, I took a deep, shaky breath. My heart raced—I felt it thudding almost painfully against my rib cage. I opened my eyes and stared up at the ceiling for a moment, listening to my own uneven breathing exhale the silence of the house. It wasn’t until I had opened the journal and I was hunched over reading the next entry that I realized I was crying. Silent tears. Tears of pain.

  * * *

  December 6, 2016

  it’s been three months and it still feels like it was yesterday. The pain of being away from jay is overwhelming sometimes. So overwhelming, in fact, that I find myself wondering if i’ll make it to the next day. sometimes I feel like Mrs. Dunham is the only person in my life who I can turn to. She is a great listener…. but I guess that’s her job, huh? She’s really nice. I like her. She never judges, never gets angry. Without her im not sure I would still be here. She gets paid to not judge people, tho. I wish everyone was like that.

  * * *

  “I wouldn’t have judged you,” I said. “I wouldn’t have judged you, Carter!”

  I sat up, realizing that I had screamed that last sentence. I slapped a hand over my face, sobbing. The blood from my arm had dried now, clinging to my skin like an unnatural shade of streaked lipstick. I rubbed the tears from my eyes, trying to focus on one thing long enough to get my shit together. It was four ‘O clock in the afternoon. If I was lucky, I would be able to do what I wanted to do before it was too late. Sober, I knew, I wouldn’t be able to do it without feeling like a jackass.

  I stood and tucked Carter’s journal into my jacket and zipped it up. Then I grabbed a wad of cash from the counter and headed towards the bus stop. I knew I was too fucked up to drive. At least I could think that clearly as I got onto the bus, ignoring the disgusted stares from other passengers. I sat down in the back and put my head down, too ashamed to meet anyone’s judging gaze. I knew they could see right through my facade. I knew they could see the pain, the blood-shot eyes, and the devastated mess that I had become. And yet, I didn’t care. It wasn’t their place to judge me—they didn’t know me. At this point, the only person who could judge me was me.


  Twenty minutes later, at my stop, I got off and walked—well, stumbled—through the front doors of my old high school. It was four-forty. I’d made it in time, before the bell rang at five to dismiss the students.

  “Miss?” The receptionist looked up when she saw me. She stood from her place behind the desk, looking wary. It was the same woman I had come the other day, the one with the snide expression and bitchy tone. “Are you alright? Can I help you?”

  “I need to see the counselor, Ms. Dunham,” I said.

  “Do you have an appointment?” the girl asked. “Are you a student here?” If she recognized me, she didn’t let on.

  “No,” I said. “I just—I need to see her.” I took Carter’s journal from my coat pocket and showed it to her, as if trying to prove a point. She stared at it, and then back at me, confused. “I just need her to explain something. I need help, okay? I just need help.”

  “I’m afraid that if you don’t have an appointment and you’re not a current student of this school, I can’t let you in,” the girl said. She had a nametag pinned to her shirt.

  “Lucy, is it?” I said. “Listen, Lucy, please. Please, I just need to—” I stopped mid-sentence as the office door open and Mrs. Dunham poked her head out. She saw me standing there like some flea-ridden prostitute and nodded once at the girl, Lucy, behind the desk.

  “It’s okay,” Mrs. Dunham said. “Come in, Khloe.” I tried not to feel too smug as I followed the counselor into her office, ignoring the stabbing stare of the woman behind the desk. I stopped near the leather couch and caught my breath, feeling suddenly ill, like I might puke all over the nice beige carpet. Mrs. Dunham turned towards me and leaned back against her desk, arms folded across her chest. Her glasses were perched on the edge of her nose, and she looked slightly intimidating as she stared me down. For a moment, there was silence. Neither of us spoke.