As I walked, I tried to imagine what I’d say to Mrs. Dunham, how I could approach her, but my mind was blank. A few times I even considered turning around and going home, but I forced myself to stay on the path until I finally checked into the office and took a seat, ignoring the snide look from the high school receptionist—a young woman who I didn’t recognize and yet who still seemed to hate me just for existing. I looked away from her and at the wall instead, biting my fingernails.
“Stop nibbling on your fingers,” Carter would say. “Soon, you won’t have anything left to chew.”
After another fifteen minutes or so, the blonde receptionist stood up and glanced over at me. “Khloe? Mrs. Dunham is behind today with student meetings. Is there any way I can schedule you a later appointment?”
“No.” I stood up, annoyed. “I really need to talk to her today.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible. I—”
Without thinking twice about it, I glanced in the direction of the closed office doors and made a run for it, my mind buzzing.
“You can’t go in there,” the receptionist huffed, but the time I’d spent in the general vicinity of the Principal’s office meant I knew where I was going probably better than she did. The blonde-haired girl was hot on my tail, still shouting something that I couldn’t quite hear, but I twisted the handle on the door and pushed it open.
“Traci Dunham,” I announced with a gasp for air. The woman sitting at the desk looked up at me from her stack of papers, peering over the top of her reading spectacles. She looked puzzled, but not as caught off guard as I would have expected. She let her hands fall onto the desk, folding them gently as she stared at me.
“Khloe Daniels,” she said. “It’s been a while.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Dunham,” the blonde said, coming up behind me. She reached for my arm, and I yanked away. “I told her to come back another ti—”
“I came to see you for a reason.” I took another step into the office, wary for some reason, fearing a big, fat rejection. Carter’s journal felt like a brick between my fingers. I stopped short of the door, biting my lip, hoping I had time to state my case before the blonde bimbo called school security—the blubbering halfwits they were—and had me thrown out on my ass.
“Can I help you, Ms. Daniels?” Traci Dunham asked. “You don’t go to school here anymore.” She had yet to lay eyes on the book in my hand. Behind me, the receptionist was still standing there at a loss for what to do. She looked like a confused, pitiful thing.
“I’m here about a student who came to you,” I said finally. “Carter Drake. This is Carter’s journal.”
“Carter?” she repeated. A clear flicker of recognition crossed over her features. Her gaze darted from me over to the student-aid receptionist, and she forced a smile and waved her hand. Quietly, the blonde-haired girl backed out and shut the door, but she didn’t look happy about it. Traci looked back at me and smiled. “I’ve been expecting you.”
“What do you mean?”
Traci got to her feet and crossed the room then, reaching out for the journal clutched tightly in my grip. I held it to my chest, wary of letting it go, wondering if she’d take it away from me before throwing me out.
“Please,” she said. Her voice was soft, eyes kind. It was easy to see how well she did her job. “May I look at it?”
Hesitantly, I handed it over, feeling somehow incomplete as the journal was taken from my hands. She took the book from me before returning to her chair, letting her fingers run over the cover without opening it. After a moment of silence, she looked up at me. “Khloe,” she said. “I didn’t see you as near enough as I saw Carter, but I know who you are. Your name came up frequently.”
Feeling both shocked and relieved, I took her words as an invitation to sit down, so I did, trying to make myself comfortable in the chaise lounge across from her desk.
“I’m sure it was all bad,” I said with half a smile. Instead of opening the journal to read it, Mrs. Dunham set it down on her desk, one hand resting on the cover.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said. “The whole school is. Carter was a wonderful young man.”
I had sincere doubts that the high school cared whether Carter was gone, but instead of climbing up onto my soapbox to tell her all about it, I simply nodded.
“He was,” I agreed. “He was wonderful and happy. Was. Now I need to know why he did what he did because suicide doesn’t seem like something a happy, wonderful person would do.” Speaking of Carter’s death so lightly made my insides twist into knots, but I couldn’t afford to break down now. I had to hold it together if I wanted answers.
“Khloe, I’m afraid I can’t disclose any more information to you about Carter,” she said. She shifted in her seat, her eyes gazing at me over the expensive spectacles propped up on her nose.
“I don’t think he’ll mind,” I said, then wished I could take back those words. I took a deep breath, very much aware of Mrs. Dunham’s soft, sympathetic eyes on me. For some reason, while she stared, I felt like crying. “Please don’t say that,” I said, struggling to compose myself. “I need your help. You’re my last resort. I need to figure this out. I need answers.” With a soft sigh, Mrs. Dunham picked up the journal from her desk, stood up, and handed it to me.
“I think you have exactly what you’re looking for.”
November 15, 2014
I know I shouldn’t worry about Khloe, but I find it hard not to. She’s impulsive. I keep telling her that one day it’s going to get her hurt, but she doesn’t take it seriously. I just want to shake her and yell in her face, but I don’t because I know how fragile she is. How vulnerable. I could break her. So instead, I just have to be there for her… just have to help her through the pain and pray that she makes the right decisions. I don’t know if there is a God or not, but if there is, I hope he stays by her side… even if I’m gone.
I set down the glass of orange juice and vodka on Ava’s dirty, ash-stained coffee table and looked over at her.
“Am I impulsive?” I asked. Ava glanced up from the joint she was rolling, her expression completely serious.
“Yes.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Then, no. You’re not.” She shrugged, ready to lay down whatever I wanted to hear so she could get back to her pot. I rolled my eyes and closed the book, reaching for my drink.
“Carter thinks I am,” I said.
“Not anymore,” she cracked. I picked up a soiled pillow and threw it at her, but she dodged it.
“You’re a bitch.”
“That’s why we’re friends,” she said, and I knew she was right. Somewhere outside of her shoddy apartment, a dog started to bark. Through the thin, cheap windows with cracks in the glass, it was irritatingly loud, and I wanted to shout at it through the door.
“How do you listen to that all night?” I asked. Ava shrugged and lit the joint between her fingers. The barking, I noticed, didn’t seem to bother her as it did me.
“Not all of us had a rich mother who left us a wad of dough before she bit the dust,” she said. “It’s all I can afford.”
“I work at the same club you do,” I said, hoping I hadn’t already managed to sound too insensitive. I closed my mouth and kept it shut. Ava had been a foster kid, bouncing from one home to another as a young child and then again as a teen. She never knew her real parents and had no family. She’d been a loner when we’d met, too mean to make friends and too aloof to try, so of course, we’d bonded at once. Her past, however, was not something she was always thrilled to talk about.
“I take it that the head shrink wasn’t much help?” Ava inhaled on the rolled paper between her lips and looked at me. “You’ve hardly said a word about it since you got here.”
“No, she really wasn’t,” I admitted. “Something about patient-counselor confidentiality. As if it even matters anymore.”
“That’s just a polite way of saying, ‘k
indly fuck off.’” Ava sat up from where she had been laying on the torn and ratted couch and reached for her cell phone. “I’m having some people over tonight. You game?” I shrugged, sipping my drink. I was never ‘game’ for her extravaganzas as I didn’t much care for people in general, but more booze sounded like a promising idea, so I would go along with it.
“Sure. Whatever.”
Ava’s definition of ‘some people’ turned into a living room full of drunk, high, slobbering college and high school kids. How she’d managed to pull that off was beyond me. Neither of us was even in school, let alone had any friends. But Ava was good like that. She could always provide the goods for these lost students, people just like me who needed the next fix to continue surviving in a world of endless hurt. Of course, they were here. So was I.
It was nearing midnight when I spotted a familiar face in the crowd. The party was still in full swing, and I was shit-faced as I stumbled over, feeling unnaturally chatty.
“What are you doing here, Jesse?” I asked. “Are you stalking me?” He smiled and pointed a finger in my direction as if racking his brain for my name.
“Kimberly?” he said. “No, Kelsey.”
“Khloe,” I muttered, less than amused. He leaned into me, and I could smell the booze on his breath. At least, I think it was his. It could have been mine.
“I’m just fucking with you,” he said.
“I’m flattered,” I murmured, keeping a straight face.
“Sharp wit. I like that.” He handed me a drink, a beer, and settled back next to me, propping himself up against the wall where I stood. “Wanna go out sometime?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” I tried not to think about Jesse starting a fight in my bar and running that guy, Ty, off. I could almost see Carter now, hovering next to me, rolling his eyes.
“He’s a loser, Khloe,” he’d say. “You can do better.”
“Maybe this will spark your interest.” Jesse slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a small bag of pills. I didn’t recognize them, but I figured it was something I would do well not to have, and since that was the case, I wanted them. He waved them under my nose and then stuffed them back into his pocket, teasing.
“You think I’ll sleep with you for pills?” I said. He laughed as if I’d said something funny.
“I don’t think you’ll be able to resist.”
“Bite me,” I said. He leaned in again, his breath tickling my neck, and I felt my skin flush with desire. That, I knew, was just the booze. Had I been sober and talking to Jesse, I wouldn’t have any interest at all.
“With pleasure,” he said and grinned again. “So? What do you say?” I glanced down at my drink, feeling a whirlwind of emotions. I realized that if Carter had been there, the thought wouldn’t have even crossed my mind. I would have blown Jesse off, rolled my eyes, and walked away.
“I’m proud of you, Ladybug,” Carter would have said. “Now let’s ditch this joint and order a pizza.”
But Carter wasn’t here. The pain that he’d left for me to endure was overwhelming in some moments. No, not just overwhelming. Suffocating. Raw. Devastating. Without Carter, I was nothing. Without Carter, there was no one here to hold me up when I started to fall. The decisions I made no longer affected anybody but me, and I didn’t care what happened anymore. I was inches from the top, flailing, trying to reach for air, and every time I thought I might be closer, thinking of him only dragged me down again. Eventually, I knew I would drown. It was inevitable.
I looked at Jesse.
“I’m in.”
“Khloe, I don’t think you can get that tabletop any cleaner.”
I ignored him, allowing my hands to scrub effortlessly over the marble countertop. Jesse was sitting at my kitchen table, his nose in a bowl of cereal, watching me clean. As he stared at me, a drop of milk dribbled from his mouth and down his chin. I flinched, throwing a wet rag at him. It hit him square in the face, but he made no move to catch it but simply continued to stare forward as the rag fell from his face and onto the floor. He grinned.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I said, turning back to my countertop. “Marble. That’s why I got this apartment. The marble. I love marble. My mom loved marble, too. We both just loved marble.” Jesse looked on, more milk dribbling down his chin.
“It’s nice.”
“It’s not nice.” I straightened up, glaring at him. “It’s beautiful. And it’s very expensive.” I turned to dip my sponge into the sink filled with hot, soapy water. The heat scorched me, scalding my hand. I removed it, watching the skin on my fingers turn from pink to crimson.
“Did you just stick your hand in a sink of nearly boiling water?” Jesse asked. His chewing was aggravating, and I wanted to throw something else at him.
“I did,” I confirmed. Ringing out the sponge, I turned back to the countertop to resume my scrubbing. Behind me, Jesse was pouring his fourth bowl of cereal.
“Who’s Carter?” he asked. The words stopped me short. My cleaning came to a halt, and I stood hovering over the counter, my eyes pinned on the hand holding the sponge. A few inches to the right, a tiny hard-water stain mocked me.
“How do you know that name?” I asked. From the corner of my eye, I saw Jesse shrug.
“Ava mentioned it the other day,” he said. I said nothing to this but simply resumed my scrubbing. Sweat sprung sticky on the back of my neck. Despite the chill in the house, my face felt like it was on fire. I had the Adderall Jesse had given me to thank for that and my obsessive cleaning, which only came out after I’d been popping pills.
“He’s just a friend,” I said. “Can you please get me the vacuum? There’s dirt on the living-room floor.” I straightened up, caught off guard when Jesse was suddenly in my face, his eyes meeting mine. He reached for the hand that was holding the sponge, and he gently pried it from my fingers.
“Relax,” he said. My heartbeat seemed to flutter unnaturally as he leaned in, his cracked lips touching mine. The pills we’d popped were working. I found myself leaning into him, too, suddenly hungry for him—hungry for passion. Hungry for sex. Jesse reached for the button on my pants, and I didn’t stop him. My body was on fire, craving a man’s touch. I needed this.
Desire fluttered through me as Jesse pushed me back against the wall, hard. Beside us, a framed photo fell to the floor, crashing, splintering into pieces. Neither of us made a move to pick it up.
“Do you have a condom?” I whispered. Jesse shook his head, desperately trying to untangle his pants from his ankles as he tugged at my shirt and bra. For a fleeting moment, I almost stopped him. I almost pushed him away. But I didn’t. I closed my eyes instead, not caring. Not caring about anything. I realized, in that painstaking moment, pushed up against my kitchen wall, that the only thing I had really cared about was gone forever.
December 10, 2014
I hate him. He never fails to remind me of Logan’s death. Not now, not ever. Will he ever let it go? Will he ever move on and leave our family in peace? I doubt it. Why would he do something like that when he gets off on making my life a living hell?
I miss Logan every day. My family does too. Mom cries herself to sleep, but dad just prays a lot. He seems to think that if he prays, everything will be fixed. I don’t think there is a God. I don’t think any god could take away people like Logan and Charlotte for no reason.
God can go and screw himself.
Next to me, snoring, Jesse was, yet again, drooling all over my pillow. I closed Carter’s journal and rolled over, considering waking him and kicking him out. But that would be mean. Instead, I yanked the blankets free from under his sweaty body and wrapped myself in them, sure to keep a comfortable distance between us. On the nightstand next to my bed, my cell phone lit up. I reached for it quietly, realizing that if I did wake Jesse, he probably wouldn’t leave, and I’d just end up having to entertain him.
Ava: R u ok?
Sliding down under the covers,
I typed back a quick response.
Khloe: Jesse is in my bed. Tlk 2 u later.
After another moment, she responded.
Ava: Kinky. Don’t do n e thing I wouldn’t do.
Rolling my eyes, I set the phone aside, not wanting to think hard about what Ava would or wouldn’t do. With her, the possibilities were endless. Thanks to Carter’s wisdom, I had learned to err on the side of caution.
Used to. I used to err on the side of caution. A dart of desire rocketed through me, and I kicked the blankets off my feet and rolled back over toward Jesse, shaking him awake. He groaned, eyelids fluttering open, and I didn’t care if I had to entertain him anymore. Maybe he could entertain me, too.
“Sleep,” he mumbled. I reached my hand under the covers, trailing my fingers gently down his chest to his abdomen. “Aren’t you tired?” Jesse asked, but I could feel him getting hard under my touch.
“I feel like I could stay awake for days,” I murmured in his ear. Smiling, Jesse leaned in, meeting my lips with his. I parted my mouth slightly, allowing him to slip his tongue between my teeth. In one swift motion, Jesse flipped me over and pushed me down against the mattress, his body meeting mine in a wave of desperate desire. He reached down to tug my underwear off, his fingers working effortlessly over the fabric. I groaned and closed my eyes, a fire starting in my abdomen as Jesse’s fingers quickened. The pills we’d been taking earlier magnified the intensity and desire. I clutched the bed sheet between my fingers, writhing against the mattress, feeling the heat rise to my face. Jesse pressed his lips to mine once more, slipping his tongue in and teasing me. I pulled him against me, my breathing escalating, moving my hips up against his body.
“Take me,” I whispered. “Now.” Jesse nibbled on my lower lip, looking smug as he slipped out of his boxers. I wrapped my legs around his midsection, squeezing, and pulled his body into mine.
If I Fall Page 6