If I Fall

by Amber Thielman

  “I hate him,” she said. I laughed.

  “This is priceless. You never told me you had a thang for Carter.”

  “I didn’t have a thang for Carter,” Ava snapped. She handed me a few of the pills, which I promptly washed down with a warm beer. “Notice the date? The day before Valentine’s Day. I just wanted some ass, is all. Maybe a box of chocolates.” She stuffed the bottle of pills back into her purse and rolled her eyes. “Carter just happened to be the nearest male specimen in the area at that time.”

  “No wonder you hated him,” I said. “He rejected you.”

  “Oh, please. No straight man turns me down. That’s when I should have figured out he played for the opposite team.”

  “You’re just bitter because he laid you out,” I said. Ava ran a hand through her straight, black hair, still scowling.

  “I’ll admit that I was jealous of the relationship the two of you had. But that’s where it stopped. You two were soulmates without the romantic aspect of it. Everyone craves a friendship like that.” On the coffee table in front of us, my phone lit up and began to buzz. From where I was sitting, I saw my father’s name pop up on the screen. Ava did, too.

  “Aren’t you going to answer?” she asked. I shook my head no, and then reached over and hit ignore. The phone fell silent. When I pulled my hand back, I noticed it was trembling slightly.

  “That’s the sixth time he’s called tonight,” I told her. “He must be drunk again.” Ava rested her head against her hand, staring at me.

  “Do you ever see him anymore?” Her voice was gentle and understanding, unusual for her, but I hated talking about Frank with anyone who wasn’t Carter. Still, Ava was my friend, and she’d asked. I cleared my throat and shook my head.

  “Since Mom died, he’s not the same person. All he does is drink. All day, every day. He lost his job last year and never found another one. I can’t deal with it. I don’t want to.”

  “He’s still your dad, Khloe,” said Ava. “Even if he’s a drunk.”

  “He’s no father to me. I can’t even remember the last time I saw him sober. I don’t want him in my life, and I don’t need him.”

  “That doesn’t leave you with many people,” Ava pointed out. I laughed and reached for her hand.

  “I have you,” I said, and that brought on another round of giggles. Ava wiped the tears forming from the corner of her eyes, laughing.

  “You really lost out on this game.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “You have good veins.”

  I looked up at Jesse as he poked around on my forearm, squinting in the light. I tightened my fist and looked away, out the window and into the darkness. In his left hand was a syringe, in the right one a tourniquet.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” I asked.

  “Pills are all wrong for you. You’re wound up like a rubber band.”

  “And heroin will help?” I tried not to sound terribly sarcastic as he applied the tourniquet. The rubber tugged at my arm hair, and I flinched, but mostly just because of nerves.

  “It should chill you out a little bit.” Jesse glanced at me as if pondering something. “Or so we can hope.”

  “Gee, thanks.” I couldn’t watch as he patted the bulging vein on my arm, squinted, and slid the needle in. There was a small pinch, a burst of pain, and I grimaced. I’d never been a fan of shooting up as a means to get high, but Jesse had insisted I take advantage of my ‘awesomely awesome veins.’ Not everyone was blessed, apparently, with such an easy way to get high.

  “I never really chill out,” I admitted, holding a cotton ball to my arm as he pulled the needle from my skin. “Carter use to tell me it would take a horse tranquilizer to settle me down.”

  “I’ll look into that,” Jesse said with a laugh. “I’m sure we can find one somewhere.”

  Disinterested, I watched him play doctor on himself, prepping a new needle so as not to use the old one. It seemed silly to me, but I didn’t say anything about it. Was there such a thing as safely shooting up heroin? Would a different needle really make a difference, or did it just ease our fears and make it easier to accept? Jesse, I noticed, hardly flinched as the needle slid under his skin. I couldn’t decide if I was impressed or totally turned off. Both maybe.

  “You’ve practiced,” I said, my eyes on Jesse as he flawlessly bandaged his arm. His gaze met mine, and he shrugged.

  “Does that bother you?”

  I looked down at the hole in my arm, wondering what a safe answer would be. To be honest, I didn’t really have one.

  “What do you think?”

  “I try not to think too much, actually,” he said. He laughed again, his eyes twinkling, and I realized that I really liked his laugh. My eyes trailed his movements as he leaned back in the La-Z-Boy Recliner, propping his feet up. He put his hands behind his head and grinned at me. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Not too bad, actually.” Pulling the blanket up to my chin, I felt a wave of sleepy euphoria embrace me. Jesse was right, it was a much better feeling than being buzzed on pills.

  “Ava tells me you’re on some quest to discover the cause of that guy’s death,” Jesse said after a moment. “What’s that all about?”

  I swallowed, hesitating, not sure if I wanted to get into it or not, especially with Jesse, the guy I was screwing and couldn’t stand all at the same time.

  “He was a bit more than just some guy,” I said. “He was my best friend.”

  “Sorry,” Jesse said. “I didn’t mean it like that.” Shrugging it off, I leaned forward for the bottle of prescription painkillers on the coffee table. It didn’t matter that I had just shot up. Nothing beat those pills. I shook a couple of them into my hand and tossed them back, washing them down with a sip of stale beer.

  “He’d murder me right now,” I said. “I would never live it down if he were here to see what I was up to.”

  “You’re an adult,” Jesse said. I scoffed, the heroin fogging my head. I didn’t feel like an adult. It was rare I did anymore. Adults were responsible. Adults took care of themselves. I wasn’t an adult, even at eighteen years old.

  “He saved my life,” I told Jesse. “A few years ago, I overdosed, and he saved my life.” I took a deep breath, fighting a breakdown. “It was because of him I cleaned up. And then…” My voice broke.

  “And then he died?” Jesse asked softly. I nodded, wiping a tear from the corner of my eye. I hated feeling like such an emotional wreck, but that seemed to be the only way I knew how to feel recently.

  “It just doesn’t make sense.” I took a shaky breath, making an unsuccessful effort to pull my shit together. “Carter wasn’t the suicide type. Like, at all. And then one night he just ends his life, and no one even saw it coming. I was his best friend. I should have known.”

  Jesse’s eyes flickered from me and over to the journal sitting closed on the coffee table. He leaned forward to pick it up, one hand on the cover as he held it.

  “I don’t think you have this for no apparent reason,” he said. “In fact, maybe this is exactly what you need to answer your question.”

  “Which one?” I joked, taking the journal from him. Jesse smiled sadly, and for the briefest moment, I felt as though someone actually cared.

  “The why,” he said.

  My head felt fuzzy while my face and hands numb a few hours later when Jesse started to unbutton my shirt. I was too wasted to say no, but I wasn’t sure I even wanted to. So instead, I let him undress me, enjoying the tickle of his clammy fingers against my skin.

  “You’re so hot,” Jesse whispered in my ear, and I found myself laughing at his compliment. He pressed his lips to mine to shush me, and I couldn’t resist sneaking my hand below his belt. He was hard, ready, and that turned me on even more. I flipped one leg over him, straddling his body against the couch, and slipped my tongue into his mouth. His hips rose to meet mine, craving more than just a touch. I pressed into h
im, teasing, listening to the quiet groans escape his lips. As our mouths met yet again, I closed my eyes and thought of Ty instead, and a burning sensation lit in the pit of my stomach.

  Later, laying in the dark of my bedroom, with Jesse snoring softly beside me, I picked up Carter’s journal and opened it. Clicking on the dim lamp next to my bed, I began to read.

  March 15, 2015

  I never thought I’d be this person. The person who was different. The person who people looked down on and judged. I never thought I could love a man. I never thought I’d be gay. I liked girls. I liked a lot of girls. But then it dawned on me… I never loved a girl. Well, I loved girls. I mean, I loved my mom and Gracie and Khloe too but was never ‘in love’ with a woman.

  Now I know why.

  I set the book down, wishing with all my heart that Carter was here. I wanted so desperately to be able to tell him that I would always be there for him, that he could tell me anything and never have to fear my reaction. And then, later, I could hug him, hold him, and cry with him. But then I realized, laying in the dark, that maybe that had exactly been the problem. Maybe, just maybe, it was that Carter had been the one there for everyone else, and no one had been there for him.

  “Christ, Khloe, you look like mierda.”

  “You don’t look much better.” I glanced up, my eyes meeting Ava’s as she slid into the diner booth across from me, plopping her over-sized purse next to her on the seat. Her hair was disheveled, eyes bleak and glassy as she reached for my full cup of water and downed it.

  “What’s this about, anyway?” she asked. She picked up her phone to check the time, looking like she’d just rolled out of bed. “It isn’t even noon yet. Christ. I should still be asleep.”

  “I know. I haven’t even been to sleep yet.” Falling silent, I waited patiently for the server to take our orders. I wasn’t hungry. I hadn’t been for weeks, but I figured I should order something so we wouldn’t be asked to leave. As soon as the server was gone, I turned back to Ava, my eyes scanning the tired expression on her face. “I think we need to sober up,” I said. There was a moment of silence as Ava stared at me. She had one arm tucked under the other, plucking her lip absentmindedly with two fingers.

  “I’m not sure I heard you right,” she said finally. “Say what?” I put Carter’s journal down on the table, realizing that this was going to be more difficult than I’d expected.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea to continue with drugs,” I told her. I lowered my voice, paranoid someone might be listening. “We know better than this, Ava.”

  “Hey, now.” She raised her hands in the air as if surrendering. “What brought this on?” I picked the journal up and flung it at her.

  “This did,” I said. “Carter’s dead of an overdose, Ava. Don’t you see that?”

  “Khloe.” Ava rested her hand on the journal, refusing to open it. “Carter killed himself. It wasn’t an accident.”

  “That’s not my point!” I yanked the journal out from under the palm of her hand, stuffing it—hysterically—back into my purse. I’d never been good at a convincing argument, which had been Carter’s forte, much like everything else.

  “I think you’re a bit wound up,” Ava said. I watched as she reached into her own bag and pulled out a bottle of prescription pills. She smiled and offered a few to me. For a long, painstaking moment, I considered grabbing the whole thing and throwing them at her. Maybe a bloody nose would have better succeeded in getting my point across. But instead, I sighed, held out my hand, and let her shake some into my sweaty palm. “That a girl,” Ava said, tossing a few back. “Just chill out, lady.”

  Okay, so I’d failed. At least I’d tried. I had to give myself credit for that. I didn’t miss sobriety, and it made it easier that, God forgive me, Carter was not there to tell me how to live. There was no way for me to keep going day to day without him while I struggled with sobriety. It was an impossible task, a feat I knew I would not win. As long as I was drunk, high, or stoned, dealing with Carter’s death was a tiny, tiny bit easier. Not by much, of course, but enough to keep me hanging onto the last little shred of peace I had left.

  Later that day, home alone with a glass of cranberry vodka and a joint, I opened Carter’s journal. I’d found that it was easier to read if I’d been drinking and/or smoking. That way, at least, I wouldn’t burst into bone-rattling sobs and have to fight the urge to flush it down the toilet out of despair.

  April 10, 2015

  I met someone last week. His name is Jay. He works at a mechanic shop downtown. I’ve never felt like this before. So drawn to the opposite sex, so in sync with another person. It’s like when I see him, suddenly my whole world is better. Everything falls into place when I look into his eyes. That’s crazy, isn’t it? No. That’s beyond crazy. I sound like one of those high school girls fawning over the school jock.

  But he is handsome and kind. And the best part? He asked me out on a date. I’m just not sure if I should say yes.

  “If that asshole in the red shirt calls me baby one more time, I’m going to unhinge his jaw.”

  I looked over at Ava. “What?”

  “That guy!” She lifted her finger and pointed across the room to where a burly, hairy man was drunkenly hollering about something next to the pool table. I cringed, but I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Here,” I said, and handed her a shot glass. “Have another.”

  “Men are dogs,” Ava muttered, but she took the shot anyway. “Is it almost quitting time?”

  “We’ve still got an hour,” I said. “Things should be okay until then.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized I had spoken too soon when the man in the red shirt took an unimpressive swing at another guy holding a bottle of beer. The guy flew backward into the pool table, the bottle of beer crashing to the floor, sending shards of glass and foam skittering everywhere. I looked around desperately for our crowd controller and bouncer, James, but he was nowhere to be seen. I imagined he was sneaking a cigarette and a swig of his flask out back.

  “Khloe, don’t!” Ava called to me, but I was already headed in their direction, fuming.

  “Hey!” I shouted at the red-shirt guy. “We don’t do that in here. Take it outside!” The man turned to look at me, face red with fury, and eyes bugging out with drunken anger.

  “Fuck you, bitch!” he snarled. I took another step in his direction, unafraid for some reason, though I knew I probably should be.

  “Leave,” I said. “Now.” He took one step back and then another. He was only a few feet from the door, though, when the beer-guy pushed himself off the pool table and charged at the red-shirt guy, nearly knocking me down in the process. Red-shirt guy crashed into the back wall, howling with rage, and I looked over at Ava who had just hung up the landline.

  “Police are on their way!” she called to me. Hearing the word ‘police,’ both men stopped fighting for a moment and looked over, letting it sink in.

  “Fuck this,” beer-guy said. He released red-shirt guy’s collar and straightened up. “I’m out.”

  “Don’t come back in here with that shit,” I called after him. Outside the front door, I heard the whine of a police car as two people who had seen the fight helped red-shirt guy to his feet. I made my way back behind the bar, relieved that it hadn’t escalated into a dangerous situation. The red-shirt guy took a seat at one of the tables as the police officers came through the door, their hands hovering around their gun belt in case things got ugly. Behind the cops were two more people—a man and a woman paramedic carrying a bag of first-aid supplies. I felt the color rush to my cheeks in embarrassment when I recognized Ty.

  “Shit,” I said, and turned away, hoping he’d forgotten my existence in the time I’d blown him off back on campus.

  “Oooh, look who’s here,” crooned Ava. “Mr. Sexy Paramedic to the rescue.”

  “Shut up.” I leaned down for another beer glass to fill, trying my best not to pay a
ny attention to how effortlessly Ty was bandaging red-shirt guy’s busted hand.

  “Cute, charming, and a saint,” Ava whispered in my ear. “You better get on that before I do.”

  “He’s all yours,” I said, and took a shot of tequila to settle my nerves.

  “Oh, look,” Ava said. Her tone was so smug I wanted to hit her. “Here comes Prince Charming now.” She stepped away, leaving me to confront Ty by myself. I looked up as he approached, forcing a smile.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” I asked politely. His striking blue eyes were intent on mine, and it was difficult to ignore the tingling sensation in my womanly bits that were slowly kindling into flames.

  “Fancy seeing you here,” said Ty. Unlike the last two times I’d seen him at school and at the bar, he was dressed in his work uniform but tonight—slacks and a collared shirt with the medical symbol on it. His jacket read Seattle EMS on the front and Paramedic on the back. I didn’t know what it was about seeing such a distinguished man, but I had to resist the sudden urge I had to jump his bones and rip off his clothes in the middle of the floor of the bar or the pool table. Yeah, sex on the pool table would have been awesome.

  “Well, I work here,” I said. “What are the chances, right?”

  “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t just a little bit excited to hear the address of this place come over my radio,” Ty said. He was still smiling. Damn that stupid smile. “I hoped you’d be here.”

  “I’m always here.” I filled a glass of beer for the person sitting next to him. “This is my life. Tending the bar and trying to get through day-to-day existence.”

  “Then it looks like you have exactly what you want,” he said. I looked up at him, caught by surprise.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”