If I Fall

by Amber Thielman

  “Sure,” I said. “Let me get right on that.”

  “I mean it, Khloe.”

  “Yeah.” I met his gaze. “So do I. Carter was the one person who couldn’t be pushed away. He dealt with my shit for years. Day after day, fight after fight. He never got scared off even when everyone else did.”

  “I didn’t,” Jay said, and I wanted to lean over and hug him. “Ava didn’t.”

  “That’s because Ava is meaner than I am,” I said, forcing a smile. “And you haven’t known me long enough to be scared off. Give it time.” Jay got to his feet. He was smiling, but I couldn’t bring myself to smile back.

  “You underestimate me, little lady,” he said. “I can take a lot of crap.”

  “I have to,” I said. “If I don’t underestimate people, shit always hits the fan.” I was surprised when Jay kneeled in front of me, taking my hands in his.

  “Stop pushing the world away,” he said. “The only battle you’re fighting is the one against yourself.”

  At around ten that night, Jesse called my phone. I sat curled up on Jay’s couch, legs tucked beneath me, trying to figure out if I was too cold or too hot when my phone started to buzz. Jay, who had been focused on a Stephen King novel, glanced over at the phone, then at me.

  “It’s Jesse.” I reached for the phone and held it in my hand, an internal conflict rising in my chest.

  “I wouldn’t suggest answering that,” Jay said.

  “Why not?”

  “I think you know why,” Jay said, and I did. I knew exactly why. Jesse was a bad influence on me, and I was already struggling without making it worse.

  “You’re right.” I silenced the phone and put it down, feeling a headache come on. It had vanished for a moment, but now it was back. I didn’t always want to see Jesse, but when I did, it was only ever for one reason—I needed to get high or drunk or both.

  “I’m ordering a pizza,” Jay said. He sounded stoked as if it was the best idea he’d had all night. He set his book down and went to the kitchen, digging through drawers for a phone book. “What do you like?”

  “Anything,” I said. I didn’t care about pizza. Food was food. What I wanted—no, what I needed—was a stiff drink.

  “Anchovies,” Jay called. “Anchovies and onions. Sound good?”

  “Whatever,” I murmured. I was hardly paying attention now, but over the phone, I heard him place an order for pepperoni and pineapple. It didn’t matter, though. Pepperoni and pineapple didn’t sound any more appealing than anchovies and onions. I wasn’t confident I could stomach either one. Since I’d been back on the booze and pills, my appetite, for the most part, had been nonexistent.

  Jay brought me a glass of ice water a while later, but I couldn’t bring myself to drink it. There was only one thing I was desperately craving, and it wasn’t water.

  “Got any vodka?” I joked, but Jay didn’t laugh. I sighed, wishing I had the energy to slap myself.

  “The night is only going to get worse from here,” he said. “Drink the water. It will help a little bit.” I raised the glass to my lips to try and choke it down, but I couldn’t do it. I gagged, feeling a ball of revulsion rise in my throat. Setting the water down, I closed my eyes, breathing through the nausea.

  “I can’t.”

  “It’s worse than I thought,” Jay said, to himself. “Are you going to puke?”

  “Probably,” I said. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, the queasiness hit me again, more severe this time. I jumped to my feet and raced to the closest outlet—Jay’s kitchen sink. Dropping my head over the counter, I heaved, vomiting bitter tasting bile. At the front door, someone knocked, probably the pizza guy. I listened to Jay make the transaction, my head swimming. As he brought it back to the coffee table, juggling the pizza and a container of breadsticks, I caught a whiff of the food and puked again.

  “Khloe?” Jay said. “Are you okay? Can I do something?”

  “No.” I turned on the kitchen sink and splashed some icy water on my face. The headache was starting to intensify, and the smell of food was only making it worse. “I’m okay.”

  “You should try to eat something,” Jay said. He leaned against the kitchen wall, arms folded, watching me as I sank to the floor with my head in my hands. “I know you think it won’t help, but it will.” He held his hand out to me to help me up. I took it, comforted by the warmth of his skin against mine. Jay led me back to the couch, and I sat down, drawing the blanket over my lap to keep the chills away. He sat down next to me and opened the pizza box, shooting me a pointed look.

  “Fine,” I grumbled. I reached for a slice of pizza, determined to try to choke something down when I noticed Jay watching me. I glanced at him, and then back down, suddenly feeling irritated.

  “What?” I snapped.

  “You’re shaking,” Jay said. I looked back down, noticing that my hand was, indeed, trembling. I dropped the pizza back into the box and withdrew my arm.

  “This can’t be happening.” I held my hand back up in front of me, trying to focus enough to calm the tremble. It didn’t help, only seemed to get worse. “It won’t stop.” Panic rose in my throat, a moment of terror. I cradled my hand against my chest, feeling my heart thump against my ribcage.

  “This is part of the withdrawal process,” Jay said. “And it’s going to suck, but it’ll pass.”

  I rested my head back against the couch, fighting nausea, wishing I had something, anything, to help me get through this. But even then, I knew that anything that could help me through this was exactly what I didn’t need.

  “Maybe it was a mistake coming here,” I said, my tone quivered. On the coffee table, my cell phone rang again. Both Jay and I looked over.

  “It’s Jesse again,” Jay said. My heart rate quickened, and for a second, I wondered if I could convince Jesse to come and pick me up before I was too far into this process.

  “He’ll keep calling,” I said finally.

  “Will he?”

  “Yes.” I watched as Jay reached for the phone and slid his thumb over the answer button. For a moment, I considered plucking it from his hand, but I resisted, knowing that he would probably win that kind of tug-of-war.

  “Jesse?” he said into the phone. “My name is Jay, I’m a friend of Khloe’s.” There was a pause, and then, “I can’t have you calling her anymore tonight. In fact, I would prefer it if you didn’t call her ever again.” He looked at me as if waiting for an objection, but I didn’t have the energy to care. Even when I opened my mouth to argue, nothing came out. Jay said something I didn’t catch into the phone and then closed it.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Sorry?” Jay repeated. “Sorry for what?”

  “Everything.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry for.” Jay set the cell phone back down onto the table and turned to face me. “You’re doing everything right by coming here, Khloe. No one should ever apologize for that.”

  “I’m not your responsibility,” I told him. “You barely know me. I’m some kid who used to be friends with your ex. You owe me nothing.” Jay sighed, but it was not with anger. Instead, he smiled weakly at me.

  “When I was caught in this mess, the same one you’re in now, I was in a constant battle against myself,” he said. “If all my friends had decided all at once that I wasn’t worth it and were willing to turn their back when things got tough, I wouldn’t be here today. It was the few people who stood by my side when I was at my worst that I owe my life to.” He paused, taking a breath. “If I turned my back on you, I could never forgive myself if you fell back into this because no one ever told you not to. You may not care about yourself right now, Khloe, but you need to understand that everyone else does… Ava and me especially.”

  “If someone gets themselves into a mess like this, then why should it be someone else’s burden to bear?” I asked him. “Why would someone want to hold another person up?”

  �
�Because a person doesn’t need to be held up forever,” Jay said. He took my hands and squeezed them. “All they really need is a shoulder to lean on until their legs are strong enough.”

  It was five minutes to midnight when things deteriorated even further. My head screamed with pain, hands still shaking. My legs trembled, and it took great effort to walk from one side of the room to the other without falling. Sweat leaked from every pore, but it wasn’t from being too warm. One moment I was freezing cold as though I’d been standing in a walk-in freezer, and the next second, I was having hot flushes along with miserable and nauseating moments of physical despair.

  “I can’t do this.” I made a swift attempt to side-pass him, but Jay was quicker. He stepped in front of the door, his hands up as if prepared for me to take a swing at him. “Don’t do that,” I said. My voice was trembling, but the anger was threatening to explode. “I need to get out of here. I changed my mind, Jay. I don’t want to do this.” As the words left my mouth, another wave of nausea rolled over me. I rushed for the kitchen sink again, just in time to lean over and vomit. Bile stung my tongue, sour and bitter. Jay kept his position in front of the door, watching me. I heaved again, but nothing came up, only a bit of water. My ribs hurt from coughing, and my throat was starting to swell. Sobbing, I slid to the floor.

  “Take a few breaths, Khloe,” Jay said. “Relax.”

  “Please,” I begged. “Please just let me out of here.” My head throbbed. It was a pounding so intensely I was sure someone was living inside my skull, bashing on my brain with a mallet. I put my chin down and clutched my hair in my hands, squeezing, trying to breathe through the pain. Had I ripped every follicle of hair from my head one by one, it still wouldn’t have amounted to the pain the migraine was attacking me with. “Jay,” I cried. “Please let me out of here!”

  I clambered to my feet again, unsteady, trying in vain to support myself on the walls and countertops. I made another unsuccessful attempt to get through the door. My vision was blurry as I lunged at him, kicking and screaming. He caught me in a tight embrace, his arms around my midsection. I struggled against him, shrieking something that not even I could make out. Jay murmured something in my ear as he held me, but I couldn’t focus on him or his words.

  “I have to go!” I screamed. “I’m leaving, Jay, and you can’t stop me, goddammit! Leave me the fuck alone!”

  At that moment, there was a knock on the door, and Jay, still holding onto me, reached forward and opened it.

  “What in the hell are you doing here?” I cried, spinning around to face our visitor. Ty came through the door, turning his back to me as he shut it behind him and clicked the deadbolt back into place.

  “I’m sorry, Khloe,” Jay said. “I figured he could help.” He released me then, and I was just about to reel my arm back to hit him when Ty stepped between Jay and me, catching my wrists in his hands. Another wave of nausea hit me, and I doubled over, still being held by Ty, and puked up yellow bile all over Jay’s spotless carpet.

  “I’m so sorry.” I fell to my knees, crying, shaking, unable to catch my breath. My chest felt like someone was squeezing the air from it, stealing every precious breath away from me. The more I struggled to breathe, the harder it was to get any air. The pounding in my head intensified. I squeezed my eyes shut, wondering if this would actually kill me. Right then, death sounded like a better option.

  “Hang in there, babe,” Jay said softly. I watched him lean back against the door, exhausted as he watched me.

  “I need to get out,” I whispered. “I just need to get out.” I looked desperately between them, fingers numb with cold, sweat sticking to the back of my neck and under my hair. Ty sat down on the floor next to me. He reached out, wrapping his arms around my body. For a second, I fought him. I yelled. I pushed him away. But when he didn’t let go, I finally allowed myself to fall into him, shaking, freezing cold and boiling hot all at the same time.

  “I’m sorry, Khloe,” he said. He pulled me against him and kissed my forehead. His cool hands brushed the sticky, wet hair back from my face. I leaned over the wastebasket in Jay’s living room to throw up but could only gag and dry heave. There was nothing left in my stomach.

  “Please just kill me.” Tears slipped from my eyes, soaking my skin with moisture. I licked my dry, cracked lips and buried my tear-soaked face into the front of Ty’s shirt. He rested his chin on the top of my head and said nothing. My ears rang, and my face and hands were now numb and tingly as if my body were trying to fall asleep. I closed my eyes and forced myself to listen to Ty’s heartbeat against my skin. “Still want to be with me?” I asked weakly. “Even after all of this?”

  “Every moment of every day,” Ty said, and he looked down at me, his eyes meeting my own as he started to rock. I closed my eyes again, exhausted, hurting, sick. I let him hold me as the pain faded, and the world began to put itself back together, little by little, piece by piece until the glowing light somewhere miles ahead in the darkness of the tunnel began to shine.

  The minutes ticked on into hours, hours blurred by the excruciating pain of detox. My stomach felt iron-hot, like a ball of fire growing in my abdomen, scorching and burning me alive from the inside out. My head, fuzzy and unclear, made it impossible to focus on anything but the mind-numbing pain in every joint, every nerve. Even Ty’s arms tightly around me didn’t admit relief, nor did the cold rags on my body that Jay kept bringing fresh from the kitchen. Water was forced down my throat, only to be thrown up again mere seconds later. Consciousness appeared and vanished rapidly, sometimes blacking out entire hours that I wouldn’t remember later. The fire in my skin soon turned icy cold, and I huddled in a blanket on the floor, shaking so badly that my teeth rattled. I couldn’t catch my breath, couldn’t speak, couldn’t think.

  I would have rather been dead.

  I was dead, and this was hell.

  Sitting up, I put my hand to my head, trying to cool the overwhelming sensation of death warmed over. It was daylight. I was on Jay’s couch, covered by an enormous, fluffy comforter. I had no idea what time it was, but the condo was silent. Well, almost silent. In the bedroom down the hall, I could hear Jay snoring. He was loud enough to wake the dead. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to clear my head and piece the night together. I was sober, and yet I felt like I’d been drinking and shooting up all night long.

  I took a deep breath to steady myself and swung my legs toward the floor, meeting what I could only assume was somebody’s face.

  “Ouch,” Ty mumbled. He covered his eyes with one arm but didn’t budge from his spot on the floor. I stared down at him, shocked. I’d almost forgotten that he had come and held me until I’d passed out.

  “Sorry.” My words scratched their way out my raw throat. Ty lifted his arm from his eyes and kicked off his blanket as he sat up, blinking the sleep from his eyes. Even here, dressed in sweats and a t-shirt with a look of utter exhaustion sketched into his features, he was beautiful, kind, and loving.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked. I thought about it for a moment, deep within the trenches of a pounding migraine and an upset stomach.

  “I’m okay,” I lied. “What time is it?”

  Ty watched me for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip, squinting. “It’s been over forty-eight hours,” he said.

  Shocked, I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out. I couldn’t force the words. I didn’t have the energy.

  “Why are you still here?” I asked quietly.

  “Your enthusiasm is overwhelming,” Ty said with a small smile. “Please, don’t make me blush.” He stood and started folding the blankets Jay had lent him. “I’m here because I care about you,” he said. “I’m here because I want to be here, Khloe.”

  “Why would anyone want this?” I pushed myself to my feet, nearly face-planting on Jay’s living room floor. Ty steadied me, and for a moment, I was sure I would blow chunks all over him. “Taking care of me isn’t your job, Ty.”
I took a deep breath. “As you can see, I can barely take care of myself.”

  My feet and legs quivered as I went to the kitchen to get a drink of water. Ty followed, probably to make sure I wouldn’t fall and split my head open. I wanted to ditch this place so badly. I wanted to sneak down to the liquor store for a cheap bottle of vodka, and then I wanted to go home and drink it all. But I didn’t. Instead, I poured a glass of water and chugged it down, figuring that if the dry heaves continued, water would at least give me something to throw up.

  “Hi, doll.” Jay poked his head into the kitchen, smiling. His dark hair was messy and unkempt, eyes tired as he greeted me. When he saw that Ty was still there, though, he perked up at once. It was all I could do not to surrender to a fit of giggles, despite the nightmare I was in the middle of. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m not sure you want to hear the answer,” I admitted. Jay smiled and went to the fridge to pour himself some orange juice. Ty, I noticed, was already searching the cupboards for food.

  “You look better,” Jay said.

  “She really does, doesn’t she?” Ty asked. He smiled at me, but I didn’t have the energy to smile back.

  “Well, I’m glad I look it ‘cause I sure as hell don’t feel it.” I set the glass down on the counter. My hands were still shaking but not as severely as the night before. I was still craving a drink, still wishing I had a hit of something, anything that could soothe my nerves.

  “I’m proud of you,” Jay said. “You suffered through it, Khloe. You’re on the right track.” I put my hand to my head, exhausted, unsure if I wanted to hug him or punch him in the face. It was changing by the second.

  “Then why in the hell does this feel so wrong?” My voice broke. Ty stopped rummaging for a moment and turned toward me. He rested his hands on my shoulders, forcing me to face him.

  “The right things always do,” he said. “It will get better. I promise.” I rested my forehead against his chest, feeling the tears press against my eyes.