Fall to Pieces: A story about addiction and love Page 11
"I can get her into your car," I offer.
"That would be great. Thank you," May says.
I take the same position May took a minute ago, but I scoop my arms under her side and around her neck, carefully cradling her into my arms. She weighs hardly anything, even in dead weight. She's on the shorter side and slim—easy to carry to May's yellow Mini-Coop. I ease August into the passenger seat and pull the seatbelt across her body until it's secured tightly. Her head falls to the side, forcing her to breathe loudly through her nose. She's breathing at least.
"Is there someone at home who can help you get her out of the car?"
"Yes, sir. My boyfriend is there. He can help."
"All right then. Why don't I give you my number just in case you need help with her again?"
"Really?" May asks. "That's so kind of you. Do you like my sister or something? Is that what this is all about?"
May is freezing at this point, shivering and questioning me in front of the driver's side door. "I think your sister needs a friend. Not that I'm sure you aren't trying, but you know how family members can be assertive and sometimes a little too opinionated. Some may not respond to that ..."
"Like August, you mean?"
"Precisely," I respond with a smirk. "I couldn't help but overhear some of y'alls conversation the other night. I commend you for trying. August sure sounds like she's a bit of a handful right now."
"You got that right. Well, thank you for being a good guy and honest. The world needs more people like you."
I tip my head with gratitude and back up so she can get into the car. "Take care, May. Tell August I hope she feels better when she gets up."
"Will do. Good night, Chance."
All in a day's work. How did I end up here tonight?
Chapter Eighteen
August
I lost track of time.
I was tired.
I was stupid.
I was drunk.
I still don't understand.
My eyes open, and it's dark. I should be nervous, unsettled, paranoid until I know where I am. I wake up aware that this isn't my bed or my apartment. I'm on a plush sofa with a woven wool blanket. My head is on a coarse throw pillow.
My socks and shoes are off, but my clothes are intact.
Even though it's dark, I can see the time glowing in fluorescent blue numbers. The clock on the wall reads two-eleven.
I remember leaving the bar, walking with Chance. Everything else seems fuzzy.
My heart is racing even though I just woke up. It's like my body is upset or angry with me.
I pull myself up, leaning against the cushion, and glance around again now that I've given my eyes a minute to adjust. I reach to the side, making out a small table, and my hand hits a picture frame. I take it in my hand and wait for my eyes to focus on the photo.
I'm in May's apartment. The photo is of us and Mom and Dad.
How did May find me, and how did she get me here?
I stand up, feeling the floor wobble beneath me, so I grab the walls as I make my way down the hallway to her bedroom. I'm sure she's asleep. I should be sleeping in my bedroom, inhaling the leftover scent from Keegan's shampoo.
My hand makes contact with May's door, feeling the texture of painted wood. She left the door open a crack, and I push it open, making my way inside. She's asleep, curled up on the left side. I climb over her and slip under the covers, wrapping my arm around her shoulders.
"Thank you for taking care of me," I whisper.
Her bed is more comfortable than the couch, and I'm quick to fall back asleep.
The sound like a foghorn echoes around me. What is that? I suppose it's appropriate since I feel like I'm in a fog, but my head—it hurts. My stomach feels full of liquid, and I could swear I'm being shaken from side to side, blending whatever is inside of me.
My eyes remain closed, praying there isn't too much sunlight pouring in through her windows.
An arm sweeps over me, a hand cups my breast, and I jerk my body upright, feeling the motion of a heavy body flopping around after a tidal wave.
I open my eyes, finding an unfamiliar face staring back at mine. He screams.
I scream.
May screams.
"What the hell are you doing in our room?" May shouts.
"Who the hell is he?"
"What are you doing in here?" he shouts. "May, I just groped your sister."
May flops her head back into her pillow, shoving the heels of her palms into her eyes. "Auggie, this is Tuck. Tuck, this is my sister, Auggie".
"I'm sorry," Tuck offers. "I thought you were—"
"My sister? You wake up by groping my sister?"
"Auggie, he's my boyfriend," May groans.
"What? Why didn't you tell me you had a boyfriend? You've never mentioned his name?"
Tuck doesn't seem phased by the conversation. "Well, let's see here," she croaks. "We've been dating a month, and things became official three days before ... before, Keegan—"
"Killed himself," I finish her sentence. I'm not in denial.
"Yeah, I didn't think it was the right time to tell you I had a new boyfriend while you're suffering in pain."
"I'm not suffering," I argue. "I'm relieved. I'm free."
"I'm going to go ... use the bathroom," Tuck says.
"Sorry, baby," May tells him.
Baby. Wow, they're already in that stage.
Tuck clambers out of bed in his boxer shorts, sporting about six feet of tanned and toned body, messy dark bed hair, and rosy, stubbled-cheeks.
When the bathroom door closes, I flop back down and wrap my arm around May's neck. "He's hot."
"He is," she agrees. "He's also the sweetest man I've ever met. He's a nurse down at Urgent Care. We met when I thought I had strep throat a couple of months ago."
"You met while he made you gag? That's usually a turnoff to men."
May shoves me away from her. "Don't be gross."
"Sorry."
"Auggie, we need to have a serious talk."
"Nope. I can't."
"You're going to, or I'm involving Mom and Dad."
"May, come on, let me handle my life the way I need to at the moment. I appreciate you helping me out last night—speaking of which, how did you know where ..."
"Apparently, we both have a thing for smart men."
"Huh?" I question.
"Chance Miller, a friend of yours, wanted to make sure you got home safely when you passed out on the bench overlooking Lady Bird Lake."
"Oh my God," I groan. A memory flashes through my head. "May, I tried to kiss him when I was—I was—"
"Drunk out of your mind?"
"Maybe." I feel deflated and embarrassed. I never act this way. I don't believe in meeting men at a bar. I believe in running into someone by fate and finding love that way. Of course, I've never tested this theory out since I was with Keegan most of my life, but I like to believe in fate.
"He got my number from your phone," she continues with the explanation. "He got you into my car and made sure I had a way of getting you into my apartment."
Her words are ruminating around in the fog that's occupying most of my headspace, and I can't help but wonder why he'd care about my well-being.
"I'm sorry," I offer.
"This has to stop," she replies.
"I can't. Not yet."
"August, this isn't a joke. You're becoming a mess, and this isn't the way to mourn Keegan's death. Oh, and why in the world did you go to that funeral without me? I told you I would be with you if you decided to go."
"I wanted to go alone."
"August, stop with the whiskey," she demands.
May has never taken the older sibling role with me. I've always been the more mature one of the two, trying to set a good example and whatnot. I guess I'm not doing such a wonderful job at the moment.
The only response I can think of is, "Okay, I'll stop," knowing full well it's a lie. I do not feel what I need to feel
yet. I haven't replaced anything I love with the thought of whiskey. I need to know what it feels like before I stop.
"Thank you," May says, clearly believing me. For anyone not addicted to alcohol, it would be as easy as promising a loved one that the out of character behavior would come to an end. However, for an addict, promises don't mean a thing. I
"I have to get to work. There's a bus stop down the block, right?"
"It comes once an hour. Just give me a few minutes to put some clothes on, and I'll take you to your car."
"I owe you," I tell her.
At least, I feel like an idiot after my outrageous behavior.
I don't recall a time when Keegan appeared to feel this way. He just expected everyone to cater to his disease.
In the midst of one of his worst episodes, which was last year around this time, he almost got me fired.
I was at work, counseling a child, when Keegan walked in the group home's front door. People aren't allowed to just walk in through those doors. We have keys, and we ID. He had a spare key that I kept in my top drawer for emergencies.
"Auggie," he shouted, walking through the door. "Babe, I need you."
My face immediately became hot, and I'm sure it was red. "What are you doing here?" I grunted, cutting my glare between his face and Zooey's. It was Zooey's first week at the group home, and she had just turned three. I was gently trying to ask her some easy questions before working on the adjustment phase, from living with two abusive parents to living without either of them.
"I need your keys. A sheriff booted my car because he told me I was drunk. It's ten o'clock in the morning, babe. No one is drunk at ten in the morning. Right?"
"You need to leave right now, Keegan."
"Give me your keys. I'll come back to pick you up at four."
"I get out of work at five, and you aren't driving my car in your current state."
"Dude, you're taking the sheriff's side?"
"I can't do this right now," I warn him again.
I should have known what was about to happen. For a second, I thought about just giving Keegan my keys without worrying about him driving drunk, but I couldn't in good conscience.
Within seconds, Leena stepped into my office; her eyes were wide and full of anger. "We have rules in this house, Miss Taylor."
I had never gotten in trouble at work before. I had seniority because of my certifications, but I still had to answer to Leena. She oversaw everything that happened in the house. If anyone broke the law or a rule, it didn't matter who was at fault because we'd all be held responsible.
"He's leaving," I told her. "I'm so sorry. I—"I had no idea what to say. I didn't want to defend him, but he got through that door because of my negligence at leaving a key behind.
"Now," she demanded.
"Thanks a lot, August," Keegan said as he turned to leave. "I'll just walk the fifteen miles home."
"Good," I muttered. "We'll talk about this tonight."
Once Keegan was out the door and reset the lock, Leena was back in my office. "Zooey, can you go out in the living room and find Miss Willa? She's going to read you a story for a few minutes."
Zooey didn't respond. She reached the toes of her feet to the ground and slid off the kiddie chair. Leena held the door open for her, watching as she made her way into the living room.
Leena closed the door. "August, I have to tell you I'm quite surprised by what just happened."
I had never gotten so much as a detention in school. I followed the rules. I did as superiors told me. I worked hard to get to where I was in my career.
"I promise it will never happen again. I left my spare key in my top drawer."
"It seems your boyfriend has some issues he should tend to."
Leena never cherry-coated anything. It comes with the territory of this job. She doesn't care if she's overstepping a line in conversation, specifically with her staff. Children are a bit different, of course, but even still, she focuses on being truthful and direct.
"He does have an issue, and we're getting him help. He's in therapy and AA. I'm doing the best—"
"It's not enough," she said. "Don't let this man affect your career or your life."
"Yes, ma'am." Despite my credentials, and the fact that up until that moment, my track record was flawless, Leena is at least twenty years my senior, and I have always shown her the utmost respect.
"Consider this a warning, August."
I wanted to cry.
My reputation had a smear. It truly wasn't my fault, but Keegan was branded on my life, tarnishing what I had built.
May was dressed and ready within a matter of minutes. Tuck was also dressed and in the galley kitchen preparing coffee. He had on a pair of black-framed glasses now. It seems May kind of hit the jackpot. "Baby, are you going right to work after you drop August off, or are you coming back here?"
"I have a nine o'clock," she tells him.
"You should probably go straight to work then. I'll meet you for lunch," Tuck says, smiling sweetly at her.
"You're the best," she tells him, jogging into the kitchen and giving him a quick kiss.
"One sec." Tuck reaches up for a to-go coffee cup and fills it up, topping it off with a splash of milk and a touch of sugar. It's just the way May likes her coffee.
"Good luck with that vendor. You'll get the deal. I know it."
My stomach heaves. I don't know if it's from jealousy or the burning after effect of whiskey. I seem to be confusing pains in my stomach a lot this past week. I can't be jealous of May. We both made our decisions in life, and she made a good one.
"Tuck, I'm sorry for this introduction, and I'm happy you two found each other. It was nice to meet you," I tell him.
"Yeah, um—sorry for the wake-up call."
"Don't mention it."
Really, please don't mention it again.
"Have a good day, ladies."
Mortification rolls back in as I climb into May's Mini-Cooper. "I never thought I'd be this kind of person, embarrassing my little sister."
"We all make mistakes," she tells me. "But you're not doing this again, so it's no big deal." She's pulling that parental statement of authority, telling me it's not going to happen again, to make sure it really doesn't.
We're halfway to Main Street when the gurgle in my stomach returns with a vengeance. "May, can you pull over real quick."
"Are you serious? We're almost there."
"Please, I'm begging you to pull over." I close my eyes, ignoring the unsettling sensation, listening for the rocks to kick up behind her tires as she comes to a stop on the side of the road. When the brakes lurch me the inch forward, I know I've run out of time. I open the door and toss myself into the dirt, expelling the remnants left in my body from last night.
May cannot handle vomit. She's known to vomit when someone else does. She has a weak stomach, so I don't expect her to do much. Not that I need help because I can't even help myself at the moment, but to my surprise, a hand rests on my back, and she pulls my hair away from my face. "Shh," May soothes me. "Let it all out."
"I'm okay," I tell her after I'm able to take a breath. "You don't have to stand here. I know you—"
"My eyes are closed, and I'm not breathing through my nose. You're my sister, and I'm taking care of you."
"I love you, May."
"You need to worry about loving yourself right now."
I'm on my hands and knees in a pile of dirt, and all I can focus on is the dirt covering my clothes. A car flies by, spraying us with rubble.
"Come on," May says. "The clouds are rolling back in. We're getting more rain today."
Is this why they say, "When it rains, it pours?"
"I guess so," May responds. She sounds disappointed in me. She's never been this way, not with me.
"Are you working today?"
I shake my head. "I'm on a temporary leave of absence."
"What?" She cries out. May knows how important my career has been to me.
"You need to take care of yourself, August. Get a pedicure or get your hair blown out. Please do something for yourself. Have you been running?"
"I can't," I tell her.
"You have to," she says, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. "Look, I'm not letting you fall by the wayside. I know you don't like it when I hover, but I'm hovering until I know you're okay. So, if you don't like this, start trying to help yourself. You understand?"
When did she grow up? When did I become so pliable?
"Yeah, I got it."
We settle back into her car. She pops open the dash and reaches for a packet of Wet Ones. "Clean yourself up."
We arrive on the street where I left my Jeep, and I find three parking tickets pinched between my windshield and wipers. "Two-hour parking," May says, pointing to the street sign next to my Jeep.
"Yeah, I forgot about that."
May sighs. "August, goodness."
"Thank you for helping me," I tell her. I know I owe her more than that right now, but I have nothing else to give.
"No problem. That's what sisters are for."
"Love you," I tell her.
I slide into my Jeep and buckle my seatbelt, feeling a load of guilt and worthlessness. I have nowhere to be. I have no one who wants me to be with them, and if I'm honest with myself, I don't even want to be with me right now.
I want the pain to stop.
I want the anger to subside.
I want the thought of having a drink to make me feel like there's hope—the same kind of hope Keegan felt when he thought about having a drink.
With nowhere to go, I remain parked in my illegal spot, watching the clouds roll in.
Raindrops fall, one by one, before they begin to cascade over the windows. I reach into my center console and pull out a half-empty bottle of whiskey.