Fall to Pieces: A story about addiction and love Page 14

  I was too young to understand what forever meant.

  Spending forever without my parents.

  Spending forever wondering who would take care of me.

  Spending forever wishing I could see them just one more time.

  A hand on my knee startles me awake. I didn't mean to fall asleep. "Sir, you're here with August Taylor, right?"

  I didn't know her last name was Taylor.

  "Yes, Ma'am."

  "She's awake now. She's fortunate. The doctors haven't spotted any damage or injury yet. They're still doing a few more tests, but you're welcome to go on in and visit with her now. I will warn you; she's fatigued, which is common."

  By the time I make it into August's room, she has already fallen back asleep, so I take the chair, planning to sit with her until she wakes up or until someone kicks me out. I spot her belongings in a bag near the window, but I don't feel right going through her stuff to see if her phone is working. They said she's okay, so I'll give her a bit of time to decide whether she wants her family contacted.

  After taking a little rest, I feel wide awake now, which leaves me watching August sleep, wishing I could ask her a million questions.

  About a half-hour passes before her eyes flutter beneath her lids. Her eyelashes bat slowly, showing the energy she lacks to open her eyes all the way. I take her hand, knowing I shouldn't, but I want her to know she isn't alone right now.

  My touch startles her. She opens her eyes and twists her head to look over at me. "Chance?" she questions.

  "Hey, beautiful." I didn't mean to say that. She's not mine to talk sweetly too.

  She mouths the word beautiful as if she's confused.

  "How are you feelin'?" I try to veer away from my previous statement.

  She exhales heavily. "I don't know what happened."

  I still don't know if she ended up in that water on purpose or if it was indeed an accident.

  "What's the last thing you remember?"

  Her eyes shut for a long blink before reopening. "I—um—" She swallows hard, proving her throat must be dry. "I was just trying to throw a note into the water. It flew back against the bridge, and I tried to grab it."

  "You fell in?" I question, praying that was the case.

  "I think so," she says. Her legs squirm under the sheets. "I'm cold."

  I stand up without thinking and poke my head out of the room, searching for a passing nurse. The nurses' station is just a few feet away, though. "Excuse me; August Taylor is cold. Could I request an extra blanket?"

  "Of course, sir. We'll be right in."

  A nurse is quick about following me in with a blanket. I help the nurse cover August, tucking the extra fabric underneath her legs. "Better?" I ask her.

  "Yes," she says.

  "Let me know if you need anything else," the nurse says before returning to her station.

  I sit back down in the guest chair and lean over, resting my elbows on my knees. "I'm sorry I made you mad tonight," I tell her.

  She shrugs. I can assume she's not sure how to respond. Her lack of eye contact says enough. She's embarrassed.

  "Why are you here?" she asks.

  I could be the hero. I could tell her I was the one following her closely enough to see that she fell into the water, then dove in to save her.

  "You didn't have anyone to go with you when the ambulance came. I didn't want you to have to be alone."

  "Oh," she says. "Thank you." I'll take the Thank You. It was more than I anticipated getting from her.

  I watch her senses return one at a time. She reaches to find the disarray her hair is in, then runs her fingers beneath her eyes in search of smudged makeup.

  "You look perfect," I tell her. I should stop with the compliments.

  "I don't have a problem, you know." The words feel like a knife plunging into my stomach. How could she say that after the last two nights?

  "That's for you to decide," I tell her. It isn't what I want to say.

  "I don't," she repeats. "The doctor thinks I do, though. My blood alcohol level was .230%. I guess that's high. They have me pinned with reckless cause for my fall. I'm not sure what that means, though."

  I can only guess that she will speak to a counselor before she gets discharged, but I'm not a hundred percent sure. "It's probably just for their records," I tell her.

  "They won't believe me when I tell them that I don't normally drink."

  "Why not?" I question.

  August shrugs. I wonder if she realizes the amount of trouble she's facing. Even if the doctors release her with just a talking to, things will only worsen if she continues down the same path. Those who say they don't have a problem often have a bigger problem than those who admit to their flaws.

  "How did Keegan pull his problem off so inconspicuously?" she asks me.

  "Someone always sees what everyone else is too busy to notice," I tell her.

  Her focus swings to my face, understanding the meaning of my words. I see she needs help. I could be the only one who knows the seriousness of this trouble.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  August

  He's here.

  It wasn't my first thought upon waking up, though. I spent the first twenty minutes freaking out, trying to figure out where I was and how I had gotten here. The memories slowly percolated.

  A nurse told me that my friend was with me when it happened or found me just after it happened. They aren't sure which, and neither am I. It wasn't hard to assume they were talking about Chance since I have no other male friends. In fact, I was hoping they were talking about Chance and not the other two men I had encountered at the bars.

  In any case, no one was there with me when I was on the bridge, trying to throw my note into the lake.

  "Your friend, Chance, is going to come in and visit with you now. Is that okay?"

  It is him.

  With the effect that sobering up is having on my head, I feel a sense of mortification creeping over me. So, I do the only thing I can think to do; close my eyes and pretend I'm asleep.

  It was easier than I thought it might be. This exhaustion is a force to fight. I was in and out of consciousness more than he must have seen.

  Now that I'm coming-to again, I notice his hand encapsulating mine. It's the first time our hands have touched, at least I think so.

  They're warm, firm, and much larger than mine. I don't know why Chance is holding onto me like this. I've been a jerk to him, and he didn't want a whole lot to do with me last night.

  In any case, I don't deserve his presence here now.

  "Hi beautiful," he says. His words catch me off guard. He acknowledges me in such a considerate and sweet way—it's not something I deserve.

  "You shouldn't be saying cordial things like that, Chance."

  Judging by the look on his face, he seems to have surprised himself with what flew out of his mouth, so I try to brush it off.

  After a few minutes of discussing the pieces to the puzzle of what happened tonight, the nurse returns to check my vitals. "Sweetie, we've decided to keep you overnight for observation."

  "Why's that?" I ask, hoping they didn't find something new in a test result.

  "We're still waiting on a couple of test results, and the discharge paperwork won't be ready for a bit. It's the middle of the night, so I think it's best that you rest, and we'll finish up in the morning."

  "Can I stay?" Chance asks.

  "Are you related? We will sometimes allow a family member to stay overnight with a patient."

  "No, but I care about her. Doesn't that count?" Chance continues.

  What in the world?

  We aren't an item, dating, or even friends ... for the most part.

  The nurse seems smitten by Chance's attempt to stay overnight. "I'll make an exception if Miss August wants the company."

  Do I want the company? I don't think I want to be alone in a hospital—whatever hospital this is.

  "Sure, he can stay," I tell the nurse.
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br />   "I'm just going to enter your vitals, and I'll be out of your hair so that you can rest." The nurse tends to the computer, and Chance gives me a curious look I can't decipher.

  The nurse leaves the room, closing the door behind her. "Again, I'm just going to ask you why?"

  He has no reason to be here. I'm nothing but a problem for him.

  Chance scratches at the back of his head as if lost in thought and shakes it a bit, making me think he's having a conversation in his head. "I see something in you that I've seen in myself. I can't put my finger on it, but whatever it is, it's like a magnetic pull. I need to be around you."

  I push myself up a bit so I can twist my body to chat with him more comfortably. "In any other circumstance, you realize I'd be thinking you're some kind of crazy person who has been following me around, right?"

  He leans forward as if I'm the one not making any sense. "You do know you're the one who has been coming into the bar I've been going to nightly for years, right?"

  "Yeah so?"

  "If I came into your place of employment, or somewhere else you like to spend your time, and I was acting a bit like a train wreck, wouldn't you be concerned?"

  His question makes my chest feel tight. "I would be worried. I'd probably try and become your friend so that I could help you."

  "Well, we're not that different then, August."

  "I guess you have me figured out, don't you?" Chance leans forward and sweeps a strand of my hair off to the side, tucking it loosely behind my ear. "With all due respect, you sort of wear your heart on your sleeve."

  I do.

  "What about you?" I ask him.

  "Me?" he questions. "Well, I'm the guy who notices a baby bird that fell out of its nest. I'd sit with the bird until its mama came back. If the mama didn't come back, I'd take the bird home with me to see if I could give it what it needs to survive."

  "Why?" I question. People like him are the way they are for a reason. Maybe it's a grade school teacher who inspired love, or perhaps he knows from experience.

  "I was that baby bird once. No one sat with me until I was old enough to fly on my own."

  I'm trying to piece him together based on what he's saying. "Were you abandoned once?"

  "Yes, ma'am, but sometimes it takes a lonely person to know one."

  Chance Miller is not the person I thought he was. "You're lonely?" I question, though, it's not a question. It's evident.

  "Every day, but I don't let that define my life, you know? Someday, I won't be lonely anymore."

  "I've been lonely for a long time," I confide. "And I was living with—"

  "I know," he says, making it so I don't have to repeat Keegan's name.

  "Did your parents abandon—"

  "They're not alive. Both were in a horrible car accident. I was five, so it's blurry."

  I told him he didn’t know what it looks like to be in pieces. How could I have said something so stupid?

  I try not to react. People who have survived trauma like that don't appreciate the sympathy the way others do.

  I let my head drop down a few inches, silently offering him a moment of my sadness. "Where did you end up?"

  His lips quirk to the side. "Group homes, foster care, another group home, then two loving people adopted me at eleven years old."

  I can't help but smile with relief. I shouldn't be smiling at this moment, but day in and day out, I wonder what will come of these children I'm with every day. I pray they don't turn out to be like Keegan, but I'm scared I have no control over them, just the same as I didn't with Keegan.

  "You're okay?" I ask, swallowing the lump in my throat.

  "I'm great. You know, aside from the loneliness, which I've chosen, mind you. I've had many offers—I um—I didn't mean that. I just—I've chosen to stay where I am until things feel right, you know?"

  "I understand," I tell him. "I—ah, I'm a social worker at a group home for children—children like yourself or who have been through neglect or abuse. It's a challenging thing to watch."

  Chance hiccups softly and presses his hand against his heart. "You don't say?"

  "Weird, huh?"

  "No ... wonderful."

  "Except, I bet you aren't thinking many other wonderful things about me now. Probably even less when I tell you my boss told me to take some personal time to get my act together."

  Chance's eyebrows knit together. "No, you can't let that job go. You are doing something amazing, August. The system has a tough time finding people like you. You have to understand that?"

  "I understand," I tell him.

  "I want to help you get back on your feet. I really do, for selfish reasons, and for the kids in this community who need you."

  "I'm not sick," I tell him again.

  "Listen to me, darlin'. I know you're not sick, but you're heartbroken, and maybe that's not because you were madly in love with Keegan. You lost a person, a person who was relying on you for everything. Let me help you now."

  "I was drinking so I could understand his reason—"

  My throat gummed up again, and between the lingering alcohol, fears of almost drowning, and exhaustion, I can't help the tears barreling down my cheeks. They're the first tears I've allowed myself to cry since I found Keegan dead on the bathroom floor. I chose not to give him these tears, but now I think I'm crying for me.

  "Shh," Chance says, standing up and switching his seat over to the edge of my bed. "Listen. I may not have you all figured out yet, but I know a good person when I meet one, and you, August, you're a damn good person."

  "It was my fault that Keegan killed himself," I quietly cry out.

  "You can't take the blame like that—" Chance suggests.

  He doesn't get it, though.

  It's been just over a week now since his last day.

  There have been many times throughout my life when I hear reminders about how precious time is and how important it is to hold onto good memories … just in case.

  That morning, I was in the shower. The steam was excessive, but I needed it to clear my head.

  The steam relaxed my stressed body, and I told myself it would be a good day. I kept repeating the mantra to myself, yet I couldn't remember the last good day I had. Since Keegan fell off the bandwagon again, every minute of my life felt covered by a layer of despair.

  The bathroom door opened. I only heard it through the soothing sound of falling water because the door's hinges squeal when it opens. It needs a helping of grease.

  "Auggie," I heard from the opening that was allowing my steam to escape. "How many times have I told you to put the vent on when you're taking hot showers?" Keegan said, sounding irritated.

  My biggest vice was taking showers that were too hot and sometimes forgetting to turn on the fan.

  He never failed to remind me of my forgetful habit.

  "Come on, Keegan, I forgot. Sue me."

  "You're making the wallpaper peel in here. I don't want to have to start fixing that too," Keegan argued.

  "You're making my skin peel, Keegan, but don't worry ... I don't expect much from you."

  "Nice, real nice," he said.

  "Are you actually working today? The Millers have you scheduled for a mowing job this morning." I kept tabs on his schedule, reminding him of where he has to be and when. I didn't want our income to plummet, but he didn't seem concerned. I know why now.

  "Yes, August. I'm going to work today. Thank you for your gentle reminder." I could picture him with his air quotes around the word gentle.

  "Thank you," I offered, trying to end the conversation so I could go back to seeking relief from my stress.

  The shower curtain whipped open, and Keegan stood there, glaring at me. "Do you seriously hate me as much as you sound like you do?" I stared at him, feeling dumbfounded. It felt like he was looking for a fight.

  "What are you talking about?" I asked him. I knew what he was talking about, but it didn't seem like something we had to rehash at that exact moment.

>   Not to mention, he had dark circles underneath his eyes, his face was pale, and he hadn't groomed his scruff in over a week. His hair was greasy and disheveled. He looked like a mess. He didn't look like the cute guy he turned into throughout our later years of high school. There was a time when I thought I had won the jackpot, putting my claim on the hottest guy in school when we were just in the fifth grade, but I didn't know what was to come.

  "I'm sick of living like this. You don't look at me. You don't touch me. We hardly even talk. It's like I'm living in prison next to my worst enemy most days." Isn't that what everyone wants to hear first thing in the morning?

  "I'm sorry you feel that way," I told him. It wasn't my fault that we began living like strangers, and it wasn't my fault that he didn't take me seriously when I said I was leaving as soon as he got better.

  Maybe my threat was proof of the fact that I didn't expect him ever to get better. Living with him was beginning to make me feel like I was the one in prison.

  "Keegan, I love the person you are when you're sober, but I've forgotten who that person is because you have spent more time as a drunk in the last few years than you have sober. I will never love you when you're drunk. You've known this all along, and yet, you continue to drink. So, how can you ask me why I hate you?"

  "Hate ain't the same thing as love, August." His words made me realize he had settled for the fact that I didn't love him anymore but couldn't handle the thought of me hating him.

  "I hate the fact that you won't get clean for me. I hate the fact that we can't have a future because of your decisions. I hate the fact that I'm sitting here waiting for you to be in a place where I can't leave you without feeling guilty. If all those things equal out to me hating you, then it is what it is, right?"

  "I want a life with you, Auggie."

  I covered my arms over my breasts, feeling like I was standing there exposed in front of a stranger. "I don't want a life with you anymore, Keegan."

  "What are you saying?" He sounded nervous.

  "I don't think I can wait around for you to get better. I think I need to move out."

  Keegan shook his head, pleading with his eyes. He was all talk when it came to his anger with me. I think deep down, Keegan knew it was he who created the fall-out of our relationship. "No, no, baby, don't leave me. I'll sober up, please. Just give me a little longer."