Fear of Falling

  “I see how they look at me. I see your friends’ mothers whispering about me. You’ve told them. You’ve told them about me, haven’t you? You can’t say things like that. We’ll have to move again. Is that what you want?”

  I took a step towards her with the intention of soothing her. She really was losing it. “Mom, I swear. I haven’t said anything.”

  She turned from me to make her way back to her bedroom. Back to her side of the apartment where she could wallow in her misery alone and forget the burden of my existence. Before she made it to the doorframe of her room, she looked back at me and shook her head, disgust and pity in her slanted, brown eyes.

  “You’re just like him, Langga. Just like your father.”

  Slow, concentrated pain surrounded me at every angle. I couldn’t escape it. It held me prisoner and refused to let me go, sluggishly creeping over every inch of my body. The shit just wouldn’t pass, just wouldn’t move on. It just kept slowly driving its way deeper into my skull, making the task of opening my eyelids seem flippin’ impossible.

  “She’s waking up!” I heard Angel gasp. “Dom, go get the nurse. Hurry!”

  Light pierced my eyes, its intensity serving as tiny, razor-sharp daggers to my retinas. I wanted to cry or at least cringe, but even that hurt.

  “The lights,” I hoarsely whispered. God, my throat was sore. “Kill the lights, please.”

  Once the lights were comfortably dim, I slowly peeled open my eyelids. The room was bare. Sterile. Cold. I was in the hospital.

  Angel looked at me with a hopeful smile. She looked horrible as if she hadn’t slept nor groomed in days. If she looked like that, then I must’ve looked like Death with PMS on a Monday.

  “What happened?” I managed to croak. What the hell was wrong with my throat? It wasn’t just scratchy; it was sore and stiff.

  “You don’t remember?” Angel asked with horrified eyes.

  I shook my head just a fraction but it felt like I had just given myself whiplash. “I remember…what happened. But…what happened to me? What did he…”

  “Here she is,” Dom beamed as he walked in, a man in scrubs right behind him. A young woman dressed in penguin-adorned scrubs followed.

  “Miss Duvall, how do you feel?” the man I presumed to be a doctor asked, picking up my chart at the foot of the bed.

  “Ok, I guess.”

  Doctor Lovett, who had been the one to perform the surgery to repair my small, yet worrisome, skull fracture two days ago, performed a series of simple tests to ensure there wasn’t a lag in brain function. The bandages hugging the circumference of my head, as well as the ones on my face, were itching like a bitch, but he insisted I leave them be.

  “Dr. Ramini, our resident plastic surgeon, will be in to talk about your options.”

  “Plastic surgeon? My options?” I wanted to frown but the medical tape pulling my skin was like cheap, bootleg Botox.

  “Miss Duvall, you suffered quite a bit of cosmetic damage to your face from the attack. Since the swelling from your head injury has subsided drastically, I think it’s safe to go ahead and proceed with Dr. Ramini once we get the appropriate scans done. I assure you; he’s the best in the state.”

  I sat staring at him like he was speaking a different language, unable to fully digest his words. My face? He…had ruined my face?

  “The police have been waiting to speak to you for quite some time. They should be up shortly. In the meantime, try to relax and I’ll be back shortly to get those tests started. Nurse Claire will give you something for pain management,” Dr. Lovett said, gently patting my shin before exiting the room. Well, at least that didn’t hurt.

  My eyes darted between Dom and Angel as soon as we were alone again. “What happened to me? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart,” Dom said softly, leaning over to kiss me on the forehead. I wanted to swat him away, but one arm was in a sling and the other had been skewered with an IV line.

  “You know what I mean. What did he do to my face?”

  My roommates looked at each other before returning their solemn gazes to me. I could see the sympathy welling in their eyes.

  “Well? Is somebody going to talk?”

  Dom cleared his throat. “Kam, babe…he…uh…” He took a deep breath before grasping my hand. “Your father used a belt on you. And, uh, the impact, plus the buckle, tore some of the skin from your face, neck and shoulder.” Tears spilled from his eyes as he awaited my reaction.

  “I see,” was all I could say. What could I say to that?

  “Part of your ear was torn off, and you have some bruising along your cheekbone.”

  I nodded, letting understanding seep into my groggy, Morphine-riddled brain. My father had finally done it. He had taken everything from me. Everything…

  “Did he rape me?” I deadpanned, not a trace of emotion in my voice.

  “Um, Kam,” Angel chimed in. “A psychiatrist will be in soon to talk to you about the attack. We were able to convince the staff here to let us break the news about everything else because of how…fragile you are…”

  “Fragile?” I snorted. “I’m not fragile. To be fragile I’d have to be breakable. You obviously can’t break what’s already broken.”

  “Kam, you aren’t broken,” Dom interjected.

  “Aren’t I? Look at me.”

  Dom and Angel both let their eyes drop to the floor.

  “I said look at me, dammit!” It hurt to shout, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything. Not the pain, not my face, nothing. I felt nothing. I was nothing.

  My friends brought their gazes to my torn face and simultaneously cringed, confirming my suspicions. I was a freak show.

  “Now tell me: do I look like someone who is put together? Who has been repaired? Do I look like I’m ok?”

  The two of them didn’t answer. They didn’t have to. The horror was written all over their faces.

  “Again…did he rape me?”

  A long, torturous beat passed before Angel shook her head. “He tried, but he didn’t get a chance to, uh…go all the way before we found you.”

  Relief washed over me in waves, but I didn’t show it. I kept my expression stoic. Detached. Cold. “Well, it’s a good thing you showed up in time to stop him.”

  “Actually, we have Blaine to thank for that.”

  Blaine?

  Oh no. Blaine.

  “He knows?” I screeched. I wanted to widen my eyes in terror, but they wouldn’t budge. Fuck.

  “It was because of him that we found you in time. He insisted we drive him back to the apartment to…”

  “He saw me like this?!” I damn near screamed. “He saw what he did to me?”

  “Kam,” Dom said softly, stroking my arm. It was the only exposed part of me that wasn’t bandaged. “Blaine was the one to tear him off of you. I mean, yeah, I helped but Blaine…he just went crazy. Like a deranged madman. I ended up having to pull him off before he killed the fucker. Still, he nearly did.”

  “He’ll be here soon to see you. We sent him home just to clean up and get a quick shower,” Angel added with an encouraging smile.

  I turned my head away as much as the bandages allowed. I didn’t want them to see the tears welling up in my eyes. I didn’t want them to see me feel. “I don’t want him to see me like this.”

  “Honey, he’s already seen you. He’s been here waiting for you. He wouldn’t even allow himself to doze off. I damn near had to force him to take a break.”

  I turned my head back to my friends. “He’s been here the entire time?”

  “Well, he left at first,” Dom replied. Angel shot him a furious look and whispered for him to shut up, like I wasn’t right there. “Well, he did. He just had to get his head right. It was a lot for him to take in, but he came back the next morning.”

  I nodded, just to give my body something to do. Anything but what I wanted to do. Cry.

  “Well…I don’t want him to see me,” I said in a br
oken voice. “Not like this. Not now.”

  “Too late.”

  Every head turned towards the door where Blaine stood smiling, looking even more perfect than I had remembered. He held an elaborate flower arrangement that he walked over to place on a nearby table. That’s when I realized there were quite a few bouquets, teddy bears and Get Well cards cluttering the room. I couldn’t focus on them though. The movement caused his comforting scent of mint and spice, and just Blaine, to sweep over me. Emotion knotted in my throat.

  He came to stand at my side and looked down at me, a smile still illuminating his beautiful face. “Hey baby,” he said just above a whisper.

  Words abandoned me, leaving me silent and dumbfounded. Part of me wanted to fall into his arms and thank him for saving my life. For stopping my sick fucking father from stealing the tiny piece of me that I still controlled. For loving me just as fiercely as I loved him.

  But that part of me was stupid. Weak. Naïve.

  If I thought that we couldn’t continue before, I knew it without a shadow of a doubt now. My father had killed any hope for a future with Blaine. He had killed me. Just like he did my mother.

  I couldn’t hold Blaine captive in the fucked-up-ness that was my life. He was a good guy; he’d stay because he’d feel obligated to. Because that’s what good guys did—they stayed and fought for you no matter what.

  Blaine had done enough fighting for me. I wouldn’t let him waste his life on someone who had no more fight left in her.

  “Blaine…” His name stung my tongue. The day we met, it had felt as smooth as silk in my mouth. Now it hurt. It hurt because I knew I didn’t have a right to say it anymore.

  “I think you should go,” I whispered.

  “What?” He took a tiny step back as if I had slapped him. “Why?”

  I swallowed the words I wanted to say. I locked them all up and stored them in the dark, empty corners of my mind, hoping to rebuild the tiny compartments. My father had destroyed them when he propelled me back into my childhood. Never again. I wouldn’t let anyone get that close again.

  “Nothing’s changed, Blaine. How I feel…that hasn’t changed. Thank you for being there for me but that doesn’t mean things between us are different.”

  I met his stunned, hurt expression with nothing but cold dispassion. My mask was easier to slip on now. My father had ensured that I was never able to take it off again. It was permanently etched into my torn, battered skin.

  Quietly, Dom and Angel slipped out of the room to give us privacy. It wasn’t necessary though. I wouldn’t continue the charade any longer. I’d make sure that Blaine stayed away for good now.

  I turned away from the pain etched in his face. I couldn’t look at him. I had enough of my own to deal with. “Look…let’s just consider this my resignation. I know it’s short notice, but I think under the circumstances, this is the best thing. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

  “Sorry for the inconvenience? What? Kami…baby…talk to me.”

  A warm single finger grazed my chin, causing me to flinch. I glared back at Blaine. Why couldn’t he just stay away? Why did he make me have to hurt him?

  “See what you make me do, Kamilla? I have to. I have to hurt you because I love you.”

  A gasp caught in my throat as my worst fear came to fruition. My mother was right. She was right all along. And that only solidified my decision.

  I covered my mangled face with my only free hand and turned my head away. “Get out.”

  “What?” I could hear the confusion that weighted that tiny, insignificant word.

  “I said get out!” I shouted louder than was necessary. But I needed to make him see how wrong this was. How wrong I was.

  As I had hoped, Dom, Angel, a police officer and a nurse came rushing in, all displaying varying levels of alarm. Blaine took one last wounded look at me before dropping his gaze to the floor. He was defeated. I had broken him down. I really was my father’s child.

  I didn’t face him as he walked away. The truth was ugly enough.

  Fuck it.

  Fuck it all.

  Fuck feeling like this. Fuck trying to find a reason for this pain.

  Fuck fucking, sick-fuck fathers. Fuck them to the nth degree.

  Fuck the scars they created. Fuck the pieces of a person they left behind.

  Fuck the tiny glimpse of happiness only to have it snatched away. Fuck wanting someone so bad that you continuously put yourself out there, knowing that you’ll be demolished in the blink of a gorgeous, green eye.

  Fuck it all.

  Fuck me. Fuck her. Fuck this.

  Fuck it.

  The body was a miraculous thing.

  You could tear it apart, rip it to shreds, and somehow, it healed. Collagen formed scar tissue that sealed the gashes. Bones could be reset, and cartilage could regrow. Pain subsided until you didn’t feel the deep ache every time you breathed. Even the brain could heal, blocking out the horrifying details that woke you up at night, covered in sweat and crying. It, too, could be soothed and coaxed into healing through time and intense therapy.

  But the heart? That organ never fully healed itself. It could never be right once it had been damaged. But no matter how broken it was, no matter how badly it hurt every time a memory slipped through the cracks and gripped you, it just kept on beating. You kept on moving, kept on living. Even when you wanted to curl into the fetal position and die, it wouldn’t let you. Those jagged fragments pulled themselves together and continued to pump blood through your body.

  Every heartbeat killed you, but you were alive. Even if you didn’t want to be.

  I placed the jar of vibrant stars back on my windowsill and smiled. It was a big deal for me. To smile again. To find a reason to want to smile again. It had taken months to get here. To find just a tiny bit of peace from the hell that was my life. Not anymore. I wouldn’t live like that. I wouldn’t let him take that away from me.

  I didn’t do it alone, although sometimes it felt like I had been banished to the tiny island of Me. I became a recluse. I didn’t talk. I didn’t eat. Hell, sometimes it felt like I didn’t breathe. I existed.

  For weeks, I stared at the stars on my windowsill, silently cursing them, hating them, but still needing them. Each one served as an individual reminder. They reminded me why I still breathed. Why I still kept moving forward no matter how badly I wanted to give up. They reminded me of the love I had, the love I shattered, and the love that kept me tethered to this life.

  One day I wouldn’t need those stars. I wouldn’t need the crutch of my fears to keep me from leading a full, healthy life. I’d be able to kiss them goodbye and never look back. And I’d finally be free.

  The pieces of my life were finally coming back together. My father was charged and convicted of attempted rape, attempted murder, and trespassing. That, along with the slew of warrants out for his arrest, resulted in him being sent to prison for no less than 20 years without the chance of parole. That gave me a small slice of peace, but it didn’t make me happy. Who could really be happy about having to relive your own personal hell in front of a room full of strangers? Yeah. That earned #254.

  Sometimes it took tragedy to make you see the things that were staring you right in the face and breathing down your neck. I knew I had problems, but I kept them tucked away, smothered with denial. After many nights spent on my bedroom floor, shaking, rocking, and crumbling right before their eyes, Dom and Angel finally persuaded me to get help. I went back to seeing Dr. Cole and, as much as I hated to admit it, the know-it-all bitch was right. My fears had become irrational. I was collecting them like coins or stamps. Like tiny paper stars. Like shot glasses from all over the world.

  My body and mind weren’t the only things that were on the mend. My mother had made the trip from The Philippines to help with my care after I was released from the hospital. We talked. We screamed. We cried. And I finally told her everything that had been festering inside me like a disease.

  My mother
had lived through the unthinkable. She had been beaten and tormented beyond anything I could ever imagine. He took everything from her, leaving nothing but the hollow carcass of a woman. And, being birthed into a traditional Asian family that didn’t believe in counseling or exposing dark family secrets, my mother never got the help she needed. Therapy was taboo. Talking about your problems with loved ones, let alone a stranger, just wasn’t the norm for them.

  My mom never got a chance to heal. She didn’t have a Dom or an Angel. She didn’t even have a Blaine. But she had me. And together, we would fix what had been broken between us. It would take time, and probably enough tears to fill the Grand Canyon, but we would get through it. She was my mother. She was me. Repairing our relationship was helping me come to grips with what had happened to me. What happened to us.

  I looked over at the guitar sitting on its stand in the corner of my room. I hadn’t touched it since…since before the attack. Since Blaine. When I let him go, I let go of music. I said goodbye to the one thing that made me feel whole. That made me fearless.

  Music made me remember, and I needed to forget. It was damn hard. Shit, it was impossible. But it was getting easier to breathe everyday. I could think about him without breaking into a million pieces, sobbing so hard that my chest ached. I’d even been able to say his name aloud. And when Angel would update me on AngelDust’s weekend shows at Dive, she didn’t have to omit him from the story. Shit, he wasn’t Voldemort. Still, I insisted they keep all Blaine-related news to a minimum.

  I missed him. Missed him like hell. But this was better for him. He deserved a healthy, loving relationship. One where the girl worshipped the ground he walked on and showered him with affection. Someone who didn’t break down when fear swallowed her whole. Blaine deserved normal, and I was far from that. And that was ok. I had come to grips with that fact. I could want the best for him and know that it wasn’t me, and still manage to be happy for him. Eventually.

  That was the noble thing to believe. But loving someone, yet knowing that you could never be with them, doesn’t make them any easier to forget. If anything, it just made you want them more.