Fear of Falling

  You see, the heart was a stubborn, selfish bastard. It didn’t let go easily. It never did what the brain commanded, no matter how badly you tried to push it into detachment. It kept on feeling just like it kept on beating. And the more you tried to deny it of what it wanted, the more it pined for that forbidden piece of fruit, the stronger the craving grew. So while it became less painful to accept that Blaine and I could never be, it felt like my heart would explode every time I thought of his playful smile. Or remembered the way he smelled. Or daydreamed about the feel of his bare skin against mine.

  I didn’t let myself wonder if he missed me too. I wasn’t a total glutton for punishment. I knew Blaine wouldn’t stay single for long. It had been months. Months without any contact whatsoever. He never tried to see me after I dismissed him at the hospital. No phone call, not even a text. He was done with me, and I should have been satisfied with that result. I had been right all along. I told him I wasn’t the girl he was looking for. I just hate that I had let myself try to be.

  I’d probably always love Blaine Jacobs. But I also loved him enough to let him go.

  “Hey Kam?”

  I looked up from the piece of paper I had been mindlessly folding into a crane. In the past few months, my collection had tripled in size. Luckily, Dom had suggested I donate most of the pieces to the center where he worked. The kids loved them so much that he arranged a special origami class once a week. Of course, it took many hours of begging to persuade me to do it, but after I saw how much those children enjoyed it, I was sold. Many of them were suffering from self-esteem and anxiety issues. Origami gave them an outlet. It was therapeutic. To be able to take a blank sheet of paper, something that is often discarded or ripped to shreds, and create something beautiful and graceful with it…it really put things in perspective for me.

  I smiled at my best friend and roommate and waved him in. “’Sup? How was work?”

  Dom strolled in, loosening his tie. His brownish green eyes looked weary though they still sparkled. “Tiring. Had a young girl come in today, probably around 11 or 12, and already very sexually active. Her mom can’t get through to her and if she doesn’t get help, that girl is gonna be sitting on Maury’s couch within a year.”

  “Yikes. That’s tricky.”

  “Yeah,” he replied, flopping back on my bed. “But that’s not the worst part. I’m pretty certain she’s been sexually abused.”

  I tossed the crane on my nightstand and gave Dom my undivided attention. “What? Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. All the signs are there. And if I’m right, her promiscuity is a result of whatever trauma she’s experienced. So talking to me won’t help. It will only scare her more.”

  “Have you tried?”

  “Of course! At first, she clammed up. Then—and I swear, I did nothing to provoke it—she came onto me. This child was trying to proposition me for sex!”

  I shook my head. “Oh my God.”

  Dom reached over and grasped my hand the way he did when he was about to ask me for a favor. I braced myself. “I need you on this, Kam. Please. Maybe you could talk to her?”

  “Me? How could I be of any help?”

  “Because you can relate. She needs another female to talk to about this. She’d be more open with you. Plus, you’re amazing, Kam. No bullshit. You’ve overcome so much and have turned out better for it. And whether you want to believe it or not, you are warm and nurturing. Kinda like how I imagined my own mother would have been like. You’d put her right at ease.”

  Tears glazed my eyes as I shook my head. “Damn you, Dominic Trevino. Playing the Mother Card. That’s a low blow.”

  “You’re sweet and comforting,” he continued, knowing he had hit my soft spot. “The sound of your voice just draws people in. Makes them listen. You’re absolutely the most selfless, good-hearted person I have ever met.”

  “So not true,” I mumbled.

  “Please, Kam? This girl needs you. You could potentially save her life.”

  I let out a resigned sigh. I imagined myself in one of those old cartoons where Elmer Fudd morphs into a giant lollipop after Bugs Bunny makes a total sucker out of him. “Fine, fine. See if she’ll come to the next origami class. I’ll stay after and talk to her then. But I can’t promise anything.”

  Dom attacked me with a huge, wet kiss on the cheek. “Thank you so much, Kam. I swear you won’t regret this; you’ll see.” He climbed to his feet and stretched his broad, muscular body and yawned. “I’m gonna try to grab a nap. Gotta date tonight. Thanks, Kam. Love you.”

  He was at my door when I called out to him, stopping him in his tracks. “Hey, Dom?”

  “Yeah?” he asked, spinning around.

  “I love you too.”

  Even from across the room, I could see the tears shining in his eyes. He smiled and looked away, trying to compose himself, then nodded. Moisture was already bathing his cheeks before he could turn and escape my bedroom.

  I was cooking an early dinner on a Friday night when Angel entered the kitchen before heading to Dive to perform. Her expression was unreadable though I knew something was bothering her.

  “Spit it out,” I finally said, as she munched on a slice of the red bell pepper I was slicing for the stir-fry.

  “What do you mean?” she answered with her best doe-eyed guise. I could see right through those big baby blues and pouty, glossed lips.

  “The thing that you’re just itching to tell me. Go ahead and say it. What happened? Seduced another lonely housewife in our building? Corrupted someone’s daughter?”

  “Now why do you always think the worst of me? I’m not some sexual deviant!” she scoffed with a hand on her narrow hip.

  “Could’ve fooled me,” I laughed.

  “Hmph. Well, for your information, it’s about you. So there!” She turned on her heel to make her dramatic exit.

  “Wait! What about me?”

  Slowly, again for dramatic effect, Angel turned to face me, wearing a mischievous grin. “I don’t know if I should give it to you. But I’m running out of time, and, with what Dom and Dr. Cole said, it could really get me in trouble. And you’ve been doing…”

  “What? Ok, back up. What are you talking about? What did Dom and Dr. Cole say?”

  I set down the knife I was holding and sat down at the breakfast table, motioning for Angel to do the same. With a deep breath and a quick glance over her shoulder, she reluctantly did the same.

  “Now spill it. And start from the beginning.”

  Angel took a deep breath, as she nervously fingered her blonde hair. “After what happened to you, after the attack, you were adamant about us not mentioning…um…Blaine. Like you really wanted nothing to do with him. So we tried to just act like he never existed. You know, anything to help you get better. So when, uh, Blaine gave me something to give you a few weeks later, I went to Dom about it. To ask him what I should do.”

  “Wait a minute. Blaine gave you something for me?” I squeaked. It was a miracle that I could even get the words out. Just hearing his name nearly stole my breath.

  “Well…yeah. But it’s weird. I don’t know; I just don’t get why he’d want you to have that. But anyway, let me finish. So I tell Dom about it, and he told me not to give it to you. Said that Dr. Cole thinks that any reminder of what happened to you or the events leading up to that could trigger some mental breakdown. I had to agree. I mean, you were pretty scary for a while there.”

  I couldn’t argue with her there. The weeks following my attack had been a blur. Like a total out of body experience. I wasn’t all there. It was like my subconscious had created this steel cocoon that no one could penetrate while my mind digested what had happened to me. Between the drugs from the surgeries to fix my mangled face, and then accepting the new me, I was a zombie. I was dead inside. I didn’t want to feel. I didn’t want to think. And I damn sure didn’t want to talk about it. Only the arrival of my mom, the only person that was probably more broken than me, snapped me out of it. Se
eing her face opened the floodgates. All the emotions that were battling to reach the surface came bursting out. And for days, they didn’t stop.

  “So now you feel like you’re running out of time to give it to me?”

  Angel shrugged. “Yeah. I kinda am.”

  I chewed my lip, wondering if I wanted to open this door. Yeah, my heart was still undoubtedly Blaine’s, but I had accepted the end of us. I was moving on and getting better. I needed to stay on this path. Straying from it could seriously be dangerous for my recovery.

  “Well…let’s see it.”

  Yup. Sucker. A 5-foot 6-inch sucker, complete with long, white stick and plastic wrapper. Probably cherry flavored.

  Angel opened the oversized, designer handbag on her shoulder and revealed a glass Mason jar. Inside was a piece of paper. I took the jar in my hands and examined it with unwavering concentration.

  “See,” Angel remarked, though I could hardly hear her voice over the sound of my pounding heart. “Weird, right? Who gives someone a jar? So…you gonna read the note?”

  Was I? Should I?

  “I don’t know,” I whispered. It was true. Being honest with myself and with others about my feelings was something I had been working on in therapy.

  “Well, don’t wait too long to make up your mind. He’s leaving.”

  My head jerked up so fast that I felt my mended skull rattle. “Leaving?”

  “Yeah. He’s taking off. To like, Australia or something. Tonight is actually his going away party and A.D. is performing. I asked him if he wanted me to invite you…”

  “And?”

  “Sorry, Kam,” she replied with sympathetic eyes. She didn’t have to say anymore. Blaine was over me. He didn’t want me there.

  I nodded, both in understanding and conclusion. I was done with this conversation, just like Blaine was done with me.

  “Ok, well… I gotta run.” Angel climbed to her feet and kissed me on the forehead. I just sat there, still staring at that jar, unable to acknowledge much else.

  Before Angel could make her way all the way out of the kitchen, she turned to face me. “Kam? Can you do me a favor?”

  I forced my eyes to hers, though I really couldn’t see her. “Sure.”

  “Whatever’s in that jar, promise me you won’t be afraid of it. It’s just a piece of paper. Nothing on it can take away everything you’ve achieved these past few months. It doesn’t change who you are.”

  I sat in silence for a few beats before nodding. “I promise.”

  I lied.

  It was too late. I was already terrified.

  Kami,

  I’ve written this letter in my head a million times. Shit, I’ve scribbled it down more times than I feel comfortable even telling you about before balling it up & chucking it across the room. But the truth is, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to fully explain what I’m feeling right now. Confused? Yes. Upset? Hell yes. Hurt? More than you could ever know.

  I know I’m a selfish bastard for feeling like that. After all you’ve been through, I know I have no right to be hurt. But I am. I can’t help that. It’s been nearly three weeks, and all I can think about is the look on your face when I last saw you. When I lost you. So please, hate me for that. Say I’m a self-centered prick and an asshole. But don’t say what we had wasn’t real. Don’t take that away from me. Because, Kam, to me it was everything.

  Yeah, I get that it’s over. And I know it’s what needs to be done for you to heal. But, know that being without you is killing me. Fucking killing me every damn second of every damn day that I can’t see you. Or feel you in my arms. Or hear your sweet voice singing softly. Baby, I miss you so much and I feel bad for it. Like missing you won’t be conducive to your recovery. Like feeling this way will only make things worse. And that’s not what I want. Not at all.

  So I’m telling you, Kami, I won’t miss you anymore. I won’t hurt for you. I won’t need you like I do. And I won’t love you. Loving you is what caused all this. It’s what ruined us. And I am so sorry for that. I hate myself for failing you. For not being enough to save you. But I won’t fail you again. If this is what you need—for me to never think of you again—then that is what I am going to do. I’ll forget you. I’ll stop loving you like I do. Because, dammit, I do. So much it fucking tears me apart.

  I hope this is what you want. I know I didn’t get it right the first time, but I promise to try like hell to make it better.

  Always (Never),

  Blaine

  P.S. The jar is for you. Maybe before a big storm rolls in, you’ll use it to catch fireflies (see, I did remember something, city mouse. But they’re still lightning bugs down here). And if you do, just remember, the storm doesn’t last forever. It can scare you; it can shake you to your core. But it never lasts. The rain subsides, the thunder dies, and the winds calm to a soft whisper. And that moment after the storm clouds pass, when all is silent and still, you find peace. Quiet, gentle peace.

  That’s what I wish for you. Even if you couldn’t find it with me.

  I read the letter a second time. Then a third. Each word jumped off the page and slapped me in the face. Each sentence stabbed me straight through my fractured heart.

  I won’t miss you anymore.

  Loving you is what caused all this. It’s what ruined us.

  I’ll forget you.

  I’ll stop loving you.

  I repeated it over and over like a mantra, seeing if it would start to make sense. If the words could somehow form coherent thoughts for me to digest. Because I couldn’t understand. I just didn’t fully get it.

  Blaine stopped loving me. For me?

  I had really lost him. It was really over. And though we hadn’t been together in months, knowing for sure that he no longer had feelings for me just drove the knife in deeper.

  Maybe somewhere in the back of my convoluted mind, I thought we would find our way back to each other. That we were really meant to be. He told me that we were inevitable. That when you knew…you just knew. Maybe I had been holding onto that this entire time.

  The thing that probably disturbed me the most was Blaine’s belief that he had failed me. That he was somehow responsible for what happened. The thought of him carrying around that immense guilt, thinking that history had repeated itself, had me choking back a sob. No. I couldn’t let him think that. I couldn’t let him take the blame for my father’s actions.

  Blaine was a good man. The best kind that there was. He was the kind of man that women dreamt of taking home to their mothers. The kind of guy that opened doors and pushed in chairs. The kind of man that fairytales were written about and songs were sung for.

  And I had pushed him away. I had destroyed the man whose only crime was loving me. All of me—phobias, insecurities, and scars included.

  What the fuck was wrong with me?

  I folded up the piece of paper and slid it back into the Mason jar before setting it on my windowsill. Right next to those little stars, so small and delicate in size, yet the weight of their burden had crippled me for so long. I picked up the glass that contained their cynical smiles and taunting laughter.

  Those insignificant little things had held me prisoner for years. And now they had cost me the only man I had ever loved.

  I had never hated them more, so much so that I wanted to be done with them for good. It was time. I was ready to live.

  The roar of the crowd was louder than I had remembered, though the only thing I could hear was the steady, rapid pounding of my heart. I wiped my sweat-slicked palms on my cotton dress. Shit. My dress was white; I really hoped it didn’t become see-through from the spotlights. Would I look stupid? Would people be pissed? Hell, could I even do this?

  Stop it, Kam. Breathe. You got this. Everything else, all the bullshit you’ve been through…it was all for this. This moment. Prove that you’re strong. That you’re a fighter. That you can be fearless. Because if anyone is worth the risk of falling, it’s him.

  The
sound of Angel’s voice signaled my entrance, and with trembling legs, I forced myself from the safety of backstage. I shielded my eyes to adjust to the bright beam of the fluorescents and stepped forward. Luckily, the packed audience was still too wrapped up in their drinks, food, and conversation to even notice my approach. Good. Maybe I’d remain safe and hidden, overshadowed by the powerhouse that was Angel Cassidy and the rest of the A.D. bombshells.

  But Lady Luck was a bitch in too-tight stilettos that liked to do the Electric Slide on my glimmer of hope. The only thing I could be thankful for was the fact that his back was turned. But even in the crowded bar, I instantly zeroed in on his heavily inked arms and messily styled, sandy brown hair. Every synapse jolted to attention then tingled with remembrance. My stomach coiled into a knot that Popeye himself couldn’t get out of. My body knew him, had felt him. And undoubtedly missed him.

  Even with the hushed whispers of my return swirling about, Blaine remained in deep conversation with his cousin, CJ. The crowd around them, mostly comprised of scantily clad girls, vied for their attention, yet the pair seemed totally oblivious. One chick in particular was damn near trying to force feed Blaine her tits.

  Maybe this was a mistake. Blaine didn’t want me here; he even told Angel that. He was leaving. If he felt anything for me, why would he move to the other side of the world?

  The room quieted a decibel when I stepped up to the mic with my guitar, yet Blaine still didn’t turn around. I looked over at Angel, who shot me an encouraging smile with a nod of her head. I shrugged. I was here. Getting to this point was half the battle and I’d be damned if I turned back now.

  Without saying a word to even introduce myself, I began to play. At first, the strings felt foreign under my fingertips. Almost like a lover that you hadn’t kissed in ages. But soon, familiarity kicked in, flooding me with feelings of comfort and serenity. Angel was right—this was where I belonged. Nothing made me feel more fearless…more like me. Nothing could hurt me here. That broken girl had been fixed and set free.