Falling into Us

by Jasinda Wilder

A priest came and stood in front of the crowd. “Dearly beloved,” he began, his voice throaty and phlegmy, “we are gathered here to mourn the passage of Benjamin Aziz de Rosa. His life ended far too soon, we would all agree. We’ll probably never know why Benjamin chose to take his own life, but nonetheless, we mourn his death and choose to celebrate his life—”

  Becca choked on a sob, coughed, and stumbled to her feet. I chased after her as she righted herself and stepped in front of the priest, who cut short and stared at Becca in shock and confusion. She met my eyes and shook her head, and I knew she was fully aware of what she was doing, so I stood with my back to the wall and my arms crossed over my chest, daring anyone to try to stop her.

  “Th-this isn’t what my brother would have wanted. ” She spoke slowly, an artificial, scripted quality to her words. “H-he would have hated that s-stupid suit. He would have hated those stupid pictures of him, and these stupid flowers. He would have hated the fake words this preacher is saying—no offense, sir. He-he-he—would have wanted us to get sss-stoned for him. We w-won’t do that, ah-ah-obviously. We know exactly why he hu-hung himsel—self. He was troubled. He was depressed. He was angry. He did-didn’t th-think he ha-had any-anything t-t-to off-off-offer. ” She paused, closed her eyes, and gathered herself.

  I noticed Kate then for the first time, wearing, instead of black, a deep emerald dress that hung at her knees and clung to her svelte frame. Her hair was twisted up into a complicated braid, and she had thick makeup on. She’d dressed for Ben, I realized, not everyone else. Her eyes were red-rimmed, tear-stained, and angry.

  Becca saw her, too, and she spoke to Kate.

  “I knew him best, except for Kate. I loved him, and I hated to see him…s-struggle…with himself. ” Becca was pausing frequently, forcing words out, forcing fluency on herself. No one was breathing. “His n-n-note said he was sorry. That he’d failed…Kate, and everyone. He didn’t fail. He did-did…didn’t. Not once. W-we failed him. We all did. ” Her eyes flicked her father then, and he visibly flinched, eyes screwing tight and a single tear slipping down his cheek. “We all…judged…hi—him. We tried to fi-fix…him. Only Kate just loved him. Let him feel what he felt and…accepted…him-him-him. ” Her eyes ticked with the last three stuttered syllables.

  At that, Kate broke, standing up suddenly in a crash of metal folding chairs, and ran. Becca watched her, and then moved her gaze back to the podium, staring at the wood. She glanced at me, then gestured to her purse on the chair where she’d been sitting. I snagged it and handed it to her. She pulled out a piece of lined paper folded into eighths, unfolded it, smoothed it against the wood surface.

  She breathed deeply, her mouth moving as she read the words in preparation to speak them aloud.

  “I wrote this. For Ben. ” I knew how hard it was for Becca to share her poetry. This was the only thing, the best thing she could give him.

  “I don’t mourn you,

  Brother.

  I don’t grieve for you.

  If there is thought

  Or grief

  Or love

  After this life,

  Then you’re watching,

  And you’re mad at us.

  You’re angry,

  But you’re at peace.

  I don’t mourn you,

  Brother.

  But I miss you.

  I wish you hadn’t left,

  Hadn’t removed yourself

  So violently

  From us all.

  From me.

  I miss you.

  I love you,

  Brother.

  And I’m sorry.

  I’m sorry I didn’t love you

  More.

  I can’t say if you’re in a better place.

  Maybe that’s a myth we tell

  To comfort ourselves.

  There’s too much to say,

  And not enough words

  For me to say it all.

  If you’re here,

  If you’re listening,

  Then I hope you find,

  In whatever place you’re in,

  What you were looking for. ”

  She crushed the paper in her fist, slumping forward onto the podium as if the effort to say all that so fluently had used up all her strength. I moved to her, pulled her against my chest, and moved backward, away. She hung from my embrace, and I lifted her into my arms, careful to keep her dress smoothed modestly over her legs. I carried her out of the viewing room, out of the parlor, and to the tree, the same tree where I’d seen Nell run from Kyle’s funeral. I think that’s where she’d first met Colton, or, well, met him again, really, since we’d all sort of known him before he’d left.

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  Kate was there, beneath the tree, the branches casting a broad shadow in the bright, hot June sunlight. Becca set her feet down and moved to sit beside Kate, and I plopped down in front of them.

  “I’m not—I didn’t love him, like you said,” Kate blurted. “I didn’t. I was always trying to fix him. Make him better. ”

  “But you accepted him any-anyway. You l-l-lo-loved him, even though he was so messed up. ”

  “He wasn’t messed up. He was just Ben. ”

  “See?” Becca smiled, a tiny, sad smile. “That’s w-w-what I mean. ”

  A long silence ensued. Kate sat Indian-style and stared at the grass between her legs, plucking blades of grass and shredding them. I moved to sit next to Becca, since the way Kate was sitting left her open so I could that she wasn’t wearing anything under the dress, and I didn’t need to see that.

  “I’m pregnant. ” Kate whispered the words.

  Becca’s head snapped up. “What?”

  “That’s why Ben killed himself. He couldn’t take it. He thought he’d ruined my life, our lives. The kid would be like him, he said. He said…he wasn’t capable of being a father. He…I found out the day before he…the day before. I told him, and he just…he flipped out. He got so mad, worse than I’ve ever seen him. At himself, though. Not at me. He smashed the apartment, and almost hit me. It was so scary. He wasn’t himself, he was just…crazy. ” She was still whispering so low I could barely hear her. “When he realized he was so close to hurting me, he stopped. That was the next morning. Then he left, and I didn’t know where he’d gone. I was so sick, I was puking so hard I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t get off the bathroom floor for hours. So I sent you that text asking you to look for him. God, Becca, I never thought…I didn’t think he’d—he’d do this…” She sobbed and fell sideways, burying her face in her hands, slipping down so her head rested on Becca’s lap.

  Becca stroked her hair away from her forehead and wept with her, sniffling quietly, letting her tears fall. I felt my chest clench, my stomach twist. Watching Becca cry so hopelessly was the hardest thing I’d ever done. Knowing I couldn’t help her, couldn’t comfort her was even worse.

  Kate stopped after a while and wiped her eyes with her hands, and her nose on her forearm, leaving a clear trail across her pale skin. “What do I do? How do I…how do I do this?” Kate asked.

  Becca stared at me, pleading with me silently to have some kind of answer.

  “I—you just…live. One day at a time. That’s all any of us can ever do, isn’t it?” I hated how trite my words sounded. “You’re family, now, Kate. You won’t be alone. We’ll…we’ll help you any way we can. ”

  “I…I thought about having an abortion. That’s all I can think about. Do I have this baby? Do I not?” Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat, continued in a broken murmur. “But…I have to have the baby. He…or she…is all I’ll ever have of Ben. God…he’s gone, and I have to do this alone. ” She curled her fists in the grass, ripped hunks of grass loose, speaking through clenched teeth. “I’m so mad at him. So angry. He left me. He didn’t die on accident, he wasn’t taken from me…he left me…on purpose. And I…I f**king ha
te him for that. Does that make me an awful person? I’m so angry at him for leaving me that I could just…I can’t take it. ”

  “I-I’m mad at him, too,” Becca whispered. “I n-n-know what I s-sss-said in there, but…I’m angry, t-too, Kate. He took the coward’s way out. I h-hate mys-ss—self for ee-eev-even thinking that about him, b-but it’s t-tr-true. ”

  “You’re allowed to feel whatever you want,” I said to both of them, again feeling like I was spouting cliches.

  Another long silence, and then Kate stood up shakily, brushing her hands off and smoothing her dress, slipping her feet back into her black heels and re-tying her auburn hair into a sleek ponytail. And just like that, she was back together again, eyes dry but full of sadness. “I have to go. Thanks, both of you. ”

  I stood up and leaned in to give her a quick, chaste hug. “Call us, okay? Anytime, for anything. ”

  She nodded. “I will. ” And then she was gone, long legs striding across the grass.

  Becca held her hands out to me, and I lifted her to her feet. She clung to me, drawing in a lungful of air with her face against my chest. “Take me home. ”

  An hour later, we were back in our apartment. I had my shoes kicked off, the stupid, slippery dress socks making my feet slide on the cracked white laminate stick-on of the kitchen floor. I shucked my coat and pulled on my tie to loosen it, and then I felt a hand on my arm, turning me.

  I spun in place, and Becca’s hands were on my tie, pulling it free, her eyes fierce and determined, mouth open slightly. She fumbled with a button, then another, and then she growled and yanked it open. The first few buttons popped open, and then the rest tore free and clicked onto floor.

  “Beck? What—?” I didn’t get a chance to speak.

  She attacked me, kissing me a desperation I’d never felt from her before. My ruined dress shirt hit the floor, and then my wife-beater tank top was flying across the kitchen and my belt was snapping free and my pants were around my ankles.

  “Make me feel s-sss-something. ” She whispered it, her voice harsh and ragged in my ear. “Any-anything else. Please. ”

  I had no chance to reply. She had her dress off and then the rest of her undergarments before I could register what was happening, and then we were naked together and I was stumbling across the kitchen with Becca’s weight on me. She hung from my neck, her legs around my waist, her lips locked on mine. I groaned as she devoured me, biting my tongue, nipping my lips. Her fingers dug into my skin so ferociously I knew I’d have marks, and then she was reaching between us and guiding me into her, rising up with her thigh muscles leveraged on my hips, and then slamming down so hard the slap of flesh echoed in the tiny apartment. I stumbled again, and then spun in place to set her on the counter with her back against the peeling white paint of a cabinet.

  “No, no. More. Need…more. ” She thrust against me, and I pulled her airborne, staggering across the kitchen, and we slammed into the hallway wall. “Yes. Like-like this. ”

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  I pushed gently against her, holding her against the wall and kissing her tenderly, trying to slow her. She growled in frustration, locked her arms around my neck, and lifted up, then slammed down with a satisfied moan, her lips leaving my mouth and stuttering across my cheek.

  “Bed. P-please. ” She was lifting up and lowering herself frantically, setting an impossible pace for me to keep while standing.

  I carried us into our room and fell back against the bed. I didn’t have a chance to even straighten myself on the bed before she had her fingers twined in mine above my head, her hips sliding over mine. She rested her forehead against mine in a kind of desperate relief as she resumed her frantic grinding pace on top of me. Her br**sts bounced against my skin, and her thighs whispered soft as silk against mine. She was gasping into my mouth, riding me with a furious, wild abandonment. This was both hot and kind of scary, because her eyes weren’t entirely her own. She was possessed, in a way. She was wild-eyed, ferocious, leaning back on me to sit up straight, lifting up with her thighs and sinking down on me relentlessly, her hands buried in her hair, br**sts swaying and bouncing with each lift and fall of her body. God, she was so gloriously beautiful, and this angry goddess mood was something new, something I’d never seen in her before. She gave nothing to me. She took. I held her hips and let her ride me, gave her everything I had, not daring to speak, to whisper, to even breathe. She took all of me for her own, driving herself into an orgasmic frenzy, screaming through clenched teeth and then spitting an ululating moan with her head thrown back and her spine arched and her f**king glorious tits bouncing, and finally I lost myself in it, giving her more and more, harder and harder until she came a second time, and a third, because my baby could just keep coming and coming until she was too exhausted to move, and I think that was what she needed. I clenched my muscles and closed my eyes to block out the erotic sight of her body above me and focused on holding back even as I drove into her as hard as I could. She fell forward, planting her palms on my chest and grinding onto me in a new rhythm, not pulling out at all but grinding her clit against me and pushing herself over the edge yet again, mouth wide in a gasping shriek, eyes closed, brows raised, and yeah, I was watching her because I couldn’t help it, because Becca, such a giver in all things, was finally taking all of this for herself, because for some reason I couldn’t entirely fathom, she needed this, and so I would give it to her again and again until she was sated.

  She rolled off me and onto her back, scrabbling at my arms and back to jerk me into place, grasping my ass and pulling me forward, shoving me into her and coiling her powerful legs around my backside and clenching me, pulling, pulling, thrusting with every muscle in her body against me. Her arms wrapped around my neck and she refused to let go, so I pressed my lips to her shoulder and planted my hands next to her ear and settled into a driving, almost punishing rhythm, hard and dirty and relentless, and she only cried out for more.

  She took it, and clawed gouges into my shoulder when she came again, climaxing with a deafening scream. I’d held back for so long at this point that I ached for release, but she wasn’t done with me.

  She pushed me away and turned onto her hands and knees, presenting her ass to me. God…damn. I didn’t know what it was about seeing her like that, but it was always my undoing. Something about her beautiful, taut ass presented to me, her sex-slick folds wet from our lovemaking, our f**king…it drove me wild. I plunged into her and she stuffed a pillow under her stomach, clutching the other pillow in her fists and rocking back into my every thrust, the slap of flesh a rhythmic echo in our apartment, and then she came again, and this time she clenched down extra hard with her vaginal muscles and I was buried deep and something in the way she moaned, something in the way she ground her ass against me and whispered my name was my undoing. I couldn’t hold back any longer then. I lost it, growling and pulling back and f**king into her so hard she whimpered, but it was a breathless “yes!” from her lips, and she rocked forward and crashed back into my next thrust, and then again, and then I was unleashing inside her, flood after flood, and she was clamped around me and spasming and crying out hoarsely and pressing her soft dark skin into me, not minding at all the way my hands clutched her hips with bruising power and jerked her against me with every spasmodic thrust of release.

  She fell forward away from me with a sigh, rolling to her back, reaching up and jerking me roughly down to the bed. She found her spot, nestling in the crook of my left arm, her right leg thrown over mine, her hand resting low on my belly, her breathing whisking hot across my clavicle.

  “Thank you, baby,” she whispered. “I n-n-needed it, just like that. I know it was…rough, but I nee-needed it. ”

  I chuckled. “Honey, I’m pretty sure that was the hottest sex we’ve ever had. ”

  She nodded. “I think s-so, t-too. I think I mi-might be able to slee—sleep now. I hope. ” She was exhausted, wrung dry.


  I held her tight and whispered to her over and over again how much I loved her. Eventually her breathing changed, and she was asleep.

  She did dream, though. I held her through that, too.

  FIFTEEN: The Aftermath

  Jason

  One month later

  Becca wasn’t okay. For a while, I thought she was getting better. I thought she was coping. But then, about two weeks after Ben’s death—after his suicide—she seemed to start regressing. She never really got her fluency back entirely, but she was beginning the process of recovering it. She’d stutter less, block less, although she had gone back to sounding as if she was reading from a script.

  Her entire family had basically shut down. Her mother and father had both taken extended leaves of absence from work, which, from what I’d learned about Mr. and Mrs. de Rosa over the years, was akin to the apocalypse. Ben’s death had rocked everyone, really. The entire community had been shocked. Ben was a fixture in the town, always around, always up to no good but nice to everyone. He’d kept the depths of his struggles secret from everyone, it seemed, and so his suicide had taken the community by storm. People who hadn’t really known or even liked Ben all that much were going to grief counseling. Parents had started taking a deeper interest in the mental and emotional health of their kids. Gradually, however, as weeks passed, things returned to normal. Her parents went back to work, and Kate continued at the hospital, seeing an OB/GYN regularly.

  Except for Becca. She gradually began to speak less and less. It started with shortened responses, going from stutter-broken sentences to three- and four-word answers, and eventually to one-word answers. She was…listless. I would find her in bed at eight in the morning, a Kleenex crumpled in her fist, eyes open and staring into the middle distance. Becca hadn’t stayed in bed past 6 a. m. even once in the two years we’d been living together, whether it was Wednesday or Saturday, February or July. She’d been in the process of deciding on a school for after graduation when Ben killed himself. Now? She’d stopped cold. Stacks of acceptance letters sat unopened on her desk. Books for her senior-year classes were still stacked, unread, on her bookshelf. She was showing up for work, but that was it. She’d requested and gotten a change in position at the law firm, and was now filing paperwork and other duties that required little to no interaction with others.

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  I caught her on the way out the door once, her blouse mis-buttoned so drastically that two buttons showed at the bottom.

  The following day, I got back from an early morning workout to find her still in bed, a half-hour late for work. She’d never, in the nearly five years we’d been together, ever once been late for anything.

  She wasn’t speaking at all by that point.

  I would speak to her, some normal interaction such as asking her if she knew where my watch was; she would walk away silently and return with the watch rather than telling me. “Yes” or “no” questions would be answered with a shake or nod of her head. Sometimes she would simply not answer. She would stare at me almost blankly, as if she hadn’t heard me.