Falling Away

by Jasinda Wilder

  "Like what?" I ask. I want to delve deep while she's so unexpectedly opening up.

  "Like...god, everything. It's a large part of the way I am. The one man that was supposed to love me and be there for me...just walked away. Growing up, I always wondered why my father wasn't around. I invented stories, like girls do about that kind of thing. I think his abandonment instilled in me very early on this innate distrust of men. This just...instinctive suspicion that if my own father would do that, then so would other guys. It also made me needy for male attention. Mom never dated again. Not once that I ever knew of. I told you that, I think. Well, I grew up never having a guy around, except Grandpa, and God bless him, but he's a cranky old farmer. Gruff, and not real affectionate. The only sign of affection he's ever shown is calling me 'sweet-pea.' And we didn't see them a whole lot. Mom worked a ton, and they were busy with the farm. So there was Grandpa, but I wouldn't really call him a father figure." She pinches her dress, twists the fabric, lets it go, pinches and twists again. "So I started looking for male attention pretty young, is what I'm getting at. I had my first kiss at eleven, started messing around with seventh and eighth grade boys at twelve. Lost my virginity at thirteen to a high school freshman. In his defense, he didn't know I was thirteen. I told him I was fourteen, and he'd only just turned fifteen. It was downhill from there."

  "Thirteen. That's...early." It's all I can say. I don't even know what I'm supposed to think.

  "Yeah. By high school I already had a reputation for being...easy." She glances at me, and I see a hint of something wet in her eyes, but her posture is closed off, so I just let her talk. "And I was. All through high school, I had a different boyfriend every few weeks. They knew it was only about one thing, and they never tried to pretend it was anything but sex. Except Steven Diller. He really thought he was in love with me. He wanted to believe my reputation was all just nasty rumors, bless his heart. He was a cute, sweet, earnest kid. I popped his cherry in the back of his soccer-mom minivan, and I think that was when he realized the truth about me. He wasn't trying to be hurtful, I get that now and I got it back then, too, but the fact that I popped his cherry and then he just dumped me...that hurt. More than I thought it would. Before that he was so sweet and considerate and wouldn't hear bad talk about me. He defended me to the point of being picked on for it. Until I fucked him, and he realized I really was a skank, and then he just dumped me like a bad habit. He was just a naive kid, but it still hurt." She lets out a breath, tents her fingers over her mouth and nose.

  "You don't owe me any explanations, Echo--" I start.

  "I do, though. You want to be with me? You think you care about me, or whatever? Then you need to know what you're signing on for."

  "Where was your mom during all this?" I can't help asking. "Didn't she know?"

  Echo laughs through a bitter sob. "She was a single mom just trying to make ends meet. She was working sixty hours a week and going to night school, first to get her RN, and then to get her physical therapy degree. I think she knew, but she didn't know what she could do about it. I was on birth control by fourteen, so I think she did know, but...she never did anything to stop it. She's...she was my mom, and I loved her--love her? I don't know--but I feel like I hold her a little responsible for how I am, you know? I can't blame it all on Dad leaving me. Mom didn't do anything to try to curb my promiscuity. I mean, in the end, it's all me, though. It's my choice to be this way. I put it in the present tense, because it's how I still am. Not since--not since I met you. I haven't been with anyone since I met you. You have to believe that. But up until I met you in Texas, I was...I am--" She halts, takes a deep breath and lets it out, and then pivots on the tabletop to look me in the eye. "I've always been kind of a slut, Ben. Let's call a spade a spade, here. Just in the interest of full disclosure, I guess. But after what happened with Marcus, I stopped even trying to pretend to date. I just embraced the one-night stand mentality, I guess.

  "I thought Marcus was nice. I thought he...well, I'd heard rumors, but he was always really sweet with me, until we went to that party. He got me super drunk and dragged me up to a dark, empty room, and he put his--his hand over my mouth and--I couldn't stop him. I thought it was my fault at first. I'd teased him. He knew my reputation, but I cock-teased him. I wouldn't put out right away, just to--to play with him, I guess. I don't know. I thought it would be fun. I don't know. I just...after it happened, I got even more messed up in the head. Bray finally got through to me and helped me see it wasn't my fault. Even if I had been a cock-tease, it didn't justify what he did." She stifles a sob. "God, Bray has saved me so many times."

  "Shit, Echo. Just...shit." I don't know what else to say.

  She nods, lets out a slow, shaky breath. "So there it is." She stands up, rolls her shoulders, and drags her hands through her hair, pulling it back over her shoulders, straightens her dress.

  And then she starts to walk away.

  "Echo? Where are you going?"

  "Now you know the truth about me. And you're...good. You were a virgin until you met me. So you and I, we're just not--"

  I've caught up to her, and I grab her by the shoulders, spin her around, pull her against me.

  I kiss her. I capture her face in both of my hands, cup her cheeks and feel the wetness of tears, pull her close and feel the soft press of her breasts against my chest and her hips bumping against mine, and I kiss her. My lips slide boldly across hers, feel the plump softness and slight moisture of her lips, and then her mouth opens and her tongue scrapes over my teeth and finds my tongue, traces my lips. Her hands are pinned between our bodies, and her fingers dig into my shirt, they bunch and twist the fabric until she's got double-fistfuls, and she's pulling at me, lifting up on her toes and gasping into the kiss.

  And then she breaks away with a sob, lowering herself slowly, eyes wet, shimmering, hands still fisted in my shirt. "Ben..." She lets go of my shirt and smooths it with her palms. "Didn't you hear anything I just said?"

  I catch her wrists. "Every word, Echo. And I know what you're doing."

  She frowns up at me. "What am I doing?"

  "You're still pushing me away, this time with the truth. Or with what you think will scare me away." I refuse to let her go when she tries to free her hands. "And it's not going to work."

  "You said you didn't know anything about me, and Brayden told me I push people away and shut them out, so I was just...trying to be open."

  "Yeah, I'll buy that. But you're scared shitless, Echo. I can see it, I can hear it, and I can feel it. Your instinctive reaction is to push."

  "How am I pushing, Ben? I'm just telling you the truth." She jerks, but I keep a grip on her wrists. "Let go, Ben!"

  "The truth? Maybe. But you clearly thought that if I knew your history, it would push me away. It's not working."

  "So you don't care?"

  "About what?"

  She finally rotates her wrists hard and fast, breaking my hold on her, and backs away. "That I'm a--"

  I cut in over her. "No, Echo, I don't. Why should it matter to me how many sexual partners you've had? Is that supposed to be a turn-off to me? Is it supposed to scare me? Make me jealous?"

  "Yes! To anyone with a lick of common sense, yes!" she shouts.

  "Then I'm clearly lacking in sense." I follow her as she backs away from me. "Echo, stop trying to get away from me and fucking listen, okay? I like you. I like who you are. I liked who you were in Texas, when I didn't know a damn thing about you except your name. I liked you before I knew you were this--this insanely talented musician, before I heard you sing, before I heard the things you write about. I liked you before I met Brayden, your very confusing friend. I liked who you were before you had a nervous breakdown or whatever that was, and I still like you now. More, even, because you woman-ed up and handled your shit, and I respect that. I respect you as an artist, and when Kylie Calloway is your best friend, you learn a bit about music, just by the process of osmosis or whatever."

  "Kylie Calloway
?" Echo repeats. "That's the best friend you fell in love with?"

  I nod. "Yeah, why?"

  "I've seen her and Oz play, and they're incredible. I've had a couple classes with her, actually. She's wicked talented."

  I sigh. "Yeah, she is. And so is Oz."

  "And Oz, her husband, he's your cousin, right?"

  I shrug. "I guess so. I'm still working on that part." I cup the back of her neck. "Quit trying to change the subject."

  "I'm not." She's frozen under my touch, gazing up at me, eyes wide and wavering and fearful and hopeful. "I just...I don't get how you can just not care that I've been with so many guys I can't count them on both hands, or even both hands and feet."

  "We've all got our journeys, Echo. I can't change who you are, I can't change where your life has taken you, or the choices you've made. Is knowing you've been with however many other guys, like...I don't know--something I feel great about? No, if you want honesty. I really don't know how I feel about it. A little uncomfortable I guess, but mostly jealous. I want you all to myself. But does it make me care for you any less? No. Does it make me think less of you as a person? No."

  She tries to look away, but I tilt her chin up with a forefinger so she's looking at me, so she sees my honesty, my vulnerability. "All of that, your past...Echo, it's part of who you are. You can't pick and choose which parts of a person you love, Echo. You love the whole person, or no part of them. Good and bad, all of it."

  "Don't play with me, Ben." She backs away, shrugging off my touch, and stabs at me with her finger. "Don't say shit you don't mean, don't--don't make promises you can't keep. Just...don't."

  "Why are you getting defensive, Echo? What did I say to make you angry?" I stand still, a foot away from her, hands at my sides.

  She turns away, crosses her arms under her breasts. "Love, Ben. You said 'which parts of a person you love.' Using that word, it's...just cruel. How can you say that to me? How can you act like you could--like you could..." her shoulders shake, and she has to gasp for breath, "like you could love me?"

  "How can you act like I couldn't possibly love you? Is it so far-fetched? So impossible?"

  "Yes!"

  "Why?"

  "Because--I don't know! It just is! You shouldn't."

  I move up behind her, stand with my front flush against her back. Wrap my arms around her waist, whisper in her ears. "But I do. Or, I'm falling that way, at least. Why is it so hard for you to let anyone get close?"

  "Because I'm afraid, Ben! My dad left before he even knew me! I know it's not rational, I know logically that it didn't have anything to do with me, but I can't change how I feel about it! I've tried, I've fucking tried, and I can't--I just can't shake it. No guy's ever wanted me except for sex. No one's even tried, it's just always been...fuck once and done. Ever since I was a kid, I just wanted someone to see me. To--to want me. Even Mom, god, I loved her so fucking much, but she was always working. And it sometimes felt like--like working was more important than...me."

  She collapses to the ground, sitting down hard on the concrete of the pathway, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs, arms wrapped around her drawn-up knees. "It feels like such a betrayal of her memory to say this, but...I've always felt deep down like maybe she resented me, or blamed me for Dad leaving, or...that she just couldn't love me as much as she should've. Why would she let me sleep around as much as I did and never try to stop me? Why didn't she care enough to stop me? And if she didn't love me that much, my own mother, the only person I've ever loved, ever really--the only person that's ever been consistent in my life? How could anyone else love me? And you know what? No one ever has."

  "Maybe because all the guys you've been with, you picked them because you knew deep down they wouldn't even try, because that was easier than having them leave? I don't know, I'm just guessing. I don't know, Echo.

  "I don't have any answers to all these questions. I'm not a psychiatrist or a therapist or whatever. I can't fix you and I can't solve all those lingering issues, and I'm not gonna try to fix you, or even say you need fixing, because to me, Echo, you are who you are, right now. And that's the person I can't seem to stop thinking about, can't seem to stop wanting to be around. From the moment I met you, I've just been...drawn to you. Attracted to you physically, yes, and that in fucking spades. But I'm attracted to who you are, Echo. I've seen you at your worst, and I'm still here, waiting for you to stop fighting this, to stop fighting me, to stop fighting us and just let yourself be. Let yourself have what you want."

  "I don't know what I want!"

  "Bullshit." I pull her to her feet, wrap her in in my arms, and she looks up at me. I can see hope finally shining through the fear. "You want what everyone wants: love, acceptance, belonging. To be taken care of."

  "And you can give me that?" Her palms rest flat on my chest, and her eyes are bright despite the skepticism in her voice.

  "I can sure as hell try," I tell her, gazing down at her, into her dark, damp brown eyes.

  "Then I guess..." She inhales deeply, lets it out slowly, and then rests her cheek against my chest, melting into my arms. "I guess I can try to let you."

  I curl my arms around her waist and we stand there for who knows how long, just holding each other.

  Eventually she props her chin on my chest, her hands on the backs of my shoulders, and her eyes find mine. "Now what?"

  I shrug. "I don't know. This is new for me, too."

  "How about you take me home? I have a door that closes, and I'm sure Brayden can take a hint..."

  My hands wander down her back, and I finally loosen the chain reining in my libido, a little. "That sounds like a great idea."

  Her hands circle and graze lower down my back, until they rest just above the waistband of my basketball shorts. "Yeah?"

  "Yeah. You're killing me in that dress, Echo. It's been hard to stay focused."

  "Well then take me home, and you can take it off me, and see where that leads." She digs under my shirt and touches my skin, tracing circles on my skin with her palms.

  "Echo, babe. We both know exactly where it'll lead."

  "Oh yeah? Where?" She glances up at me, her gaze coy.

  I feel my skin heat and my crotch tighten. "With you naked beneath me and screaming my name."

  "Is that so?" She slides her soft warm hands under the elastic of my shorts and cups my ass.

  "That's so." I take her hand and lead her toward my Silverado.

  It's silent as we drive and the air is tense with charged sexuality. The only words spoken are Echo directing me the few short--yet still far too many--blocks to her apartment building. I find a parking spot, and Echo is out of the cab before I've got the truck turned off, grabbing my hand and leading me to a nondescript, unmarked doorway sandwiched between a bistro and a head shop, dragging me up a narrow flight of stairs to a small landing with a single doorway on the left-hand side. She digs in her purse and produces a single key on a Belmont lanyard, and unlocks it. The door opens to a wide living room, the back of a battered, tattered, faded black leather couch facing the doorway, a matching loveseat on one side and an arm chair and ottoman on the other, a glass-topped, low wooden coffee table in the middle. A GoPro is set up on a short tripod on the coffee table, facing the couch, and I recognize the setting as the location where Echo and Brayden record their videos. To the right is a kitchen separated from the living room by a huge butcher's block island. Opposite is a bathroom between two doors that lead to the bedrooms; one door is open, showing a messy bed with jeans, T-shirts, underwear and boots scattered across the floor, making it Brayden's room; the other door, Echo's, is pulled closed.

  There's a faint, acrid, almost sweet smell to the air, which I belatedly identify as the scent of pot. Brayden's head pokes up from where he'd been lying on the couch, out of sight. He has a joint in his mouth, the cherry lit, smoke curling in thin gray tendrils around his face.

  "Oh. Hey, you two. Get it all worked out, did you?" His voice is thick and slow, muddled, s
leepy.

  Echo lets go of my hand and moves to the back of the couch, brushes a wayward lock of brown hair away from Brayden's face. "Bray? Are you okay? For real?"

  He flops back down onto the couch, pinching the joint between a thumb and forefinger and staring at it as he sucks in a mouthful, inhales and holds it, and then blows out a series of smoke rings. "Fine, babe. Just fine."

  "And I call bullshit, Bray-bay."

  "Just personal drama, sweetheart. If it gets to a point where I need to talk about it, you'll be the first one I come to. For now, I just need to brood on it, okay?" He shifts to a sitting position, joint clamped in the corner of his mouth, eyes narrowed against the smoke. He grabs his ashtray, the baggie of pot, the pack of papers and the lighter, and moves toward his bedroom. "Something tells me it's time for little old me to get scarce and turn on some music."

  His door closes behind him, there's a moment of silence, and then the music starts. It's a quirky folk duo, guitar and cello and a distinctive male singer. Echo listens for a moment, staring at the door, then shouts, "Who is this playing, Brayden?"

  He sticks his head out. "Brown Bird. The song is 'Ebb & Flow'. They're totally amazing, but epically tragic."

  "Why tragic?" Echo asks.

  "The lead singer died of leukemia after they'd made only five or six albums." He gestures to himself and then Echo. "We should cover them, someday." And then he closes his door again, somewhat abruptly.

  She stares at the door as if still seeing him. "Something's up with him. He's not usually so broody, and I've never seen him smoke pot before. He doesn't even drink all that much, now that I think about it."

  I pivot around in front of her, so I'm in her line of sight. "Like he said, he'll talk to you about it when he's ready."

  She ducks her head. "I haven't been a very good friend to him. To anyone in the band, really. I've been so self-absorbed."

  "Now you know, and you can remedy that. But not this very second." I rest my hands on her hips, dig my fingers through the thin white cotton dress into her flesh.