Before I Fall

by Jessica Scott

  "Sir, I've only known your daughter a short while, but I've never seen anyone work as hard as she does. I'm asking you, one soldier to another, to please stay tonight. Not for yourself. For her."

  "Don't call me 'sir'; I worked for a living."

  Noah grins. I don't get the joke. I'll ask him to explain it later if I remember.

  "Don't make her spend every waking hour worrying about you, trying to figure out how to fix you."

  "Damn it, son, I get it."

  "Good." Noah squeezes my fingers. "I'll wait for you outside? I need to get some air."

  He leaves and but for a moment, I fall a little bit harder.

  "Where'd you find him?" My dad sounds disgruntled now. I don't really care. At this point, I want him safe and not in pain.

  "I'm tutoring him in stats."

  "A soldier, huh?"

  "He was. He's not anymore."

  "Enlisted boys are trouble."

  "Says the enlisted boy." No sarcasm there at all.

  "You like him."

  Understatement of the century, but I'm not really able to shift gears this quickly. I'm still raw and a little wounded from yelling at him. "I can't have this conversation right now, Dad."

  He flushes and looks away. "So if I'm staying, could you get me a few things from the house? Toothbrush, maybe?"

  The tears are back and holy hell am I tired of crying. You'd think there would be a point when you'd run dry, but no, there are always more. "I can do that."

  He holds open his arms, and I go to him again because he's my dad and he’s alive and I am so fucking grateful that he is still alive today. I lay there and breathe in the smell of the antiseptic and the medical tape and his soap and skin.

  Because there is nothing else I can do.

  Noah

  I danced a little too close to the edge in there. I wanted to stay. I needed to leave. I said my piece and got the fuck out of Dodge before I fell apart in front of both of them. And wouldn't that be just fucking perfect for Beth? Her dad ODs and then she figures out that the guy she's dating has his own issues.

  I'm sitting outside on the bench. My heartbeat is slower now. Mostly back to normal. I'm not sweating anymore and my hands are steady. Mostly

  I'm resting my head on my hands. Hunched over in a ball of deep breathing misery. I wish I'd taken LT up on some of that metaphysical shit he was trying out when we were downrange. He'd been dating a medic who'd been all into yoga and meditation and shit. He swore that he was sleeping better because of it. I think he was just sleeping better because he was getting some ass between patrols.

  I met Katie the medic. She seemed nice. And LT had really liked her. I wonder what would have happened if their relationship had made it home.

  But it hadn't, and there isn’t much to do about it now, is there?

  I close my eyes and wonder how Beth is doing. How her dad is. I can't go back in there, though. I'm this close to completely losing my shit, and I really don't want to do that to Beth. Not today. Hell, not ever.

  Which complicates things just a little bit. How the hell do I get cleaned up when I haven't even told her that I've got a small problem with pills?

  "Fuck." I sit back hard, banging my head on the bench. Stars explode in front of my vision. What the hell have I done? She was all freaked out about telling me about her real address.

  I've got to figure out how to tell her, “Hey babe, you know those scars? Well, they still fucking burn, and oh, by the way, I can't sleep without sleeping pills because every time I close my eyes, I'm back in that fucking fire. It was cool sleeping with you, but I wasn't really there. I had to get high first and pass out.”

  I am such a fucking loser. I scrub my hands over my face. I know what's happening. I'm far too familiar with the symptoms. Racing thoughts. Pounding heart. I'm having a full blown fucking anxiety attack in front of the hospital, and I don't have my goddamned meds.

  I've lost my shit twice in the last week, and I'm not prepared for it. Because I'd stopped carrying the fucking pills with me because I'm tired of feeling like a goddamned junkie. Well, guess what, soldier boy, turns out maybe you should take a little of your own advice and take better care of yourself.

  Jesus, I'm having an argument with myself.

  "Hey?"

  I lower my hands and see Beth standing there. She looks damaged and fragile. Like the slightest touch will send her over the edge.

  "How's your dad?"

  "They're doing blood work on him right now. He's a baby when it comes to needles."

  She's trying to make light of it, but she's so transparent she's practically translucent.

  "Let me take you home?"

  She nods. Her eyes are bruised and red. I stand then and hold out my arms. She walks into them, and I almost collapse from the purest pleasure of holding her against me. She trusts me. And I have fucked things up beyond repair by lying to her from the start.

  Oh, I can come up with a thousand excuses. It didn't really come up. There was no box to check on the interview for a tutor to declare drug problems and panic attacks.

  Or maybe I can justify it by saying I really don't have a problem. The pills enable me to function. Isn't the definition of a problem something that interferes with everyday life? In that case, the scars and the fucking war are the problem, not the pills.

  None of those explanations work, because they're all more lies surrounding the fragile truth.

  I'm an addict, and I have been since I woke up from that fire with my veins full of morphine. And I've fallen for a girl whose father is an addict.

  And I am going to break her fucking heart when she finds out.

  I walk her to my car, and we're both silent. I don't have the energy to make small talk, and she apparently doesn't either.

  Maybe I can talk to the psych doc, and she'll help me figure out a plan to get clean before I have to tell Beth the truth. Maybe I won't have to break her heart all over again.

  We ride in silence. I follow her into her house. She starts to pick up the kitchen.

  I stop her. "Get your dad's stuff. I'll take care of this."

  She doesn't argue. I half expect her to. She moves down the hall. I find the broom and sweep up the broken glass, then mop the floor.

  It's only when I'm finished that I realize that Beth hasn't come back out into the kitchen yet. It's a small house. Neat and clean, if cramped. There are books stacked on the floor near the kitchen table. She must study there. There's a tiny living room with a well-worn couch and a small diode TV. I haven't seen one of those in years. I didn't realize they still made them.

  The hallway is narrow. I follow the light.

  She's sitting on her father's bed. Her head is down. There's a photo in her hands. My heart breaks for her.

  I knock on the door quietly.

  She startles. Her face is flushed from crying. She puts the picture back on his dresser. "Sorry," she mumbles.

  "Don't apologize for hurting."

  She offers a watery smile. "I'm not used to having someone here when things go to shit."

  "That really sucks." Not the most eloquent thing I could say, but then again, I'm walking a razor's edge of my own.

  I sit next to her. Wrap my arms around her shoulders and hold her because it’s the only thing I can do.

  It's a long time before I start talking.

  Chapter 26

  Beth

  He pulls out his phone. I watch him type something in and pull up a YouTube video and presses play. It’s “Flake” by Jack Johnson.

  "I hate this song."

  I frown as he sets the phone on my dad's dresser. "Then why are you playing it?"

  "I'll get to that part. Dance with me?"

  I gather my dad's things and carry them into the kitchen. His request makes no sense. "I don't want to dance right now, Noah."

  He stops me. The music is playing in the other room. "Trust me? There's a reason for this."

  My kitchen is tiny. The table is the only thi
ng in it that’s not a cheap throwaway. I keep holding out hope that I'll stumble across an estate sale where the kids just want to get rid of Grandma and Grandpa’s stuff dirt-cheap.

  I look around at the tiny space. At the man asking me to dance in it. I shake my head but move into his arms anyway. He cradles one of my hands in his. His free hand presses lightly to the small of my back.

  "So why are we dancing to a song you hate?"

  He's guiding me around my kitchen like he's Fred Astaire. Okay, maybe not, but it's smooth and soothing.

  "On my last deployment, we got bombed. A lot."

  "That doesn't sound like anything good."

  "It's not." He's not meeting my eyes. I'm not sure where he's going with this, but I rest my head against his shoulder and let him guide me. I've always liked this song. "So one day, I was on my way back to my CHU from the gym, listening to my iPod."

  "CHU?"

  "Sorry. Containerized Housing Unit. Where I slept."

  "Ah." I love the sound of his voice beneath my cheek. The deep vibration against my skin.

  "I got caught in the open, and there was nowhere for me to get shelter. And the rocket attack lasted for what seemed like forever. I just laid there as the bombs went off around me. This song was stuck on repeat, and I couldn't get to it because it was in my hand."

  "Why didn't you get the -- Oh."

  "I got trapped beneath something. Boxes. Building. Shipping stuff. I have no idea. My shoulder was pinned down and I was trapped. I was burning, and all I could think about was turning this fucking song off."

  "Noah." There is nothing I can say. No words that are sufficient. Thank you for your service doesn't cover things like this. Not by a long shot.

  I keep dancing with him, but I no longer like this song. I've seen the scars on his shoulder, his back. The damaged tattoo shredded by raised, red scars. It didn't make sense to play this song. Not now. Hell, not ever. I would never play it again. So why was he?

  "Why are you playing it now?"

  "I want to change how I feel about it. I want to remember something good that happens when I hear it instead of remembering that day in the desert." He presses his cheek to the top of my head. "If I close my eyes, I want to feel your hair against my face instead of the burning sand. I want to feel your body against mine instead of the debris stabbing me. Your hand in mine instead of the iPod I couldn't turn off."

  I release a shuddering breath. There is a powerful want beneath those words. It's more than a dance. More than making a new memory.

  There's so much in those words. They wrap around me and crush the air from my lungs. I lift my face to his and kiss him. I kiss him until I can't breathe. Until the dance stops and my body is pressed to his with an urgency that threatens to destroy us both.

  My fingers trace over the hard lines of his belly. He's pinned between my body and the counter. My tongue slides against his, the most intimate dance. I can't breathe, and I can't stop. I need this. I need him.

  Noah.

  I push his pants open. I want him. Now. I want to forget everything except the way he feels when he's inside me. I want to lose myself in the slide of his body into mine. I want this. I want him. Hard and fast and now.

  He pushes my yoga pants down. Off one leg. Just enough that he can lift me then and then he's there, inside me. And I'm filled. Completed. He stumbles and we go down in a mass of limbs and naked flesh.

  He's there, just there. He cups my face as he slides inside me once more. Slowly this time. On the kitchen floor that smells clean now, Noah fills me. The pleasure is raw and ragged and everything I need. I rise up to meet him, squeezing him with my body. Drawing out the pleasure, forgetting the pain.

  For just a moment, there is just Noah and there is just me. We are the only two people in the entire world. I run my hands over his shoulders, beneath his shirt. I feel the scars beneath my touch and he doesn't pull my hands off. I urge him closer. Deeper. I want him inside me today. Tomorrow. Forever.

  I look into his eyes and there are so many memories looking back at me. I'm not sure if he sees me.

  "Noah." A whisper. A plea.

  He focuses then. "You came home," I whisper. My fingers dig into his back as he thrusts inside me again and again. "You're home."

  With me. But I can't say that out loud. It sounds like something permanent, and I am too bruised to make those promises. Instead, I arch beneath him, cupping his face.

  "Say my name," I whisper. It sounds so dirty. So commanding. At that moment and always, I need to know he knows he is with me, loving him. Holding him forever close.

  His eyes darken and some of the memories scatter. "Beth."

  A prayer. A promise.

  "Again."

  He slides one hand beneath my hips, lifting me to take him deeper. "Beth."

  "Again. Say my name when you come."

  He shudders. My body clenches in response. I'm close. So close.

  I shatter and the last thing I hear is my name on his lips as he joins me in the abyss. I am undone. Completely and truly lost.

  Noah

  I'm lying with her on her kitchen floor. I've been in less comfortable spots but at that moment, with Beth pressed to my side, I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be. It’s quiet now. That fucking song isn’t playing anymore. Guess my phone’s battery finally gave up and went to sleep. Which is fine.

  I may hate that song a little bit less now. As therapy goes, I think this was fucking brilliant. Maybe I can get Beth to do it again some time when she's less fragile and I'm less broken.

  I want to ask her if she'll stay with me tonight. Or if I can stay with her. She's still bruised. Still the walking wounded.

  How did she do this alone?

  "That was a great dance," I finally say. My voice breaks.

  Maybe that's part of it. Of putting the pieces of my life back together again. Maybe I need someone else to help me do it.

  She makes a warm sound against my throat. “It was a pretty great distraction, all things considered.”

  “Is it always like this with your dad?” I can’t help it. The question sneaks out before I can stop it.

  "Sometimes it’s worse, sometimes not so bad." She sits up and slips her yoga pants back on. "I think it's worse this time because he didn't have the same medication he'd been on."

  "Isn't that illegal, to change someone's prescription?"

  "I have no idea. I've spent so much time arguing with the bureaucratic bullshit at the VA that I have no mental space for anything remotely associated with medical law." She runs her fingers through her hair then stops, resting her head in her hand. "Thank you. For being here today."

  Her words are sudden and unexpected. "Where else would I be?"

  She’s suddenly busy searching for one of her socks. "I don't know. Home, doing homework maybe?"

  "You have a pretty high opinion of me if you think I could be doing homework knowing you're dealing with all of this alone." Her words actually hurt. I don't think she means them to, but they sting nonetheless.

  "I'm just...I'm not used to having someone here." She crawls up my body to kiss me softly. "Thank you."

  I hold her close because I'm terrified that one of these times, I'll let her go and it will be for the last time. I've never felt anything like this. It's powerful and it's overwhelming and it's the most potent thing I've ever experienced.

  "It's what I do." A true statement. I'm used to being leaned on. I'm used to having soldiers call me, I'm used to picking them up. Beth is not one of my soldiers, not by a long shot, but for one night, it feels really good to be needed again.

  If I'm honest with myself, I've missed that part of army life. Maybe it was part of what kept me functioning before I left. I have the pills. I've had the pills since the fire.

  But they hadn’t taken over my life when I was still in. Maybe I was just too busy to notice. It’s only since I’ve been in school that I’ve been doubling up. Noticing the anxiety more. Feeling my purpose in lif
e slipping further and further away.

  I kiss her forehead. "Will you stay with me tonight?" Because I don't want to be alone. I can feel the latent panic dancing at the edge of my soul, waiting for the right moment to strike. Waiting to catch me unaware. Maybe if Beth stays, it won't be able to marshal the energy to take over my life because I'll be worrying about her rather than sitting alone with my thoughts.

  I can hope. She sits up and adjusts her clothing. I do the same, not missing the fact that she hasn't answered.

  "I don't know that I'm going to be fit company tonight," she says after a moment.

  I place my hands on her shoulders. "I'm confident you won't be."

  She smiles. "You’re a pretty brave soul, aren’t you?"

  "I don't think you should be alone." I cup her face. "If you don't want to stay at my place, I'll stay here. If you'll have me."

  She leans against me, resting her head against my chest. It's starting to become my favorite position. "I'll stay with you if that's okay?" She swipes at her cheek with the back of her hand. "I've got homework to do."

  "Is your boss going to be mad that you weren't at work today?"

  She hesitates a long moment. "I'm usually pretty reliable, so no, I don't think so."

  "I hear a 'but' in there."

  She shakes her head. "It's nothing."

  I let her go. I want to push her, to figure out what she's not telling me, but she's not up for it and I don't want to start an argument.

  I wash the few dishes in the sink while I wait for her to pack a bag. Her backpack is near the door already.

  I pause, studying the empty pill bottles on the counter. "Do you need to report the missing pills to the police?"

  She steps into the kitchen. Her hair is piled at the base of her neck. She's changed clothes. She has a small L.L. Bean tote bag over one shoulder.

  "They wouldn't do anything anyway. It’s not enough for them to worry about."

  I frown. "How do you know what amounts they'll worry about?"

  She swallows and sets her bag down, then starts shuffling through her backpack. "We were broken into when we first moved here. They stole Dad's medication. I called the cops to report it and, well, there wasn't much they even attempted. Took a statement, gave me a police report. And that was that. I had to figure out how to get Dad meds because the doc had pretty strict rules on when they would refill a prescription."