Fear of Falling

by S. L. Jennings

  CJ looked between the two of us before shrugging off the awkwardness that hung between us like stale air. “Alright then. In that case, Blaine,” he said, pointing his beer bottle towards his cousin, “you won’t believe who showed up tonight. Wendy-fucking-Braxton! I told you she wanted you! I told her to stick around ‘til after the show. And, dude…she looks good enough to eat. Well, in your case, go in for seconds.”

  I felt the bottom of my stomach tighten and drop as I tried to busy myself with washing tumblers and focusing on the music pouring from the speakers. I felt sick, like I would lose my lunch at any moment. I couldn’t look at him; I wouldn’t do that to myself. I knew I had no right whatsoever to feel anything but indifference about the situation. Yet, my blasé demeanor had abandoned me, leaving my emotions raw and vulnerable.

  I told myself that this was for the best. This was exactly what I wanted, what I needed. No matter what my body felt, my head knew that I could never give myself to Blaine. And my heart? It never got a say. It was buried under years of mistrust and apprehension. It had been broken far beyond repair before it ever got the chance to open itself enough to love. While I felt affection for Dominic and Angel, I would never know what it felt like to be truly, deeply in love. And I was ok with that realization. At least that’s what I told myself as my chest filled with sorrow and my heart did the impossible.

  It broke even more.

  Even over the hellacious cheers, I could hear my heart hammering inside my chest, creating its own rhythm, complete with booming bass lines. I should have said something—done something—to make Kami see that I wasn’t interested in Wendy or anyone else for that matter. I had no idea why I needed her to understand this but now more than ever, I wished that CJ would have just kept his damn mouth shut.

  I couldn’t quite read her, but I knew Kami had heard his dumbass comment. It had been hours and she still wouldn’t look at me. I really couldn’t blame her. I didn’t deserve those green eyes. I was a selfish bastard for wanting them sweeping over me, just a touch of a smile playing on her pouty lips. She tried to hide what she really felt, but those eyes said it all. It hinted at the secrets she kept locked away, tempting my curiosity. I couldn’t help myself; I needed to unveil her mystery. I needed to know Kami, and dammit, she needed to know me too. She just didn’t know it yet.

  “Dude, you ready to go yet?” CJ asked, appearing in the doorway of the back office as I counted the cash drawer after closing. He had a chick under each arm, each one tipsy, half-dressed and, unbeknownst to him, looking at me like I was a Porterhouse steak. I diverted my attention back to the money in front of me. I’d rather lick the bar’s toilet seat. It’d probably be much cleaner than touching any of the girls CJ usually pulled.

  “What’d I tell you about bringing chicks back here, man?” I snapped at him as I prepared the night’s deposit. “I don’t wanna hear shit when Mick strangles you.”

  CJ shrugged, but quickly began to retreat. He was well aware of his dad’s fiery temper. It ran in the family. “Fine. But we’re waiting out here for you. Hurry up; I’m fucking starving. Oh, and Wendy is out there too.”

  ShitDamnFuck.

  I knew when I reentered the bar that the atmosphere had shifted. I could feel it. Kami was wiping down the sink area, wearing the same impassive guise she had donned since CJ alluded to some of my past dealings with Wendy. Still, the fact that she was affected, even if it made me look like bed-hopping player, made me feel good. I knew she cared. And if she cared enough to get pissed that Wendy was sitting at the bar, smiling while her nipples were practically winking at me, maybe she cared enough to give me the time of day. Maybe she could let me in, so I could see what all she hid behind those green eyes.

  “Hey there, stranger,” Wendy piped up. Kami’s head snapped to me in surprise. I thought I saw just the tiniest suggestion of a smile before her brow furrowed and she turned back to her task.

  No. I couldn’t have that. I wouldn’t accept her attempt at brushing me off, whether Wendy was sitting three feet away or not.

  I strode up to her, turned and leaned back against the bar so she would have no choice but to look at me. “Hey Kami, a bunch of us usually go out for breakfast on the weekends after closing. I want you to come with us.”

  She was already shaking her head before I even got my question out. “Thanks, but no. I’ll have to pass. Maybe some other time.”

  Her mouth said the words, but her face was regretful. Like maybe she wanted to go. Maybe she wanted to be near me just as bad as I needed to be near her.

  I took a step closer, letting my arm brush against hers. “Are you sure that’s what you want?” I asked, catching her gaze and pinning it with my own. She couldn’t look away; I wouldn’t let her.

  I could hear the breath catch in her throat as long moments ticked by without either of us saying a word. There was nothing left to say. The words were evident in every heated breath we took, close enough for our scents to mingle, creating our very own fragrance. Kami wanted me, and I’d be damned if I let her deny that fact.

  “Why do you do that?” she scowled, her eyes narrowing into tiny slits. She took a step back, breaking the contact that bound us just seconds before.

  “Do what?”

  “Look at me like that. Like you’re looking through me. It’s…unnerving.”

  I let my mouth curl up on one corner and again closed the distance between us. Something inside me did a backflip when she didn’t move away.

  “I’m not looking through you, Kami,” I said only for her ears. I didn’t need an audience; I just needed her to really hear me. “I’m looking into you. I’m standing here, wondering how the hell a girl so beautiful could hold so much sadness in her gorgeous green eyes. And I’m asking myself why I want—no—why I need to know what’s made her so sad. And what I can do to take away every ounce of that sadness. I need to know what it will take for you to let me in, so I can do just that.”

  Her lips parted just as her eyes grew with shock. Yet, I still continued to stare into those emerald pools. I was ready to drown in them at that point. Anything to keep her here with me.

  Her throat moved as if she was swallowing a knot. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whispered.

  “No? Then tell me I’m wrong. Tell me that this,” I motioned between us, “is imaginary. And that no matter how hard you try to deny and fight it, you don’t feel it too. Tell me that it’s just me feeling this pull, and I’ll leave you alone.”

  Kami stepped in closer, if that was possible, and met my determined gaze with a steely one of her own. “You’re wrong, Blaine. I don’t feel a damn thing. I never do.”

  She eased back and spun on her heel, retreating into the back room. I was still standing behind the bar, shell-shocked and speechless when she reappeared with her things. She made her way over to her friends who had waited for her at one of the tables, still celebrating their newly acquired weekly gig at Dive.

  She never even looked back as she slid through those double doors. But I had seen this before. I had experienced her reaction when she was backed into a corner by truth’s unrelenting glare. Kami was running. But I’d be damned if I let her get away.

  I didn’t speak until I was 5. It wasn’t that I didn’t know how, I was just afraid of what my words would trigger. My mother was often slapped and punched in the face whenever she spoke. Even before I even knew what her words meant, I knew the consequences of speaking. I didn’t want to meet the same fate, though I knew it was inevitable. Silence wouldn’t be able to spare me for much longer.

  My father wasn’t stupid. He knew that bruises fueled questions, and questions warranted explanations. So as much as he hated me, as much as my very existence disgusted him, he usually refrained from leaving physical scars. Instead, he chose to etch them into my young, fragile psyche. Those scars would never heal. They followed me like a bad omen, marring every relationship I had attempted since. Those scars were the security blanket that crippled my emo
tional growth, leaving me lost, alone, and tragically afraid. I clung to them, letting the scar tissue form a wall around my heart. They held the pain inside, so it wouldn’t completely devour me.

  There was a coat closet he liked. I remember that closet because it never held any garments. The only thing I ever saw strung up in it was my mother, her hands bound by rope above her head, naked and hysterical, as he had his way with her. I remember how he would laugh at her tears, how he found her weakness arousing. The things he did to her, his young daughter just feet away, were unimaginable. Except to me. I had the displeasure of witnessing every unspeakable act, bound by my own terror and unable to run and hide. That was what it felt like to be frozen with fear. How it gripped every muscle and joint, stripping all mobility and forcing you to live through your worst nightmares with eyes wide open. I knew that feeling well. I lived with it every single damn day as a child.

  Sometimes when he was feeling playful, he would pour a bucket of ice water over her naked frame as she struggled to get free from her restraints. Then he’d grab a curling iron, the toaster, anything that could be plugged into an electrical socket, and threaten to throw it at her feet while she stood in a puddle. He’d bring the electrical device as close as he could to her, getting off on her bloodcurdling screams, laughing at her wide, horrified eyes.

  Seeing her so broken down and pleading for her life revealed something to me. It showed me what true desperation looked like.

  My introduction to the closet fortunately was more merciful, though not by much. On nights when he was overcome with drugs, alcohol, and his own sickening thirst for our tears, he would lock me in that dark closet. The light switch was on the other side of the door where I could hear my mother’s cries, pleading for him to let me out. Hearing her child wail in the dark, my little fists pounding the door until they were raw and bruised, tore her in two. But part of me was relieved. He would have his fun with me, my tiny whimpers sating his sickening need until his chemical high plummeted him into a coma-like sleep. She would be safe for the night.

  “Ok, spill it. And don’t say there isn’t shit to spill.”

  I rolled over Saturday morning to both Angel and Dom lying on my bed, wearing their nosey-as-hell, shit-eating grins. I was pretty sure why, but I decided to feign ignorance anyway. Damn, I wish I could lock my bedroom door. It was way too early to submit to an interrogation.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked with a yawn.

  Angel rolled her eyes before scooting me over and folding herself around my body. Dom was close behind her, hopping over our bodies and easing down on my other side. He was snatching one of my pillows before I could protest.

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Kam. Spill the deets about the bartender, and don’t leave out a single morsel. And if you tell us there’s nothing going on, Dom and I will hold you down and tickle you until you pee. We will piss the truth out of you one way or another.”

  “Yeah, Kam,” Dom added. “What’s up with you two? The sexual tension was stinkin’ up the place like a fog machine. Start talking.”

  I rolled my eyes and sighed, pulling my comforter over my head. “Not you too, Dom. I thought we had an understanding? You don’t see me questioning you about every walking vag you talk to.”

  “That’s different,” Angel interjected. “He doesn’t know or care about any of those skanks enough to answer any questions.”

  I felt Dom shrug beside me. “True story.”

  “Besides,” Angel continued, “this is a first for you. For all of us, really. You like him, Kam. Like him-like him. This is a pretty big fucking deal!”

  I pulled the covers down from over my head and frowned at both of them. “Who said I liked him? I don’t even know the guy.”

  “Ah, but you want to know him. And that’s the part that counts.” Angel wrapped her slender arm around my waist and rested her head on my shoulder. “Come on, just throw us a bone. Just a teeny tiny bone, and we’ll leave you alone.”

  I felt my face heating under their expectant stares and could feel my annoyance meter rising. “Why do you two even care? It’s not like I haven’t ever been with a guy before. Shit, I just got out of a pseudo relationship like a month ago.”

  Angel let out an exasperated sigh. “But you know that shit wasn’t real, Kam. Stop dickin’ around, and tell us the truth. Do you like this guy or not? And remember, I know when you’re lying to me. I have a bullshit-ometer. My nipples twitch whenever someone lies.”

  Dominic and I locked eyes before bursting with uncontrollable laughter. Big, ugly guffaws that had us sprouting tears and snorting.

  “What?” Angel trilled. “I’m serious! They seriously do twitch!” And with that, she raised her camisole and flashed us her C-cups, causing us to laugh even harder.

  “Ewww, get those things off me! And that is the biggest crock of shit I have ever heard, and you know it!” I squeaked just as she pinched my arm. “Ow! Don’t be mad because it’s true!”

  Our spoiled little brat scrambled to her feet and poked out her bottom lip, glaring down at Dom and me with contempt. It only fueled our hysterics.

  “Fine! I can see my special services aren’t needed.” And with that, she stomped off to her room.

  “Dude, something is seriously wrong with her,” I remarked as soon as we came down from our amused high.

  “I know,” he said shaking his head. Silence stretched between us before Dom wrapped an arm around me, easing my head onto his bare chest. “You would tell me, right? If you needed someone to talk to… you’d come to me, right?”

  “Of course, Dom. You know I would.”

  More silence blanketed the words we both needed to say but couldn’t—wouldn’t—because they’d become more real. We had lived through unspeakable things, had defeated most of our demons the best way we knew how, yet we were both cowards when it came to facing the unknown. Our emotions, our wants, our desires… we ran from them. Our hearts had been banished to a strange land that we seldom visited. It was easier this way. It made dealing with who we were more tolerable. It remedied the fear enough to get through each day.

  With a chaste kiss on my cheek, Dominic slipped his arm from under my head and climbed out of bed. I understood. It was his way of escaping the subject, though he truly wanted to be a good friend and push for more. Somehow, over the years, we had become kindred souls. And as hard as it was for me to open up, it was just as hard for him to digest those foreign feelings.

  “It’s ok, you know. It’s ok if you care,” he said just as he reached my bedroom door. “It won’t make you weak or stupid. It doesn’t mean he’ll be like…him.”

  I nodded because it seemed like the right thing to do. But it didn’t mean I agreed.

  I settled into my new job, and my new life, over the next week, every day grasping a piece of normalcy and working to feel more content in my own skin. Working with Blaine had proven to be interesting, to say the least, but he had stowed the bulk of his intensity. It seemed as if my words had finally gotten through to him, and that was a good thing. It had to be, for both our sakes. I couldn’t feel; feeling led to things that just weren’t possible for us. And instead of dealing with the fallout, I thought it best to keep things pleasantly cordial, no matter how badly I craved for more.

  “Hey,” I smiled, stepping behind the bar and tying the little black apron around my waist. Dive had just opened and was completely empty, aside from the day shift preparing for the lunch crowd.

  Blaine turned from his task of refilling the soda dispenser and crooked a grin. I could only describe it as polite, and that fact tore me in two.

  “Hey, Kami.” His deep chocolate eyes narrowed. “You change your hair?”

  I twirled a lock of my honey blonde-highlighted mane and shrugged. “Felt like I needed a change.” I didn’t have the guts to tell him that it was really an attempt at bribery by Angel. She knew I was a whore for spa days at the upscale salon she frequented, and used my weakness to try to get
me to gush about my feelings for Blaine. It didn’t fully work as she intended but I did throw her a bone: I told her I was attracted to him. It was harmless enough. Even a 90-year old deaf and blind woman would have a raging lady boner for him.

  Blaine gave me the most genuine smile I had seen from him in days, and I swear I felt something in my chest swell. “I like it. Makes you look…devastatingly sexy.”

  I didn’t try to stifle the blush that I could feel heating my cheeks. I embraced it. It was the first time I had felt anything other than regret in days. “Yeah?”

  “Hell yeah,” he said, closing the distance between us in three long strides.

  And there it was again. The smell of mint and spice and pure male. The heat that seemed to roll off his body and enfold me like a mink blanket. Those intense brown eyes that made me forget my own name and had me imagining screaming out his.

  Him. It was all him. Blaine somehow made me forget me. The me that wasn’t allowed to feel all these beautiful, exciting things. The me that didn’t believe in happy endings. The me that was unlovable, and in turn, could never, ever love.

  “You were sexy before…unbelievably so. But the way the golden strands seem to meld with your green eyes, it just… wow. Makes it hard to look at anything or anyone else.”

  I sucked in a breath of air and let it out slowly through my mouth, closing my eyes in attempt to regain some sense of composure. “Blaine…” I couldn’t say anymore. His name, occupying my tongue like his skin once did, was enough.

  “I’m sorry,” he quickly sputtered, breaking me from the sweet memories of tasting him. My eyes fluttered open to him looking sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck with a tattooed hand. Shit, even that was sexy.

  “I think I should explain.” He rolled the barbell in his mouth before flashing me a strained grin. “I have this habit of always saying how I feel, no matter how embarrassing it is. A long time ago, I didn’t speak my mind. I didn’t ask the right questions because I was afraid of the answers. And life fucked me over because I kept my mouth shut. So I vowed to always be brutally honest and let the chips fall where they may. I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable.”