How many times a day could I be expected to endure this endless cycle of attack and recovery? It was exhausting. Big, fat tears fueled by hopelessness poured out of my eyes as I gave up and let the disequilibrium have me. Surrender led the way to feeling grounded, and I took a deep breath. The spinning slowed down. I was again anchored to the earth.
I welcomed the effects of gravity, no longer worried I might float away if I didn't hang on to something. Darkness came like a warm blanket, obliterating everything else until there was nothing but silence.
***
"Jess, you awake?"
My body stiffened at the intrusion of Amy's voice into the safety I'd found in sleep. I opened my eyes and saw nothing but porous brick. Rolling over and leaving the small world I'd created between my face and the wall would result in another attack. I didn't have it in me to go through another cycle again tonight. The light from the hallway was the only illumination in the room, even though the curtains were open. I'd been asleep at least a few hours.
"Truman's on the phone. You want to talk to him?"
God, yes. Hell, no.
I would find comfort in Truman, maybe, if he wasn't drunk or stoned. Sober Tru would lie to me, but at least it'd be soothing, when he'd tell me everything was going to be OK. Drunk and stoned Truman would do what he'd done a few days earlier when I'd tried to describe the episodes; tilt his head and give me a blank stare. Face warm with embarrassment, I'd downplayed the whole thing, laughed it off, told him it was probably stress and would pass.
Was I broken? Truman's life of constant criticism and hard labor was so much harder than mine, yet he wasn't freaking multiple times a day. What would he think, seeing me this flawed and vulnerable?
The thought of going to his house or talking at all made the familiar tingle start at the base of my spine. I tried to keep my breathing steady, feigning sleep. It wasn't a moment later that Amy's feet padded away down the hall. Her voice echoed from the payphone there.
"Truman? Yeah, she's asleep, dude. Passed out. Yes, I tried to wake her. What did you guys do last weekend? I mean, it's Wednesday, and your girl is still toast. How's she supposed to get through her history exam if she's this exhausted?" Amy laughed at whatever he said. "OK, I'll tell her. See ya."
The phone hit the cradle before the squeaky door to the bathroom opened and closed. By the time she returned, I'd escaped back into sleep, the only place lately where my body and mind cooperated.
***
I rolled over and cuddled next to Tru, a contented sigh falling from my lips. Perspiration chilled my skin, but sunlight shone through the window and warmed me. I smiled and tangled my feet with his, the action doing double duty by prolonging the throbbing between my legs. He'd fucked me silly, attacking me the moment I walked through the door and teasing multiple orgasms out of me as he worked my body.
I hadn't had an episode since I'd curled up on my bed and prayed to the brick wall that whatever was happening to me would stop. I made a mental note to build a shrine to those bricks because the sun was shining through the windows in his room, despite it being late October, and I felt good.
He shifted under me as he reached toward the nightstand. Moments later I tensed, hearing the familiar chit, chit of his lighter. I tilted my head up in time to see him running the flame under the tip of a joint, sucking in the smoke and holding it in his lungs before he exhaled, coughing.
My happy feelings evaporated along with my grin. I rolled away from him onto my back and looked at the ceiling. "God, I'm beginning to hate that stuff."
Truman laughed. "You're living in the hippie capital of the world, Jess. I don't know anyone in this town who doesn't smoke this shit. Hell, you've gotten high, too."
I fought to control the irritation at the intrusion, once again, of the third wheel in our relationship. "I don't do it anymore."
His answer was to take another long pull on the joint, eyes narrowed at me.
I sat up and pulled the sheet up to cover me. "Nothing's important to you when you're drunk or high."
Tru nodded. "Yeah darlin', and that's exactly the way I like it."
I blew out a frustrated breath. "I can sympathize, Tru, really I can. It sucks what you have to do all day with Pete and your uncle. I get why you want to escape. But just keep in mind, when you run away from your life, you're also running away from me. You get so high we can't do what other couples do—talk about our day, and feelings...our dreams."
He tilted his head, his eyebrows coming together in the middle of his forehead. "Why not?"
I looked up at the ceiling. He couldn't see it. Of course he couldn't. He was blind to the way weed and booze made him an island of one.
"I love you, Tru. So much, it hurts to look at you sometimes." I ran my fingertips through his hair, down his shoulder blade to his lower back. "Drinking, getting high....I'm afraid they're taking you away from me, and worse, you can't seem to see it."
He pivoted his torso toward me. The muscles of his chest and arms flexed as he pulled the sheet down my breasts and over my hips, exposing me to the light of the room. I couldn't help my smile. He'd encouraged me to appreciate my body, so I'd embraced nudity. It didn't hurt that the man loved to see me naked as often as possible and wasn't shy about saying it. With Tru, I'd learned to love the skin I was in, because that's how he felt about me. His hand settled on my belly, warm and solid. I placed my hand over his.
"Babe. I'm relaxing, OK? I'm still here. I'm still with you. It's been a shit week with my dad and Uncle Matt. Cut me some slack."
Slack. My fingers spasmed at the word. It was a constant tagline in our conversations. His reason for drinking every night, for smoking so much weed. Today, the words broke through my carefully cultivated awesome girlfriend façade. I wasn't OK with what was happening anymore. I had to accept that one of us needed to draw the line somewhere, and it wasn't going to be him.
"I'm so tired of this."
I pulled my hand from his and laid back against the pillows. It was almost impossible for me to look at him and be angry at the same time. I'd never accomplished it for long. He could usually bring me around with that grin of his.
"Tired of what?"
His voice had that edge again. The one that said we were heading toward an argument I didn't want to have. I almost gave in, again. I didn't want there to be friction. Friction made me stress. Stress seemed to be the thing that triggered my mysterious attacks. But I was in it now, so I treaded lightly but moved forward, though I kept my arm slung over my eyes.
"Tired of the same conversation about you smoking and drinking, Tru, what else? I don't like it. You know I don't." I found the courage to look at him then. "Why can't you leave it alone when I'm here? I want to be with you, my Truman, not your alter ego, Mr. Nothing Matters." I heard my voice, the pleading tone, and almost didn't recognize myself. I'd never sounded so weak.
He grinned then, and I knew I'd lost him for the afternoon. He was high. Instead of seeing my pain, he thought I was amusing.
He covered me with his hard body. His breath fanned across my face, only it wasn't the comforting smell of the man I knew, the combination of cheap soap and cigarette smoke. Now it was the sharp, acidic, earthy stench of weed. A smell I was quickly coming to associate with everything I hated.
My hands pushing against his chest did nothing to get him off of me.
"You've got it wrong. I'm Mr. Nothing Matters but you."
I stopped pushing and stared into his bloodshot eyes. What had once felt like security was beginning to feel like bondage. We were prisoners of our love.
His gaze became serious, the smile fading from his lips. "You matter, baby. So much, sometimes I can't breathe."
He perused my features, as if memorizing every detail. "You deserve better than me. I want to give you everything. It kills me that I can't. You've hitched your train to a fucking loser, but fuck if I'm ever going to let you go."
His declaration seared through me, but only because I wasn't sure if I wanted him to kee
p his promise or break it, and that scared me more than anything.
Truman made me feel safe in a way I'd never known was possible. He made me feel powerful, because I was the only one who could give him what he needed. What we had filled something inside me, made me feel complete. He loved and accepted me as I was.
Dammit, I could do the same for him, now.
I linked my hands around his neck. "I want you. The other stuff isn't important to me. We'll make it and we'll do it together, whatever life throws at us. You are the reason I'm here, just you."
I arched up to kiss his neck, licking and sucking at the spot just beneath his ear, the one that drove him crazy. He gasped, rasping his stubble over my cheek until his mouth found mine. His kiss was a possessive invasion of my mouth. His tongue swept along my teeth, my lips, until I was grasping at his skin.
My breaths were more sporadic, warmth blooming low in my belly. I wanted him again. I opened my legs but Tru rolled off of me, panting.
"Darlin', hot as you are, I'm not gonna be able to go again so soon."
I tried to hide my wince at the rejection with a smile. There were worse things than exhausting my sex-fiend boyfriend, but I couldn't forget that, pre-pot and drinking, Tru was a machine who would've had his face buried between my legs by now.
"That's OK. I need to get to the library to study for midterms anyway." I tried to play it off, but the truth was, I was caught up with my studies and had hoped to spend the afternoon and evening reconnecting. We almost always slept together, even if I had to come over at midnight. Tru complained that he couldn't get a decent night's sleep without me curled next to him. That wasn't going to happen tonight.
He sat up, took another toke off the joint and stood, turning to face me as he blew the smoke to the side. His boxers clung to his body, highlighting the impressive bulge between his muscular legs. I was on my back, naked and exposed to him in every way. He had my heart, my soul, and in that moment as he stared down at me with an assessing gaze, he held my self-esteem in the palm of his hand. He bent over and ran a hand over a breast and down my side to rest on my hip.
"Christ, you're pretty."
His smile was pure Tru. I lived for these moments when I had the man I'd fallen so madly in love with. I arched my back seductively, thinking about ways I could convince his cock he was ready for a second round, but he stood up and grabbed the joint. Turning to face me, his gaze traveled over my body again, but his eyes were glassy and vacant.
"You know, if you lost ten pounds, you'd be absolutely gorgeous."
Everything warm inside of me turned to ice. I nodded my head in hollow agreement even as I felt something inside of me break loose and bleed out. Truman had planted seeds with my confidence, with every caress he'd nurtured that garden of self-esteem. Those few words were a noxious pesticide, an anti-fertilizer. Such astonishing destruction, and it happened in the blink of an eye.
And all I did was nod.
The familiar tingle raced up my spine. An impending episode.
I mumbled something about going to the library to study. I pulled the sheet up, shielding myself as I shrugged on my clothes. When I was ready, I turned to him and smiled as if he hadn't just stomped on my heart before I walked on numb feet down the stairs and out the door.
***
I tucked my humiliation away, into the part of my mind where I'd learned to excuse everything Truman said and did when he was high or drunk. So, I threw myself into studying for midterms. My body was merciful; the week had flown by with no more issues. Maybe being more focused on school was the answer. Staying on top of my classes reduced my stress, and the episodes went away.
With midterms over, I drove to Tru's in my old, beat-up Toyota, singing along to a pop song playing on the radio. At a stop sign a panhandler huddled mere feet from my window, his back against the sign post, a black garbage bag under him. The "please help" sign between his legs was a disintegrating mess, the black marker streaking, edges torn. His head was down, either to protect his face from the rain or because he'd given up on anyone caring.
January weather in Oregon is bitter, the kind of wet and cold that settles into your bones and makes you feel like you'll never be warm again. I knew that kind of cold, only the source of mine seemed to originate inside me lately. I pulled out my wallet and gave him what I had, a ten-dollar bill.
His eyes lit up like I'd gifted him with much more. "Thank you, miss."
I smiled, warmth replacing sorrow as a strange sort of commiseration occurred between us. If I could make his night better, surely I could do something about whatever was wrong in my life, too. Maybe the solution wasn't as complicated as I'd thought. "I hope it helps, take care."
I turned the radio up, optimism causing me to tap out a rhythm on the steering wheel as I drove the last few blocks to Tru's.
He was in his usual spot on the porch, a can of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. I'd take a drinking Truman over a stoned one tonight. He'd be affectionate and less checked out, as long as he didn't overdo it and fall asleep early.
My steps faltered, feet taking on a heaviness as though I were walking through water, and I came to a stop. When had I started rationalizing Tru's destructive behaviors, choosing which were OK?
Tru stood and grinned down at me. "Hey, baby. I've missed you this week."
His deep voice hit a nerve low in my belly, one he reserved only for me. It was easy to push my fears aside when he used that tone. He stubbed out his cigarette and came the last few steps to me before folding me into his body. I nuzzled into the skin of his neck and inhaled my favorite scent, eliminating any space between us. The familiar stirring between my legs made me restless.
That was all it took. Tru could give me everything I needed with so little effort. We didn't have perfection, but what we did have was more than most people could dream about. I needed to focus on what was good instead of worrying about what might go wrong. When he held me in his arms, everything was right.
We walked up the steps arm in arm before he turned me to face him, a predatory smile on his face. "Come here."
My heart sank at the smell of alcohol on his breath, but I laughed anyway. "I am here."
"Closer," he slurred, before dipping his head down and taking my mouth in a kiss. The bitterness of cheap beer was what I tasted first. It was nothing new, and once his tongue started working its magic I intertwined my hands around his neck and relaxed against his lips.
He kissed me like he hadn't seen me in a year. Deep, wet kisses that had me squirming against him. His tongue devoured and owned me. His hardness pressed against my belly, making me crave him even more. Maybe we could sneak upstairs without it being too obvious what our intentions were. It was Friday, so the house was probably going to be a revolving door of friends and relatives. Could we be quiet? When his hands came around and gripped my ass, I no longer cared what people might hear; I only wanted him.
Sawyer opened the front door and let out a catcall whistle as he strolled outside. Tru pulled back, one arm releasing me to shove his brother in the chest, causing him to plop down onto the cushions of a nearby chair. Sawyer laughed, grabbed an ashtray and pulled a joint from his front pocket.
"You two are adorable." Sawyer's tone was so sickeningly sweet I couldn't help but giggle.
"Shut up, you jealous ass." Tru fought back a laugh himself as he grinned.
Sawyer looked at me appraisingly, with eyes not quite as brown as Tru's, but just as warm, the joint pinched between thumb and forefinger. "You bet I'm jealous. How could I not be? You scored the prettiest, smartest girl in town."
"Aw, thanks Sawyer." I smiled at him and looked pointedly at Tru.
Tru pulled me close again, his erection pressed against my hip, his seductive voice in my ear. "Damn straight, I did."
Sawyer looked around his feet before he popped up from his chair, mumbling something about needing another beer as he walked back in the house.
"We're out." Tru yelled, pulling away from
me as the door closed. "I guess I'll head to the store to get more. Babe, you got any cash?"
I shook my head, smiling at the memory of my good deed. "I gave my last ten bucks to a homeless guy on my way here."
Tru looked at me, shock registering on his face before he scowled. "Ten fucking dollars? What the hell were you thinking?"
I felt his hand before my brain registered he'd slapped me. Stumbling back, my mouth agape and palm on my cheek, all I could do was stare. Sawyer returned, the light from the living room illuminating Tru's face long enough for me to gasp. His eyes were bloodshot, and already at half-mast but mirroring my own shock. He reached for me. I backed away before he could touch me again, my hand still on my face. Sawyer had found his chair again, oblivious to what was happening while he mumbled about the lack of beer.
"I can't believe you did that." My voice was scarcely a whisper. My cheek was numb. I couldn't tell if that was from the force of his hand, or my disbelief in what had happened. I was too shocked to cry, too shocked to do anything more than turn on my heel and run. The minute I turned to run, Tru sprang into action, stumbling toward me, but I had the advantage of being sober. His foot caught in a chair, and he nearly fell. The extra few seconds gave me the time I needed to get to my car.
"Jess. Fuck! I'm sorry. Don't go, baby!"
With shaky hands, I jammed the key into the ignition and sped away. In my rearview mirror I could see his silhouette in the driveway, arms raised as if in surrender, or exasperation. It wasn't until I was a block away from the dorm that the tears came, so many I thought I would drown in them.
Tru was my anchor, the person who made me feel safe. The hard truth was a now-stinging outline on my cheek. Instead of keeping me grounded, he was pulling me down, down, down, where the darkness tugged him as well.
***
Amy tossed another colorful bouquet on my bed a few days later. "Looks like someone's in the dog house."
I managed a half smile in response.
She snorted, turning as she threw extra clothes in a bag, no doubt for her weekend trip to her boyfriend's house. "Must've been a doozy, given the respectable effort he's making and the sourpuss face you've been wearing all week. So, how long are you going to make him suffer?"
I Fell In: A mostly true story about lust, redemption, and true love. Page 12
