I Fell In: A mostly true story about lust, redemption, and true love.

by Tiffany Winters

  Thirty minutes later I'd cleaned his kitchen, made him lunch, and was in the process of putting the rest of the groceries away when he walked in. The sweatpants he had on were worn and hanging off of his lean frame. His muscular chest and arms no longer strained the fabric of his t-shirt. But he still smelled like Irish Spring and Truman. I wanted to take comfort in the scent. It was the only thing that felt familiar anymore. Even his presence, the intangible charisma he had that changed the energy in any room he entered, was gone.

  "Are you eating at all when I'm not here?" I set his plate in front of him as he sat at the table. "You look like you've lost even more weight since last weekend."

  He took a bite of the sandwich, chewing on it as though it were cardboard. It wasn't about taste or pleasure. He was simply feeding his body. He ate that half in three bites, swallowing each one with difficulty.

  I sat across from him, but he kept his eyes on the table or his sandwich. Not on me. "Have you been keeping track of your meds, honey? Remember, the doctor said it's really important to note how you're feeling so she can adjust the dosages next week when you go back."

  He swallowed the last bite of bread, drank the glass of milk I'd set in front of him, and then wiped his mouth but gave me no response.

  "Tru?"

  He stood, took his plate to the sink, washed it off, and shuffled past me toward his room again. "Forgot to write it down, I guess."

  I followed him down the hall, irritation making my voice higher than normal. "Truman. I'm trying to help you, but you have to help me, too. I can't report anything to the doctor if you don't communicate about how the meds are working."

  I'd used at least a week's worth of vacation days, and I had a resentful husband at home, which meant zero sex lately. I was tired. My marriage was suffering because of the energy I was devoting to Tru, and here he was, being uncooperative and wasting my time.

  I stood in the doorway as I watched him strip down to his boxers before crawling between the fresh sheets I'd put on his bed after he got in the shower. I hitched my hand on my hip and exhaled a frustrated breath.

  "Truman, this is bullshit." I paused, trying to control the shaking in my voice, to turn the fear into anger. At least angry I wouldn't feel so powerless. As I gazed at him, I couldn't summon the rage I needed in order to push my fear aside. I'd never seen him so disengaged. I lowered myself to the edge of the bed and grabbed his hand. "Please talk to me. I'm so fucking scared right now."

  It was then he gave me his eyes. For a moment he showed me his truth, the veil was lifted, but all I saw was desolation. It froze the air in my lungs. I squeezed his fingers and waited for him to squeeze back. It'd become our silent signal, his way of telling me he was still with me. Today he didn't squeeze. His deep brown eyes, normally so warm with affection, stared back, blank and hopeless.

  "You're thinking of doing it, aren't you?" I fought the tears that threatened, but I didn't see the need to beat around the bush. It had to be said.

  When he didn't so much as flinch, a wave of anxiety made me nauseous.

  "Oh, God. You can't do that to yourself! Think of your family, friends...me." It was surreal to be sitting with an alive Truman, talking about the possibility of a deceased one.

  He looked away, his hand still limp as it rested in mine. "I'm tired, Jess. I wake up and I don't know what day it is, what time it is. Food tastes like shit, and my body hurts, like, all over. All the fucking time. I've tried every med there is, and none of them has ever made me feel normal. None. The best I get is less of an overwhelming desire to off myself, maybe a little energy here and there, but only for a short while. I can't do it anymore. I don't want to."

  It was happening. A tear fell down my cheek, then another. Tru cupped my jaw with his big hand, trembling as he wiped it away. "Thank you for coming down so often and taking care of me. Being with you again has been some of the best times of my—"

  I shook my head, jerking away from him to stand. "Don't do that. Don't start thanking me and saying shit that sounds like goodbye." I paced the room, holding onto the sides of my head as I tried to digest what was happening. "Jesus Christ, Truman! Do you realize what you're really saying? Are you ready to be gone from this earth so easily? Leaving Grace, Sawyer, and Cosette here alone? You know what this will do to them. You know it. No more music, no more family and friends. No more me."

  I faced him. "You do this and we'll never see each other again. How can you even consider it a possibility? Because I can't fathom a world where you don't exist." My voice cracked at last and I stood with my hand over my mouth to stop the sobs that threatened.

  He leaned back against the pillows, his gaze boring into me. I caught my breath and stared back at him. I wasn't backing down. I would never be on board with this plan.

  After a moment he patted the mattress next to him, indicating I should sit down. I threw myself on the bed, hip to hip with him again, needing to feel his warmth, the solidness of his body next to mine. When he tugged my hand, pulling me so I was lying down in our usual position, I didn't resist.

  "No more you will be a hardship, darlin', that's for sure." He squeezed my shoulders as I whimpered. "You have to understand what it's like for me. The world is fading. I can't feel anything anymore. I've fought against this for most of my life. Hell, it's almost killed me already. I drank and smoked to get rid of it, and when that didn't work, I got sober. I took the meds, did the therapy, followed doctor's orders. It wasn't all bad, I had some OK times, but I've never felt truly good. The last time I remember being honest-to-God happy was when you and I..." He stopped.

  "When we were together." I finished his thought. "I was happy, too." Guilt made my voice smaller, as images of Nick floated through my mind. But now was the time to be honest with Truman, to lay it all on the line. I wouldn't have another chance.

  He sighed, his hands moving in my long hair, pulling on the strands as he combed through them. "Yeah, we were happy, until we weren't." There was no censure in his voice. He kissed the top of my head, as if to tell me he wasn't reprimanding me for leaving him, only acknowledging the truth of us.

  He was right. I'd thought about our relationship a lot in the last year, since we'd reconnected. As teenagers, we'd made it three years together. Most of our lives had been spent apart. We'd only begun to know each other as adults. I'd often wondered if I wasn't blowing the significance of Tru out of proportion, but lying in his arms, feeling what I was feeling, the truth is that what we'd had was big. We'd lived a lifetime in those few years.

  His gravely voice broke through my thoughts. "Being with you was the best risk I ever took. I think it was so great between us because it was before all of this inherited mental illness shit hit the fan."

  I propped myself up on an elbow to look at him as I considered what he was saying. "You mean because your grandpa and then your dad..."

  "Yeah." He nodded, looking at me, as though willing me to understand, to see it from his perspective. "I have an illness, Jessa. Depression is as deadly as cancer or any other disease. Some people recover and go on to live their lives." He held me closer, his voice softening. "For others, it's terminal."

  I pressed my face into his chest and let myself cry. "God, Truman, no! I love you. I can't imagine losing you."

  His hand continued to stroke my hair. "Baby, you already imagined a life without me. Then you went and found it, and I'm glad. I'm fucking proud of you for doing it. You and me, towards the end, it wasn't good." He pulled my chin up with a finger, making me look at him. "I don't blame you for leaving. I never did. I knew I was fucked up. I hurt you. Sometimes I think I did it on purpose because I could feel this coming, even though I didn't have a name for it back then. I think part of me knew I'd only drag you down."

  Tears flowed, unabated. I couldn't stop them once they started. So much of the conversation was sounding like goodbye. I pushed my face into his skin and inhaled. His scent was a part of me; I knew I'd never forget it, yet I was hungry for it now. To bring it
inside of me. It was a part of Tru I'd be able to keep.

  He kissed the top of my head again.

  "How can you be so calm about this? How can you talk about ending your life as if it's the most normal thing in the world?" I was as angry as I was sad. I wanted Tru to be as invested in his own life as I was.

  "Honey, this isn't the first time I've considered this. I've got more practice thinking about it than you do. And, I gotta be honest, the thought of doing it doesn't scare the shit out of me anymore. The only feeling I get, and this is the God's honest truth, is relief. I need it to be over. I'm thirty-eight years old. I can't imagine spending the next forty-plus years battling this shit. I won't make it."

  I sat up, propping myself up on an elbow as I wiped my cheek. "This is the depression talking. It's affecting your thought process. You aren't thinking clearly, OK? You need to trust me, we can find another option. I'll be here. I won't leave you alone, and we'll work on the meds angle until they've found something that works without making you miserable with side effects." I could hear myself, my voice pleading and miserable as I tried to negotiate with him. "Please, give it some time."

  Tru shook his head. "I've given it enough time. I've given it more than half my life. I'm done."

  My face crumpled at the finality in his tone, as I tilted my forehead down to his chest and fresh tears flowed. "Please don't...please." My voice was small. I clawed at his skin, hit him on the chest as I railed against his decision. I wanted him to feel something, anything, even if was the physical pain of my blows. He laid there and took everything I had, until I was spent and breathless, my only energy left used on feeling sorry for myself, for him, for his family and friends.

  I sagged against him. After a while I started talking, my thoughts uncensored, as I rambled. "When I left," I swallowed hard. Tru's hand paused mid-stroke up my back. I took a breath and gave him everything. "it tore me up inside. I was such a wreck for months afterwards. Years. I didn't even date anyone until I had been out of college for over a year. Being without you was so painful, I didn't think I'd ever make it."

  Tru let his hand rest on my lower back as he listened. I took a moment to appreciate the sound of his breathing and his beating heart as I gathered my thoughts, my cheek still pressed against his chest.

  "I had to go to therapy to get over you, you know. I needed to understand what had happened and try to heal and move on, but I don't know if I ever really did. I don't know if it's fair for me to compare that to how you're feeling right now, but it was as close as I've ever been to a deep depression. The only rival was when I lost the baby." I stopped. I'd told Truman very little about what happened now only six months earlier, but he knew the basics. "There were days I didn't want to get out of bed."

  I looked at him, my chin resting on his chest, wanting him to see me as I told him what I'd never told anyone. "I've thought about it too, honey, back then and again after the baby. I thought about how nice it would be to get rid of the pain. I couldn't imagine living without you but knew we couldn't be together anymore. And I wanted that baby." My voice wavered with the pain, the feelings still fresh. "It was so hard to think about getting up every day and moving forward when all I wanted to do was lie down and die. I loved that baby so much. I loved you so much, too. I still love you."

  He ran a finger down my cheek, his eyes still dull, but I took comfort in his actions and the way he was trying to help me feel better with his touch.

  "The pain of our breakup was nothing compared to how I feel now, thinking about losing you all over again. Only this time, there'd be no coming back..." My breath hitched as the full impact of what we were talking about struck me. I opened my heart to him in the only way available to me. "Please, Truman. For me, please don't leave. Not yet. We can dig our way out of this, together, if you'll let me help you. I can't lose you, too, not after everything that's happened."

  We were face to face, our breath intermingling. I was raw, vulnerable as I looked into his eyes. Tears rolled down my cheeks, pooling on his chest. We stared at each other for long moments. It had come down to this; me keeping his eyes on me, as if I were his last tether to the world.

  His hand came up as he moved a strand of hair across my forehead before his fingers trailed down my jaw to cup my face in his large palm. I leaned into his skin, relishing the warmth as I willed him to find the strength to change his mind. I watched him come alive then, a small spark in his eyes. He was waging war with himself, between what his mind was telling him was the right path and what his heart was, hopefully, countering with something deeper.

  We stayed like that for what felt like ages. Tru, gazing at me as he debated the merits of suicide, me gazing at Tru knowing it was, of course, ultimately his decision. Even if I'd called the cops and had him involuntarily committed, it was only a matter of time before he'd have an opportunity again. He needed to decide to stay.

  We'd been going back and forth for hours talking about it. I was exhausted, but I wouldn't give up. Finally his expression changed, but it wasn't what I'd hoped for. I watched as the veil began to lower. His eyes started to lose the small bit of clarity that gave me hope. I had milliseconds left before he would be lost to me forever.

  My heart broke. It was such a physical pain, I wondered if there was indeed something actually rupturing inside my chest. Blood pounding in my ears, I did the only thing I could think of, the only thing that might still save Truman's life. I bridged the distance between us, pressing my lips to his, and kissed him.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  You are the only one I see

  Past~

  It'd been two months since we'd gotten back together. I was more in love than ever, and I hadn't had an episode in weeks. Everything was good.

  Except for right at that moment.

  Jen, Truman's cousin Charlie's skanky stepsister, had attempted to circumvent my hard-earned happiness by showing up to the gig he'd just played (again), gyrating to the music right up front (again), and generally giving Tru and everyone there a free floorshow.

  I'd gone to the bathroom, leaving Tru to pack up his gear, only to find her sidled up to him when I'd returned. Her breasts were encased in a tight lace tank, her skirt was too short, her face too made up, her giggle too fake. She was too much of everything. She wasn't anyone Tru would've ever been attracted to, but it didn't stop me from getting pissed off. I watched her, laughing and smiling as if being by Tru's side were the most natural place in the world for her.

  As if I didn't exist.

  Tru seemed oblivious to her presence, but my anger boiled to the surface anyway while I watched her smile and lay her head against his shoulder. I started toward them, readying my palms for a fistful of whore-hair, when Tru spotted me. His amused expression did nothing to stall me as I stomped in his direction.

  He moved away from Jen with lightening speed, so quickly she stumbled, no longer having him to lean on as he met me halfway there. "Babe—"

  I braced my palms on his chest, pushing but getting nowhere. "Get out of my way, Truman. I've had it with her. She needs to be taught a fucking less—"

  His mouth came down on mine as he held me tight. I struggled against his chest with closed fists. But his lips were soft, his tongue sliding like velvet past my lips, gentle even as he held me against him. He nibbled on my lip, sucking it into his mouth, and ran his tongue along the tender skin there, sending shivers straight to my core.

  Before I knew it, my hands had traveled up his chest to thread behind his head, pulling him closer as I opened my mouth to let him in. When we finally disconnected, I was dazed, needy, and aching. He could do that with a kiss. What he couldn't do was make me forget. I smiled at him, caressing his cheek with my hand. "Nice try. Now get out of my way so I can go mess up her face."

  "Fuck. No." He pulled me in again, trapping my arms between us. I was strong, but he was stronger. I used my legs to try to push us as a unit toward her. "Goddammit Jessa, knock it off." His voice was strained with humor, his mouth twi
tching with a threatened smile.

  I stopped pushing and glared at him. "This is not funny. I'm sick of her rubbing herself all over you whenever I so much as blink. She needs to stay the fuck away, or I'm going to hurt her."

  Tru looked down at me for a moment, his eyes assessing, gauging my intentions. When he seemed to understand I wasn't kidding he turned his head, calling over his shoulder. "Hey Charlie, take my shit home with you, yeah? I'll swing by and pick it up tomorrow." Charlie mumbled his assent as Tru used his powerful body to walk me backward, away from the crowd and toward the door.

  As we moved outside, he bent down, his lips brushing against my ear, and I shivered, though I didn't want to. "One, as much as you wish you were different right now, I know you're a lover not a fighter. But, damn, that feistiness is making me hard."

  He pressed his pelvis into me so I could feel the effects of my sudden need for violence in the hard ridge beneath his jeans. "Two, you can't go after her. She's Charlie's stepsister and if you fuck with her it'll cause problems in the family. Three, I've seen her get into it with other girls. She fights dirty, baby. You'd never have a chance."

  I renewed my efforts, pressing my lips together, digging my heels into the gravel of the driveway. "One," my sarcastic reply only made his smile broader, "you must've forgotten the part about me being the youngest of seven, including a brother who's a cop and another who's a black belt in Taekwondo. I can take her."

  His brow arched at the reminder and my serious tone, though amusement kept his eyes twinkling. I ignored him. "Two, if she touches you again, I am going to break her nose. Three," I stopped, because he had me with the point about his family. "Fine. I don't want your mom to get upset. But you need to tell Jen to back off, Truman. You aren't doing anything to discourage her."

  As the words left my mouth, the static energy of anger crackled between us. His body hardened as he glared down at me, all traces of humor gone from his beautiful face. My breath froze in my lungs at the darkness in his eyes.