She stood, grabbing my upper arms. "You're OK, Jess. It's going to be OK. Breathe, sweetie. We are going to walk out of here, get you some fresh air, and head back to the apartment, OK? Nod if you understand."
I must've looked like I belonged in a psych ward for her to react that way, but I was never more grateful for her take-charge nature. I nodded, the black spots beginning to eclipse more and more of her face in front of me. My words sounded slurred, even to my ears. "Oh, shit. Passing out."
Her hand landed on the back of my neck, pushing my head down, bending me over. It was a situation that would've normally made us laugh. Instead I heard her voice over the pounding in my ears, telling me to take deep breaths. After a minute I started to see more clearly. I pushed against her hand and stood, letting her guide me out of the diner and avoided the faces of the other patrons.
Amy knew me too well. "Don't think about them. They probably think you're drunk and I'm helping you home."
"S'not like that hasn't happened before." My mumbled joke caused Amy's hold to relax a little. Before I knew it, we were home. She helped me into bed and sat next to me. I was past the peak, but knew it would be a few hours before I felt normal again.
"Jessa, you never told me they were this bad." The hurt in her tone was hard to miss.
I sighed, the fight drained out of me, though I knew she was right to feel like I'd lied. "I can't talk about this right now. Please. I need to be alone...need to sleep it off."
"This is because of Truman, isn't it?"
The mention of his name had the nausea back in an instant. I gagged, my system back in full panic mode as I gripped the comforter and tried to breathe through my nose.
"That's what I thought." I heard her exhale. "Fine. We can talk when you're feeling better."
As soon as she stood, the sensations began to subside as my body recognized I wasn't going to be grilled.
"I'm staying here the rest of the night though, OK? I'll call Henry, and we'll watch movies. You need anything, just holler."
I nodded, and my eyes closed.
"Amy?"
"Yeah?" She paused at the door to my room, looking over her shoulder at me.
"If he comes over, don't let him in, OK?"
I heard her breath hitch; she would have to know things were bad between us for me to actively avoid Truman. I wanted to defend my request, to tell her it wasn't about not loving him, it was about not wanting him to see me this way. It was about keeping up appearances with him. I didn't want to stop to analyze why I suddenly needed to pretend I was someone I wasn't around the love of my life.
"Yeah."
I heard her feet pad across the carpet, closing my door with a click. Rolling to my side into a ball, I clutched my stomach, too exhausted to cry.
***
I had to do it. Spring break was as good a time as any. I'd spent nearly three years of my life with Tru. I loved him, needed him more than my next breath, but I couldn't be with him anymore. I'd been struggling all week to figure out how those two states of being could exist within my body. The only thing I'd figured out was that being with him was making me sick.
I'm leaving him. Rehearsing the words was supposed to make it easier to accept. But I'd been telling myself the same thing for days, and still, it wasn't something I could think about without feeling as though a raging black hole had opened up inside me, threatening to swallow me into suspended darkness forever. He'd brought me adventure, humor, music, beauty. When I could make him laugh, deep and melodious, I felt like I'd just climbed Everest.
His body, the way he kissed me, touched me, fucked me, made me feel satisfied on a level I didn't know was possible. I couldn't imagine sinking into a bed at night and not having his scent on my pillows. I didn't want to go without the joy of hearing his deep bass of a voice calling me 'darlin', knowing he was smiling while he was doing it.
He made me feel all of that, made me need it. He was part of me, and I was part of him. How was I supposed to move forward in my life without the piece of myself that belonged to him? It was impossible.
The only thing more impossible was the knowledge that if I stayed, I'd spend my energy fighting his demons, because he wasn't able or willing to do it himself anymore. He would self-implode under a mountain of denial and excuses, booze and drugs.
What we had was special. It wasn't something I could imagine with anyone else. Lightening was not going to strike twice, this much I knew. And because I knew it, I couldn't watch what we had fade to nothing, witness the destruction of something so spectacular.
If I'd been healthy, I might've been able to hang on longer. It was a mark of personal failure that I couldn't. He didn't need to be worrying about me and my attacks, so I'd stopped letting him know about them. I was less and less myself, and Truman was someone I no longer recognized.
By the time I'd made the decision, which felt like trying to swallow glass, I was on my way to his house. As I left my apartment I still wasn't sure what I was going to say when I got there. Tru and I had been drifting apart for months. I wanted to blame it on Pete, but the truth was, Truman was riding the tidal wave of his own self-destruction.
My hands fisted around the steering wheel as I recalled the vicious words, the sound of Pete's and Truman's bodies colliding during that argument. I would've given anything to be able to go back in time, to erase it, to play out our lives without the destruction that was Pete Miller. Maybe Tru and I would've been happy. Or maybe some other unfortunate event would've happened and we'd be walking this same path, years from now.
I sighed heavily as I drove; the lines in the road coming toward me in quick succession were my only hold on reality as my mind wandered. I was so fucked up, I couldn't think logically about any of it anymore. Everything in my life was off-kilter, my instincts sucked, and nothing felt right.
I was exhausted from lack of sleep, from worrying about Truman every moment of the day, from the stress of doing my best to avoid having an attack, and from the strain of recovering from one. My grades were suffering. Amy was worried. My parents were hovering.
I pulled over several blocks away and let my car idle as I waited for the strength to drive the last mile to his house. I took huge gulps of air as I leaned forward, resting my forehead on the steering wheel. I turned the radio off, then the engine. The last thing I needed was a happy pop song about being in love, or a sad one about losing it.
Time passed as the light started to fade from the sky into evening. I sat and listened to the swooshing sounds, watched the effect of the wind on trees as they swayed, my eyes unfocused as I postponed the inevitable. Here, I could live the last moments of my life as a whole person. Once I split with Truman, I'd never be the same again.
My phone's persistent ringing brought me back to the present. It was fully dark now. I looked at the clock on the dash; I'd been sitting in my car for three hours. Shaking my head to clear the fog, I rifled through my purse. My breath caught at Tru's number on the screen as I pulled my phone out. I paused for a moment, knowing if I answered, he'd hear it in my voice. He'd know why I was on my way to see him.
Fuck it. I was tired of hiding. Tired of putting off the inevitable. The tension was killing me, and it wasn't fair to him. I took a deep breath and pushed the button to answer. "Hi."
"Jess." Truman's broken, shaking voice sent adrenaline coursing through my veins.
"Truman? What's wrong?" I had the key in the ignition and was already pulling away from the curb when he answered, saying the one thing guaranteed to change my mind about leaving him.
"I need you."
"I'm on my way, baby. What's going on?" When there was only silence, I slammed my foot on the gas, eager to cover the last few blocks to his house. "Are you there? Jesus, what happened?"
"It's my dad."
His voice cracked on the last word and the ground seemed to fall from under me. It was going to be terrible, whatever he was about to say, and still the truth hit me like a Mack truck when his agonized voice came
through the line.
"He killed himself."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Darcy Fucking Schmidt
Present~
He froze when I pressed my lips to his. Body stiff, Truman's chest expanded with a breath and stayed that way. He was planning to kill himself, his confession only a moment earlier delivered with robotic certainty. What else could I do to reach a dead man walking?
Panic had welled up inside of me like a tsunami wave, and I was the poor surfer tossed around underwater, clamoring to figure out which way was up while furiously kicking toward the surface. Memories of the legacy in his family around suicide pushed me further away from that needed lungful of air. The realization that Truman, after the pain of losing his father the same damn way, thought it was a viable solution pushed me to the point of blacking out.
I pulled at the fabric of his T-shirt, hearing threads pop under the strain, but I didn't take my mouth from his. I was twenty-one-year old Jessa again. The one completely unprepared to spend a lifetime with a depressive alcoholic, regardless of how much she loved him. The one who'd had to find a sub-zero coldness inside, peeling away the grip of each finger he had wrapped around her heart until all that was left was his empty, shaking palm. That girl had saved herself instead of Truman and had spend decades feeling like shit about it.
And now, that girl had grown into a woman who was going to make sure history didn't repeat itself.
I was finally giving him the very thing he'd hinted he wanted since the moment we'd reunited. It was the best I could do. I had to bring him back from the edge he was so willingly teetering on.
But his lips remained stiff against mine, his body unyielding. Something inside me broke, whirling despair clouded my thoughts. My tongue pressed against the firm seal of his lips, begging for entry. My kiss became a buoy...if only he would take hold of it and hang on. I had nothing left to barter for his life, except my own, one I was tossing away with every moment I extended the kiss.
I exhaled, a plaintive moan escaping from me, the sound one I'd never made. It was as if I might breathe air into his lungs with my own, keep him alive on my terms.
After what seemed like an eternity Truman shifted, leaning toward me. The vibration of his answering moan sent tickling sensations through my body. He took over the kiss, colliding his tongue against mine, pulling me roughly against his body.
I was rolled to my back, palms smoothing up my ribs and down again, up and over my breasts, and down again. He explored with frantic hands, gripping and pulling at me, as though he wanted to rip me open and climb inside. We remained fused together, lips sucking, teeth nipping. He kissed me like it was his last act on earth. I kissed him back to remind him it needn't be.
"Christ." It was the only word he mumbled before he attacked my mouth again.
His fingers found my nipple, hardened with arousal beneath my blouse, and he pinched and pulled before circling my areola in a soothing motion. I arched into him, pressing my breasts against his chest, silently begging for more.
He gave it to me, trailing a hand down between my legs, under my skirt, and circling a pattern over my panties. I was already wet, and knew when I heard him groan he was feeling moisture seep through the fabric onto his fingertips. With his free hand, he yanked at the buttons of my shirt, popping one before undoing the rest of them. He pulled the sides apart before he dipped down and licked my breast through the lace of my bra.
I couldn't think. Years hadn't changed our chemistry. Our bodies seemed to move together on autopilot. All I could do was feel. He pulled his own t-shirt over his head before pressing me down into the bed, skin to skin. When he threaded his hand underneath the cotton fabric of my panties, I sighed as his fingers found my slickness. My hips tilted against him in a rhythm that matched the glide of his tongue against mine.
Tru pulled the cup of my bra down and I gasped at the hotness of his mouth as he enveloped my nipple. His erection, hard and urgent, ground into the muscle of my thigh, so much, I was sure there'd be a bruise later. Pleasure, sublime and turbulent, rushed through me as he inserted a thick digit inside. I gasped and felt his other hand on my hip, gripping me harder.
His lips burned a path between my breasts, his teeth scraping down until he came to my belly. Fuck, he remembered the sensitive area under my navel, above my mound. He worked it with his lips and tongue from one hip to the other, until I was trembling uncontrollably to match the racing of my pulse.
"Jessa." His voice was desperate. It spoke of a deep hunger, unfulfilled for twenty years.
The long-buried part of me that wanted to fix Tru, to make everything OK, answered his call. It was an automatic reaction when I reached for the bulge beneath his boxers and gripped him. When he inserted a second finger inside of me, the tension built, my body pulsing, drawing him in. I was going to come hard and fast, for him. He needed this connection.
I was the only one who could make him better. No one else but me.
My eyes flew open as I froze. He pulled away slightly, his gaze meeting mine, but he continued rubbing through my soaked folds as his dark eyes scanned my face. I pushed against him, wiggling my hips until his hand became disengaged. A moment ago those fingers were in a place they'd always belonged. Now, they invaded.
"What's wrong, baby?"
Oh, Jesus. The endearment. What did I expect? I was half naked in his bed, my hand still wrapped around his hard cock, and I'd instigated the entire situation.
"Fuck. Fuck!" I sat up, adjusted my bra to cover my breasts and looked around for my shirt.
Tru rubbed a hand over his shaved head. I knew that look. He was warring with himself. Should he try to seduce me or should he be honorable and back off? I didn't need to wait for him to decide. It was time for me to decide a few things.
"I can't do this with you Truman. God, I can't keep doing this." I heard the tremble in my voice as goose bumps erupted over my skin. I'd put a halt to this insanity, but what damage had I already wreaked? Nick would never understand. I'd have to keep this secret for the rest of my life. A secret from my own husband, my best friend.
His deep voice was unyielding. "I wish I could say I'm sorry, but, darlin', I've wanted you back since the moment you walked away."
I looked at him over my shoulder. Nick had been so right and so wrong. It wasn't Truman he needed to be worried about, it was me. Shame, deep and hungry, nearly sucked the life out of me. How could I have let this happen? I averted my gaze. Truman's eyes were dilated nearly black. A glance south told me he was still very aroused.
He scooted up next to me, bulky chest warming my back. His breath, hot on my bare shoulder, was still coming in pants. "What we have—I haven't found anything close, not in my whole goddamned life. And, believe me, I searched long and hard. It's always been you, Jess. Kissing you, touching you just now...dammit, I still feel like you're mine. I don't need meds or therapy. I just need you, Jessa. I always have. You gotta come back to me." He shook his head. "That kiss told me everything I need to know about who you belong to. I'm not sorry."
There he was. The real Truman decided to make an appearance. The swagger, the unapologetically blunt personality I fell in love with was a weapon now, ripping me open. Everything inside me threatened to tumble out. What would be left of me after this?
I stood, yanking my blouse over my shoulders and buttoned it with jerky movements, frowning at the missing top button. "That's our fucking problem in a nutshell, Truman. I almost did something with you" I swallowed hard, the list of potential repercussions mounting in my mind, "that would've ruined the marriage you seem to have zero regard for. It might still! And let me tell you, if I lose Nick, I lose the most important person in my life."
He flinched as though I'd slapped him, right before understanding dawned in his expression.
I leaned over to grab my bag off the floor. "I've been busting my ass to help you. At the expense of my own emotional wellbeing again. I've been so worried about you I've put my husband on the back burner, m
y job on the line, and my health in jeopardy, so I can come keep you company because I'm so fucking afraid each time I say goodbye to you, it'll be the last. Tonight you scared me so badly, I started to do something incredibly self-destructive. I don't even recognize myself right now. And all you can say is, you're not sorry!"
I stood, panting, wondering at the irony of being ripped open, at the strange freedom it allowed me, and told him the truth. "I choose Nick. I choose him a thousand times over because he has never, not once, brought the kind of pain and misery into my life that you have. He and I have been through some nightmarish shit together, but I'd do it all over again with him in a heartbeat, because at the end of the day, Nick makes all of it better. He doesn't take and take and never give back. He would never let me put my happiness in jeopardy, just for him. Certainly not for a quick screw and definitely not long term. He would never do that to me."
Truman took the hit, and it was a big one. He looked away, guilt making his whole body sag, before he caught himself and straightened up. Was this all it took? A good verbal ass kicking for him to find his strength?
All my angry energy was replaced with guilt-laced sadness. I sank down beside him on the bed, facing away as I blew out a breath.
"My God, we are a mess. From day one, we've never gotten a fair break. I've always felt like shit about it, and I think you have, too." I heard him inhale and knew it was true. "But we need to accept it, instead of trying to recreate the opportunity."
I swiped at the tear on my cheek. "I'm sorry, Truman. I am so fucking sorry about so many things."
I picked up my jacket and moved toward his door before I looked back. He was still sitting on the bed, shirtless, lost. I fought the urge to fix that, too. "If you kill yourself, you need to know a part of me will die with you. I'm begging you, please get some help. Find the path through this, ask your family and friends for support. You aren't alone, but I can't be the one to hold your hand anymore."
***
"OK, I'm done. Spill, or I'm not talking to you for the rest of the year. Maybe longer, depending on what you're keeping from me."
I Fell In: A mostly true story about lust, redemption, and true love. Page 20
