We All Fall Down

by Nic Sheff

  I flick my still-burning cigarette against the off-white stucco wall. Sparks pop in the air like red and orange flares. I crush the smoldering end down to burned ash with the toe of my sneaker. My eyes stay fixed on the edge of the wall there, where it meets the bland, nothing stone.

  Inhale.

  Hold the breath in.

  Exhale.

  Long… calm and slow.

  “The point is,” I say, steadying myself, “they rely on fear to control us. And they control us to take our money and boost their own egos. But people like you ’n’ me, Sue Ellen, we threaten their system. If they don’t make an example outta us, all this false sense of power they’ve created will be totally gone—and then ain’t no one gonna pay them shit. You understand? They’re just trying to scare us. But the truth is, I fucking love you. So how could that possibly be wrong? I mean, I know for damn sure the only way I’m gonna stay sober is if I’m able to build a life that I want to hold on to—that I want to fight for. We can build a life that’s worth living. And not one of ’em can even touch us.”

  My knees crack as I crouch down next to her, looking up at her face all flushed with crying. “Hey,” I tell her. “It’s okay. I mean, fuck ’em, right?”

  She sniffs some snot up into her nose—smiling even—hiccuping.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I know you’re right. I really do love you, Nic. You’ve made me excited about life again. I honestly didn’t think that was even possible. Having to be away from you, well, I can’t imagine it. You make me feel good. I don’t know what could possibly be wrong with that.”

  She stands awkwardly, pulling at my arm as she starts toward the door—her hands pale and delicate—an almost weightless pressure.

  “Come on, Nic, hurry. If Sam or David sees me, I’m so goddamn dead. They just spent the last hour lecturing me about how I should refuse to even speak to you.”

  “Yeah,” I tell her. “I got a little of that myself from Jason.”

  She puts her key card in the electric lock, pulling it out quickly so the light flashes green, and she turns the handle and the door swings open and we step inside—safe and hidden from the world.

  The room is laid out exactly the same as Jason’s, right above it—with the same furniture and dark, tacky, worn-out carpet. But unlike Jason’s immaculate, perfectly ordered bedroom and attached mini-kitchen, Sue Ellen’s room is already a mess of clothing and books and magazines and CDs everywhere. Honestly, I’m not sure how it was even possible for her to have trashed the place so goddamn quickly—though she obviously managed it all right. I mean, not that it bothers me any. I’m sure if it were my room, it’d end up looking the same way—except that I don’t own half as much shit as she does.

  As it is, I end up having to throw a bunch of her clothes on the bed just so I can sit on the small foldout couch—stitched in a coarse fabric like the kind used for seat covers on a goddamn airplane.

  I pull Sue Ellen down next to me.

  This time, we kiss for real.

  I put my hand against the warmth of her neck—feeling the arteries there tap-tapping hard against the skin’s surface.

  Faster and faster.

  All the blood in me flows down between my legs as the pressure builds with its own pulse, fucking sore and growing painful.

  I almost decide to go masturbate in the bathroom real quick so I can just think straight. Besides, I absolutely do not want to have sex with her tonight. It’s too soon—too weighted with crass, embarrassingly pathetic need—as though all this has just been about satisfying a need to fuck and gratify our own stupid egos. Having sex tonight would be like admitting defeat to the counselors and everyone else who’re all so condescending and dismissive. This is not about sex. This is not about fucking the pain away. This is about two people following their hearts, even when the whole goddamn world is working against them. This is supposed to be like storybook love, right? I mean, this is supposed to be one of those loves worth risking everything for. And, yeah, having sex on our first night together would definitely cheapen all that.

  And, besides, that’s totally not what this shit with Sue Ellen’s all about.

  I mean, it’s so much more than just sex and physical desire and whatever.

  We kiss each other.

  Her pale, pale skin is flushed all over.

  Her green-blue eyes are blurred with tears.

  “What are we gonna do?” she whispers. “What the hell are we gonna do?”

  She cries against my shoulder, and I can feel the wet soaking through my T-shirt.

  “Hey,” I say. “Hey, it’s okay. I love you. That’s all that matters. We’re gonna be together. I’ll come to Charleston. I don’t even care. I’ll stay with you. I’ll get a job. I’ll finish my book. I don’t need anything else. I mean, all I need is you.”

  She cries even harder at that—her nose snotty, her eyes, cheeks, and mouth all swollen.

  I rub her back like you would a small child’s—tracing and retracing the contours of her spine.

  “But you won’t be able to,” she whimpers. “You don’t have any money.”

  My hands grip her tighter. “What about your mom? You think she might be willing to help me get a ticket if I promise to pay her back?”

  She shakes her head. “No. There’s no way. I can’t ask her that.”

  We stay silent for a minute before I can think of anything.

  “Well, what if she rented you a car? We could drive to Charleston and drop it off there. That’d be awesome. I’ve never seen any of that country down there.”

  Sue Ellen sits up all at once, tucking her hair back behind her ears. “Hey, that’s a really good idea. I bet that won’t be any more expensive than a plane ticket.”

  “Totally,” I say. “But, even if not, I’m sure I can borrow the money from someone to get a flight from here. You don’t have to worry. I mean, it’ll be fine.”

  She lets herself fall down on top of me again, nuzzling her head into the curve of my neck like a cat would. “And you’ll be all right just living with me in the South. It’s gonna be a whole different world than you’re used to. And, I hate to tell you this, but you’re gonna stick out like a sore thumb down there.” She laughs like crazy. “I hope you’re okay with that.”

  I go on and laugh along with her. “Yeah, I gotta admit, I never in my life ever thought I’d end up living in South Carolina. But, honestly, as long as I’m with you, I don’t care where I live. We could move into a goddamn cardboard box, for all I care. It’s you, Sue Ellen. I mean, you’ve given me a reason. You understand?”

  She burrows in closer to me. She tells me she loves me.

  I run my hands through her hair. “It’s gonna be okay,” I say—over and over—as an electrical pulse surges through the wiring of my veins. I feel nausea all in my throat—everything burning—dizzy—teetering.

  “It’s gonna be okay.”

  I swallow it all down. I mean, what else can I do?

  This is my life.

  Fuck if I know how I got myself here.

  But here I am.

  When I was a kid, the grown-ups told me I could accomplish anything if I just set my mind to it.

  So what have I accomplished?

  Survival.

  And the only thing I can hope for now is just to make shit not suck so goddamn hard.

  So I might as well try ’n’ believe this is what I really want.

  Because it is, you know?

  It really is.

  I mean, it’s gonna be okay.

  It’s gonna be okay.

  It’s gonna be okay.

  I’m going to worship Sue Ellen like I did Zelda.

  I’m going to make her matter just as much to me.

  So I guide Sue Ellen over to the bed and lie her down on her stomach—legs pressed together so I can straddle her from behind. I gather her long hair up in my hand, draping it off to the side so her long, pale neck is exposed. Her body tenses up beneath me—both in fear
and anticipation.

  I kiss gently behind her ear.

  I kiss down her whole body.

  I kiss her all over.

  As hours pass.

  And then we do make love—even though I hadn’t wanted to.

  And we make love again.

  And we talk and talk.

  And we kiss each other.

  And we make love again.

  And we don’t sleep.

  Until it’s morning.

  And finally we pass out.

  But then there is a pounding at the door—loud and hard and relentless. I ignore it for as long as I can, but the knocking just won’t stop. Standing up fast, I feel the blood rush out of my head so I almost go unconscious. I feel sick and shaky. The world’s turning a whole lot faster than it should be.

  A ball of white, glaring light makes me flinch as I open the door. I’ve got a sheet wrapped around my waist, but that’s all.

  “What?” I ask, stupidly—still half-blind.

  It’s Jason, of course.

  Seven thirty in the morning, and he’s already screaming at me.

  “This is it, Nic. I’m through with you. Here’s your shit. Now, I don’t want to talk to you again until you’ve gotten back into treatment somewhere, is that clear?”

  He’s sort of piled my guitar and suitcase next to the door, so I start dragging the shit in, saying, “Believe me, man, that’s not gonna be a problem.”

  Jason’s jerking all around almost like a goddamn tweak head.

  “Yeah, well, you’re setting yourself up for a big fall, man. And the most unforgivable thing is that you’ve decided to take Sue Ellen with you.”

  I can’t help but freeze up for a second at that.

  “Look, Jason,” I say, turning to face him. “I know where you’re coming from. I mean, this is your first time in treatment, so I get why you’ve bought into it so goddamn blindly. But one day, man, I swear, you’re gonna look back on all this and be embarrassed as hell. You’ll go back out there in the real world and you’ll get some perspective and you’ll realize what a total jackass you’ve been. You might even remember how to think for yourself again.”

  I blink, blink the world in and out of focus—trying to remember just where the hell I was going with all this.

  “Anyway,” I stammer. “It’s gotta feel pretty good knowing how goddamn right you are.”

  Jason runs his fingers through his overly gelled, greasy-looking hair. “I don’t have to listen to this shit,” he tells me.

  For once I actually agree with him.

  “All right, then, thanks for everything,” I answer. “Why don’t you go process this shit in group, or whatever? I’m sure they’ll tell you just exactly what you want to hear.”

  I slam the door in his face—my whole body trembling. My heart all sped up. My breathing strained. A pain in my stomach makes me double over as if a knife’s been buried in there. I crawl back into bed under the rough cotton sheets.

  Sue Ellen must’ve slept through the whole goddamn thing.

  I press up against the warmth of her bare skin, feeling the steady rhythm of her lungs contracting.

  Expanding.

  Contracting.

  I close my eyes.

  Her body twitches and stretches and turns and turns again.

  I pray for sleep.

  It still won’t come.

  Ch.14

  The plane lurches to one side, and I hear someone a couple of seats ahead gasp real loudly, shrieking, “Oh my God!”

  Looking through the thick, scratched plastic window, I see nothing but perfect square parcels of desert flatland. The window across the aisle shows only cloudless sky.

  The plane bucks—convulsing—racked with bursts of seizure.

  Different passengers start yelling and pleading and whimpering.

  I hear their desperate breathing all around me.

  The plane shakes and drops a bunch of altitude all at once.

  Honestly, I’m just praying the fucking thing will go down.

  I mean, how amazing would that be? To have the decision made for me by some act of fate. No more struggling. No more trying to decide whether life is actually worth living anymore. No more holding on to that stupid, completely unrealistic, tiny parasite of hope that won’t stop spawning in my blood—driving me forward when I should’ve ended it all a long-ass time ago.

  The plane stutters, lurches, kicks, and stalls.

  I’m waiting for the fall, praying. A chance at a good death.

  No ODs, sexual violence, suicide, or disease.

  Me and all the other passengers, the same—innocent.

  But, of course, we’re not the same at all.

  I hear them panicking—praying for life—both aloud and silent.

  “Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.”

  The two people sitting next to me are grabbing their armrests, faces gone colorless, sweating, heads bent back toward the sky—eyes closed—the veins and tendons in their necks all bulging out.

  Someone yells, “Fuck,” a couple of rows up as the plane hits a mass of tremors—the overhead compartments bursting open all at once, so our luggage and coats and things are dumped out into the aisles.

  There are tears and sobbing all around me.

  I hear it. I hear them screaming. And it’s no good.

  I don’t want to die like this—with all these frightened people clinging to their lives like they really do have something to live for.

  And who am I to say otherwise?

  Most people want to live and, honestly, I’ve really never been able to figure that one out. I mean, most people are lonely and lost and broke and frightened. Most people are deep in debt, with shit jobs or no jobs and no health care and no shot at the future. But yet they still wanna live. I don’t get it. I don’t. Somehow they’ve found a reason. Somehow I’ve never found mine.

  Maybe I never will.

  I stare out the scratched window—trying hard not to look at anyone—imagining how my family will take the news of my death. Hell, they’ll probably be relieved. I mean, no more worrying. No more disappointments. No more borrowing money to pay for my rehab. No more dealing with my bullshit.

  The plane drops a couple hundred feet, and a bunch of overhead compartments open all at once.

  I’m ready—fucking ready.

  But then, suddenly, inexplicably, the shaking stops. We’ve leveled out. We’re flying straight. The sobbing and praying came through for them. We’re going to live. Or, at least, the airplane’s not gonna kill us. The captain makes an announcement over the loudspeaker apologizing and reassuring us—trying to keep us calm with some dumb pilot-talking-over-the-loudspeaker humor. The passengers laugh hesitantly. They sigh and wipe their faces and start nervously half whispering to one another. Hell, I guess I’m happy for them. I mean, I’m probably even happy for myself—in spite of everything. ’Cause, yeah, that stupid hope is inside of me, too. I’m just like everybody else. Everything has fallen apart, but I still don’t have the common sense to just give up already. Instead, I boarded the plane—not to Charleston, South Carolina, but to Albuquerque, New Mexico. The goddamn head of the Gallup House is gonna meet me at the airport. I fucking gave in.

  Honestly, though, I was outta options. Aside from trying to hitchhike clear across the goddamn country, Gallup House was the only shelter I was gonna get.

  Sue Ellen’s mom wouldn’t go for the whole rental-car idea, and she wasn’t gonna pay for my flight, either.

  I asked to borrow money from some old friends in LA—and, of course, from my mom and dad—but I knew I wasn’t gonna get a fucking penny.

  The days of people bailing me out are gone forever. Everyone’s tired of my shit. And they’ve all but given up on the possibility that I might actually change. To them, man, I’m done. Lost and not coming back.

  But there is one person who still believes in me—probably just ’cause I haven’t had the chance to hurt her yet.

  Sue Ellen wants to help me. To
o bad she’s got no money of her own.

  Still, she did manage to convince her mom to pay for a room at a Super 8 motel near the airport, so at least we didn’t have to separate immediately. We holed up there for about three days—doing pretty much nothing but making love and talking and watching movies on Sue Ellen’s computer.

  The room was tiny and stank of sweat and stale smoke and fresh smoke. The walls were painted a pale yellow and covered with brown splotches like grease stains. The sheets were coarse and all twisted up around us—the tattered wool blankets heaped on the floor—smoke from our burning cigarettes filling the air, thick and suffocating. Our clothes were strewn everywhere. We’d stay locked in there for maybe fifteen or sixteen hours at a time. We talked and talked and talked and talked. And if I’d ever doubted it, I mean, after all that, I know I really could grow to love her.

  But I guess all that’s gonna have to wait.

  I mean, we can still make plans to be together, even if I’m pretty sure we both know it’ll never happen. I’m lookin’ at a year in New Mexico with nothing but a bunch of recovering alcoholic men. Hell, and who am I kidding? It’ll be a year if I’m lucky. It’s not like I’m gonna make enough money there to strike out on my own. Nah, I’m at the mercy of my fucking father. And he’ll just do whatever the counselor people tell him. So I could keep getting bounced around from one center to the next for the rest of my goddamn life. I’m sure my dad thinks that’s exactly what I need. At least he’ll sleep better that way—and be able to devote all his attention to his real kids.

  But for now, yeah, I’m gonna try with Sue Ellen. She bought me a calling card before I left, and I promised to phone her every day—which I will, I mean, I want to.

  At the airport, man, she cried so hard. She held on to me and cried and cried, and I wanted to cry, too, but for some reason I just couldn’t. I forced myself to walk away, down the corridor to my gate, and I swore I wouldn’t look back, but then I did and I felt my stomach squeezed so tight the crying finally came. She was still watching me go, and I wanted to tear off my skin and cut myself deep, up and down both arms, and rip my eyes out. I mean, Jesus Christ, it’s just not fair. We actually had a shot together—a shot at a life we both maybe wanted to live. But now… fuck, now we’ve got nothing.