Fall to Pieces: A story about addiction and love

by Shari J. Ryan

  The bathroom was first on my list, but the door was closed, which it never is, even when we’re both here. I knock first, but there’s no answer, so I twisted the knob, pushing my way inside.

  Something was resting against the back of the door, blocking me from stepping in without using force.

  The bathmat sometimes gets stuck, a towel falls off the rack from the back of the door, or the man I had devoted myself to for thirteen years chose to end his life in our bathroom, behind the door.

  I don’t know anyone who might stop and think about what they’d do in a similar situation, or how they may react.

  We’ve been together just less than half my life. We became friends sophomore year in high school, then turned into high school sweethearts, and recklessly followed each other to college. He dropped out; I stayed in school. He got a job, supported us while I got my degree, and we’ve been cohabiting ever since.

  As I sat Indian style in front of Keegan’s body, I ran my fingers through the loose caramel curls that framed his face so perfectly, making him look like a hybrid of a young Keanu Reeves and Adrian Grenier.

  It was a long minute before a sharp pain plunged through the core of my body. My muscles tightened and my lungs felt flat—air was not flowing the way it should. I rocked back and forth gently, cradling the man I was supposed to have forever. A shriek spilled from my aching lungs and a heavy sob, rooted from the bottom of my stomach quaked through my body until I was completely numb and breathless. “Why?” I cried out. “Why would you do this?” I pressed my cheek against his, feeling the lifeless chill of his skin. “We could have had a life together. You only had to do one thing. Fix yourself. Dying wasn’t the answer, Keegan.”

  I used the side of my hand and a gentle sweeping motion to close his eyelids, hiding his lifeless hazel eyes. I reached up to the counter for one of the empty pill bottles and replaced the extra contents he didn’t use. With slow, ghostly movements, I pushed myself up to my feet and made my way back toward the front door to retrieve my phone. It’s as if my steps were rehearsed and practiced many times before. With my phone in hand, I realized the pain in my stomach subsided. I moved into the kitchen where I like to take my calls. I pulled a stool up to the counter between the fridge and the stove, but I couldn’t place my elbows down because of the mess Keegan left behind; three empty whiskey bottles that weren’t in the apartment yesterday morning. Three empty whiskey bottles that weren’t enough to do the trick.

  Next to the bottles was Keegan’s red chip with the number six embossed on white paint. It was the longest span of time he went without drinking, but in less than a week’s time, the chip lost its meaning.

  I was tired of helping.

  I blame him, but I still don’t understand.

  For so many years, I asked Keegan which he loved more … whiskey, or me. He always answered correctly and would say, “Of course, I love you more, baby. What kind of question is that?” I knew the real answer. I didn’t hurt him like whiskey did, but whiskey gave him more than I could. Whiskey was stronger than both of us.

  The numbness was still working its way through the nerves of my body, following the slow beat in my heart. I spun around with my phone, ready to call 9-1-1, but then I spotted a note on the kitchen table, a note that wasn’t there when I left for work this morning.

  Dried watermarks stained the yellow note paper.

  Tears.

  Keegan’s tears.

  I shuddered and took in a deep breath as I unfolded the paper with trembling fingers. I closed my eyes for a moment, wishing the note explained how he pulled off this prank and why he chose to fool me like this.

  When my eyes opened, I came to terms with my reality.

  * * *

  Baby, August,

  Doll, you know you are my love. You are my best friend. You have been with me since we were kids, and I don’t know what I would have done without you all that time. That’s the part that’s so selfish right now because I’m forcing you to figure out how to live without me.

  I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m just no good here, causing you grief, heartache, and worry. You know I want the world for you, and I know you would never leave me despite your threats, but it isn’t because you love me, August. I remember our love. Boy, do I remember our crazy love.

  But, your love for me turned into pity, sympathy, and sorrow. I have been destroying your happiness one day at a time, eating it up and spitting it out.

  I tried, Auggie; I tried so damn hard. You must believe me.

  This sickness is stronger than I am, and I can’t do it anymore.

  I’m better off up there with my ma, watching over you, making sure your life is the way it should be. I’m sorry if this doesn’t make any sense to you, and I know suicide is a selfish act, but I can’t fathom the thought of putting you through any more of my problems.

  Auggie, I want you to find a man, a real man, a strong one, not like me. I want you to find someone who makes you smile the way you used to when we were kids. Someone who takes care of you the way you take care of them. You want babies, and I want you to have little Auggie babies with dark hair and baby blue eyes just like yours.

  I said goodbye while you were asleep this morning. I told you I love you. I do love you. I will love you even after I leave this world behind. You changed my soul, and that will stay with me forever, baby.

  Don’t be sad.

  Be happy that I’m not suffering now.

  Love,

  Keegan

  * * *

  I sniffle once and crumple the paper in my hand. “You’re a coward, Keegan. A damn coward. You hear me?” I don’t care who hears me shouting. I don’t care if Keegan can hear me or not. I won’t let him do this to me. “This wasn’t selfless. You could have gotten help. You chose not to. You chose to go to Alcoholics Anonymous meetings and call it a day—thinking it was enough, but you were sick, Keegan, and you needed more help than a meeting. You did this, and I don’t feel sorry for you. I feel sad for you. You lost out on your life.”

  I swallow hard and drop the note back down to the table.

  My thumb sweeps across the keypad of my phone and 9-1-1 appears on the display. My hand shakes as I press the phone to my ear.

  “9-1-1, what is your emergency?”

  “My boyfriend was a damn coward and swallowed a lot of pills. He’s dead.”

  Chapter Three

  Chance

  I hop off the last rung of the ladder and unhinge the locks, yanking the rails down. It’s not supposed to rain for another hour, but the dark clouds are looking a bit ominous, which should make Mrs. Dunn crabbier than she already is.

  The second I slide the ladder into my pickup, the metal storm door of this nineteen-sixties ranch, slams so hard it sounds like the hinge must have rusted out at some point over the last thirty years, just like the roof that has needed replacing for at least ten.

  “Mr. Miller,” she calls out, waving a dish towel at me as if I was on fire. “Hold on now.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Dunn. What can I do for you?”

  As she makes her way over to my truck, she spins around on the heels of her pink slide-on slippers and stares up at the roof of her house. “Does that look more like Cedar Falls than Adobe Sunset?”

  Dear God. Give it up, old lady. “No, ma’am, that there is Adobe Sunset.” I don’t have any of the packaging left with me because I had a debris pick up a few hours ago and the rest of the shingles won’t be here until the morning.

  “I did ask for Adobe Sunset, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, ma’am, you did, and I assure you Adobe Sunset is what’s on your roof. In fact, Cedar Falls has a touch more gray mixed into it.”

  “Well, it looks gray to me.”

  The clouds are coming in quickly and casting a shadow over everything including the trees that have become a couple of shades darker in the time Mrs. Dunn and I have been speaking.

  “I will save the packaging tomorrow and make sure to show you that the shingles a
re, in fact, Adobe Sunset.”

  Mrs. Dunn places her hand on her cheek, shaking her head with disdain. “Thank you, dear. Also, I thought you would have gotten a bit more done today, no?”

  I run the back of my arm across my forehead, stopping the sweat that’s beading up on my forehead from dripping into my eyes. “I got as much done as I could e, Mrs. Dunn. I had some trouble stripping the original shingles.”

  “Okay then, we’ll see some more progress tomorrow,” she states, affirmatively.

  “Yes, ma’am, my partner will join me tomorrow too, so we should be able to finish up quickly for you.”

  “Is your friend insured, Mr. Miller?”

  “Yes, ma’am, Davey works for me.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means he is insured, Mrs. Dunn.”

  She gives a thumbs-up as if I said the magic words she needed to hear. “Okay then, have a nice night, Mr. Miller.”

  I give the old lady a quick solute and hop into my truck, groaning along the way. I got into this business because the thought of working alone on top of roofs sounded like a dream. The work part is great, but the customers are a bit of a nightmare at times.

  “Siri, call Pops.”

  The moment I pull away from Mrs. Dunn’s house, I press on my breaks, noticing a bunch of grade school kids playing in the street. I didn’t think kids did that anymore. I also see their moms chit-chatting at the bottom of their driveways, and dads mowing their lawns. It’s the way life should be.

  Just not my life.

  “Calling, Pops,” Siri repeats.

  “How ya doin’, son,” Pops grumbles into the phone.

  “Not bad. Do you or Ma need anything before I grab a bite to eat?”

  Pops clears the phlegm out of his throat. “No, no, we’re fine, son. Go on and eat dinner. Tomorrow night, I have someone coming to fix the oven though. Your ma is about to kick my ass out of the house if I don’t have that taken care of soon.”

  “What’s the matter with the oven?” I ask him.

  “It’s broken. How am I supposed to know?”

  I toss my head back against the cushioned seat and shake my head. The Challenges with Ma and Pops aren’t getting any easier, and I know it will only get worse the older they get.

  “I’ll stop by after work tomorrow then,” I tell him. I don’t want some repair guy taking them for a ride as usual when I’m not around.

  “Whatever,” Pops says, sounding irritated that he can’t do this stuff himself anymore. That’s life, though.

  The dirt crunches beneath my tires as I pull into Kenny’s. The place is filling up fast tonight considering it’s barely six o’clock.

  I stop the truck and take in a long breath, fixating on the pine smell from my air freshener. It’s better than the rubber coating on a shingle. I push through the dream of eating a home cooked meal and head inside for my nightly burger.

  The bells on the door hardly get through a full chime when Luke shouts my name like I’m royalty walking through the door.

  “How’s it hangin’, man?” I grab my usual wooden stool at the bar and ease down, favoring a sore spot on the left side of my lower back. Thirty isn’t being good to me. My body must be ticked off after spending half my life doing hard labor, but I know the second I stop moving, age will really kick my ass.

  Luke leans into his elbows like he’s taking a quick breather to say, hey. “Dude, that chick is back,” he says. We haven’t discussed this situation, but we’ve seen our share of weird goings on in this bar. It’s just not usually a pretty, young woman.

  “Hmm that’s odd,” I tell him.

  “There’s something about her,” Luke continues.

  “Like what? She looks pissed off. I don’t think that’s weird.”

  “No, there’s something more ... something dark brewing in those blue eyes and I’m determined to find out what that is.”

  I lightly slap my hand against Luke’s cheek. “Don’t go fallin’ in love with her. Annabelle may not be pleased when you get home.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” Luke says with a roll of his eyes. He pushes off the bar top and opens the swinging door behind him. “A bison burger, no cheese, no onions, medium well,” he yells back there.

  “Hey, Chance!” I hear from the kitchen. Freddy runs the grill and knows I’m here by the sound of my order.

  “That doesn’t sound appetizing,” Snow White peeps up from the corner of the bar.

  “Excuse me?” I reply.

  “No cheese and medium well?”

  “I like my burger dry. You got a problem with that?”

  “If you like hard, dry burgers, that’s your deal, not mine.”

  “Well, it seems like you’re making it your deal now.”

  “Pretend I didn’t say anything,” she says.

  “Will do,” I tell her, with a quick nod of my head.

  “Dude, don’t piss the chick off. I told you, there’s darkness in those eyes,” Luke mutters in my direction.

  I shoo him off and take my phone out of my pocket to catch up on social media. Lord only knows what I’ve missed in Facebookland.

  Just as I get the app open, a bottle of Ketchup lands in my lap after skidding down the bar like it’s a runway.

  “What in the—” I snap. “Did you just throw me a bottle of Ketchup?”

  “I can’t sit near you, knowing you’re eating a dry burger without cheese. For the love of food, at least put some ketchup on that thing.”

  “Thanks, darlin’, but I’ll survive without the condiments.” Snow White snarls at me like I just ate a toenail, and it’s mildly entertaining.

  As if a channel switched in her head, August breaks eye contact and directs her attention to her oversized bag, yanking out a notebook and a pen.

  “Darkness,” Luke hums.

  I’m not sure I’d call a scene with a girl writing in a notebook, darkness, but it’s a bit odd for this place.

  By time my burger ready, August is in the zone and pays no attention to my hard, dry burger. Luke places a Bud Light in front of me and a set of silverware. “Bon Appetit, dude.”

  “Excuse me,” August calls out. She’s calling for Luke this time. “May I have another drink? Something different, but still whiskey.”

  “You’ve already had two. Are you driving anywhere tonight?” Luke asks her.

  “How is that any of your business?” she replies.

  “The safety of my patrons is my business, miss.”

  “No, I’m not driving anywhere. Thank you for your concern, though.”

  Luke gives me a side eye as if he’s still trying to prove his point that the girl is nuts. I raise a brow in response.

  “Not that one,” August says.

  “Okay, which one then?” Luke replies.

  “Anything but that one.”

  Luke tosses his head back with annoyance and grabs another bottle, quickly filling the glass a third of the way. He places it down in front of August and turns around to ring the drink into the register.

  “Thank you,” August says.

  “My pleasure.”

  I watch her take the drink as if it’s a form of entertainment. She downs the glass in less than thirty seconds, squinting, clenching her jaw muscles, and grabbing her throat as the liquid goes down. What is this woman doing?

  “Another,” she calls out.

  “Uh, you said your name is August, right?” I call down to her.

  She shrugs. “Good memory. How’s your dry burger?”

  “It’s dry,” I relent.

  “I figured,” she says.

  “Did you enjoy the malt or the rye more?” I ask her.

  “The what?” she questions, a puzzled look swimming through her doe-like eyes.

  “Which one of the whiskeys do you prefer?” I take a fry from my plate to munch on while waiting for her response.

  “Oh,” she says, understanding my question. “I don't enjoy either of them.”

  I press
my lips into a firm line, feeling my eyebrows knit together as I try to make sense of what she’s trying to accomplish.

  “Could I have another of this one,” August asks Luke as he walks by.

  He leans over the bar, keeping his voice quiet as he offers her a glass of water instead of whiskey. However, I assume he’s laying on the charm, so she doesn’t punch him in the face.

  “Water?” she asks through laughter, then curls a short strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re insulting me.”

  “Well, I apologize,” Luke replies.

  “Another whiskey, please.”

  “What’s that letter for?” Luke presses. He’s just asking for trouble now.

  “I don’t think it’s any of your business.”

  “Technically, since you’re under my roof, I am responsible for the condition you’re in when you walk on out of here. So just tell me that ain’t some kind of suicide note?”

  August drops her pen onto the paper, and her hands fall to her lap. Luke can’t see that she’s digging her fingernails into her knees. “Why would I do something stupid like that?”

  Luke holds his hand up to his chest. “You’re right. I don’t know you well enough to answer that question.”

  “Thanks for nothing,” she says, taking her notebook and pen, tossing them into her bag and hops off the stool.

  I should say something, but I have no idea what that is. What if it is a suicide note?

  I hold up my finger to Luke who looks washed out. “Give me a minute,” I tell him as the bar’s door crashes shut behind August.

  I hop down from my stool and follow her, realizing I’m asking for trouble.

  She’s fishing for something in her bag, and I wouldn’t be surprised to see her pull out a set of car keys even after telling Luke she isn’t driving.

  I was wrong, though.