Fall to Pieces: A story about addiction and love

by Shari J. Ryan

  “Yeah,” he sighs. “Everything is okay. It’s better than okay, but I feel a little flustered.”

  My face must look as confused as I feel because I have no clue what he’s going to say. “What is it?” I think I sound nervous. I shouldn’t sound worried.

  “Well, you know how I told you my parents adopted me, right?” he continues.

  “Yes, of course,” I tell him.

  “Ever since I was about twenty, I’ve had the desire to adopt—give a child the same opportunity I had. It’s honestly been a bigger focus for me than finding a woman to share my life with.”

  I may have just completely fallen for Chance, hearing his explanation, the shyness he appears to own for interest in something that most men his age might not desire. “You’re an incredible person, Chance.” My hands are resting on my chest because I’m blown away by his kind nature.

  “It’s been a long road without much luck. I’m thirty years old, single, and a blue-collar worker.”

  “You’re perfect,” I say without much thought.

  “You don’t say?” He winks and runs his hand over mine.

  “The world needs more people like you,” I tell him. I’m not trying to be funny, but he’s chuckling at me.

  “Anyway, I got that call this morning—the call I’ve been waiting for, August. They have a little boy who needs a foster home.”

  I’m so close to this subject that it chokes me up. Someone peeking in the windows might think I’m the one who just got this news, but hearing these stories makes me turn to mush.

  “Chance, this is the most wonderful news I’d heard in forever. I’m so happy for you. When do you get to find out more?”

  Chance relaxes at my response and smiles, genuinely. He’s beaming and breathing hard. “Today, at one. August, I’m going nuts inside right now. I just—this is what I’m supposed to do in my life, you know?”

  “I know,” I whisper. I get it. I get it so much. I’m not sure if it’s irony, the way Chance and I met or if it’s the universe working its magic through magnetic forces of attraction, but I think Chance and I need each other.

  “You are going to change that little boy’s life,” I tell him. I know I’ve only known Chance a couple of weeks, but this man has done so much for me, being a stranger at first, and hasn’t given up since. He’s a giver. He’s a rare breed … one who has a heart so big that they want to share it with the world. “Thank you for saying that. Thank you for understanding and being supportive. I needed that.”

  He stares down at his half-eaten scone, smiling in thought. “Chance,” I say. His eyes meet mine. “I think I need you in my life.”

  “Me?” he questions and seems taken aback by the broad look in his eyes.

  “Yeah, you,” I respond, unashamed. “You make me feel different—good. You’re someone I want to be around, and for the right reasons, you know?”

  “You’re saying all this after I tell you I’m diving headfirst into this new life I’ve wanted?”

  “It’s one of the reasons I’m saying it—hearing everything you’d had to say in the last twenty minutes has made me feel a million different things, and all of them make me feel like we’re supposed to be in each other’s lives.” Maybe I’m too forward, too fast. Perhaps I’ve been this charity case like I thought. I don’t have much of a filter, and my thoughts seem to roll off my tongue lately, but life’s short, and there’s no sense in wasting time being vague. “You know, I kinda thought you hated me after the way you acted last night.”

  “I acted like a real idiot the other night.” Chance doesn’t respond right away. I think I definitely might have been too forward. I take a sip of my coffee to break up the silence and stand up from my chair. “I’m just going to use the bathroom real quick.”

  There is a sense of stillness and silence. “Yeah, you did act like an idiot last night, but you know, I followed you for a reason, August. Something has come over me, and I care about you.”

  His words throw me for a loop. I walk by him but gasp as he tugs my arm backward. I’m spun around, cradled in his lap. He sweeps my hair away from my eye, and his gaze locks on mine. “Maybe you wouldn’t keep hating me if I showed you how much I don’t hate you.” I swallow hard, wondering what he’s thinking, wishing I could hear his thoughts out loud.

  I don’t have to wonder anymore when his nose inches toward me and touches the tip of mine. “You’re something special, August Taylor,” he whispers.

  My breaths become weak as his lips gently sweep against mine, as if he’s testing the boundaries. The sensation drives me wild, and the sparks inside of me are bouncing around from head to toe. I close my eyes, falling into his embrace. His lips part and claim mine as if I own the breath he’s trying to catch.

  This man knows how to kiss.

  His lips are firm but plump, and they devour mine with purpose, sending pulsating sensations of electricity through my veins.

  I can’t breathe. I don’t want to breathe. I want to feel dizzy and weak—taken by Chance’s strength.

  His tongue touches mine, the taste of coffee and blueberries enhance the moment. My heart is pounding, my lips are tingling, and my stomach feels like it’s full of tiny little feathers floating around, leaving the sensation of shivers in its path.

  I gasp for air when he pulls away. “I have wanted to kiss you since that night you tried to kiss me, but I needed to wait until the right moment.”

  “Until I wasn’t falling to pieces ...” I follow.

  “Until the tears dried up on that beautiful face of yours,” he responds.

  “I’m sorry for the way we met.” I feel the need to keep explaining that the person sitting in that bar was an imposter—a woman trying to crawl out of a black hole.

  “I’m not sorry. We all fall, August.” I have fallen off the highest cliff, but somehow, I have something to grab onto to keep me from falling any farther.

  “We aren’t all lucky enough to be caught, though.”

  Chance kisses me again and strokes his hand softly across my cheek. “I’ll keep catching you until you find your way again.”

  I wrap my arms around his neck and place my head on his shoulder. “I’m going to try harder to be okay.”

  He holds me against him and kisses the top of my head. “I know you’ll get there.”

  “I’m starting today then,” I tell him, leaning back against the table. “I’m going back to the AA meeting I went to a couple of weeks ago, and I’m telling them my story. I’ll listen to theirs. I’ll use that as therapy.” I want to get better now more than ever, and I will do whatever it takes to get my life back on track.

  I sound like Keegan.

  “I’ll come with you,” he says.

  “You don’t have to do that.” I’m not sure if people bring others to the meetings or if it’s even acceptable. Then again, I’m not exactly the ideal candidate for an AA meeting either, but it feels like somewhere I need to be.

  “I know.” He leans forward and kisses my cheek. “What time is the meeting today?”

  “Ten on Saturdays.”

  “Okay, then. Eat up. We have somewhere to be.”

  My heart feels lighter. My shoulders aren’t tense like usual, and the smile on my face—I’ve missed the sensation of smiling.

  “You have a gorgeous smile, August. God almighty, you should never stop smiling, darlin’.”

  My face heats up, and I stand from his lap. “With compliments like that ... how could a girl not smile?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chance

  I wasn’t sure if I would be allowed inside the AA meeting with August, but from what I’ve heard, they’re open to whatever makes a person feel the most comfortable.

  My gaze keeps falling onto August as we make our way over to the church. I didn’t mean to fall so hard, so fast, especially knowing what she’s going through, but I want nothing more than to be a rock for her. She is something else. Her cheeks are rosy this morning, more so than I�
�ve noticed any night we’ve been together. Maybe it’s from the moments we shared today, or maybe it’s just because she wakes up looking like she just put her makeup on. Whatever the case, I wouldn’t complain about waking up to her beautiful face again—that’s for sure.

  We’re almost to the small church down by Main Street, where the AA meetings run. The white-steepled building is old and a bit run down, but somewhat quaint. It could use a fresh coat of paint and a new roof, but that’s not what it’s all about here.

  There are several cars in the parking lot, which makes me wonder how many people attend AA meetings every day. I’ve often wondered what it might be like to sit in on one. I guess I’m about to find out. August leads the way up the cement steps, bordered by evergreens and fresh flowers. I haven’t been to church in a long time, and the oversized red door in front of us is mildly daunting. “Are you sure you want to do this with me?” August asks. The look on my face might have led her to think I didn’t want to be here with her, rather than facing the fact that I haven’t walked into a church for so long.

  “I’m positive,” I tell her without so much as blinking. “I think I’ve been a bad Christian, though. I don’t remember the last time I’ve been to church,” I tell her quietly.

  “I’m not much better, trust me,” she mutters through the side of her mouth.

  I take the door from her hand, and she walks in onto the black floor mat, taking an immediate right down a narrow side hallway. The stairwell smells like coffee and sweets mixed with moldy, old wood. The inside of this place needs a renovation just as severely as the outside.

  August seems hesitant as we descend the steps. She slows her pace and grips the railing so tightly, the whites of her knuckles show through her fair skin.

  I place my hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay,” I whisper.

  We reach the bottom step and walk into a vast open space, four white walls, several wooden exposed beam pillars, a circle of old-school-style chairs, people chatting quietly in small groups, and a coffee station with muffins. Just how I imagined it would look.

  A woman approaches August right away. “April, I am so happy to see you here again,” she says. “How have you been?”

  April?

  August glances down and interlocks her fingers. “Not great,” she says honestly. “But um, this is my—my friend, Chance. He’s just with me for support. Is that okay?”

  “Absolutely,” the woman says, sounding like a kindergarten teacher speaking in a soothing tone to induce a sense of calm. “We are happy to accommodate anyone’s needs here. Remember, we are a judgment-free zone. We’re all here to listen, share, and give support. Oh, by the way, It’s so nice to meet you, Chance.” “Alana,” I repeat. “It’s a pleasure.” I reach out and shake her frail hand. She seems as though she has her life together by the way she speaks, but her chipped nail polish and stale coffee breath say another story. I notice a slight scent of body odor accompanying her handshake, as well. I wonder if Alana is an alcoholic, too or if she’s just here to help. I’m also curious about how many people in the room are here for themselves or if they’ve come to support a loved one or a friend. I find it interesting that August thought of AA to be a type of therapy, but it seems well thought out and brilliant … people helping other people with the same addiction.

  “April?” I whisper into August’s ear when Alana walks away. “Please don’t tell me you gave me a fake name.” I try to make light of my question, but I’m hoping her name is, in fact, August because I’d hate to start this new relationship/friendship, whatever we are, with a lie.

  “No, no, silly. My name is August. I just don’t want anyone to have my real name here,” she says. I wonder how many people here have given fake names.

  I can understand, seeing her job could be impacted if word got out.

  Alana raises her hands in the air and smiles. “Are we all ready to begin?”

  Without commotion, everyone pauses their conversations and takes a seat in the circle.

  August and I sit down close to Alana, but in between is a teenage boy wearing a black hooded sweatshirt and a pair of torn jeans that should have hit the garbage can a long time ago. He has tattoos covering his hands, rings on most of his fingers, and a bouncing knee.

  On the other side of us is a middle-aged woman with perfectly styled hair, dressed professionally, and seated at a perfect right angle.

  “Who would like to get us started today?” Alana calls out, stirring her gaze around the circle, summoning a volunteer.

  I’m shocked when August throws her hand up in the air. “I would,” she says, pointedly. After spending time with August these past weeks, I’ve come to learn that the more serious her tone is, the more nervous she feels. August forces herself to appear in control when she’s at her weakest.

  Alana smiles with ease. “That’s wonderful,” she says.

  August folds her hands over her lap, squeezing her palms together with what looks like force. “I’m April, and this is my second time here.” August lifts her head to glance around bravely. “I’m not suffering from an addiction to alcohol, but I am suffering from an addiction to alcohol.” At first, her words seem cluttered to me, but when I absorb the meaning of what she said, I find it to be reasonable, considering we’re in the presence of others who are full-fledged alcoholics.

  A soft muttering of whispers waves around the circle. “Keegan Powers, my ex-boyfriend, he used to attend this group.” August’s voice trails off, shaking a bit at the end. I hear her swallow hard, sounding like her throat is absorbing a sharp nail. “He overdosed on pills two weeks ago.”

  Another low hum of sounds. Some of the people in the circle have their hands over their mouths, appearing shocked. Others have a hand on top of their chests. Alana’s lips quiver and her eyes fill with tears. “April,” Alana says softly. “I had no idea. We thought Keegan was doing better. He received a chip recently.”

  “He was doing better until he wasn’t,” August says, sounding respectful but edging on abrupt. “It’s okay,” August says, trying to force a smile.

  It’s not okay.

  “I told Keegan that I couldn’t be with him anymore because he chose alcohol over me, which he had done many years ago. Over the years we spent together, I stuck with him because I wanted to help him get better. Then, I couldn’t do it anymore. I haven’t been in love with Keegan for more than five years. I haven’t wanted to be his friend in over two. There was nothing left. I had been miserably faithful to that man for over a decade. Then he set me free … I guess the only way he knew how.”

  I have the urge to reach over and take August’s hand, but I realize how inappropriate that would be at this moment. “You are brave,” Alana tells her.

  August closes her eyes, her lashes flutter over her cheeks, and she swallows again. “After Keegan passed away, I had the urge to understand what I couldn’t, while he was alive, so I started drinking. I drank as much as I could every day for almost two weeks.” August lets out a small nervous laugh. “I realize that’s nothing to be ashamed of in just two weeks, but what I learned was that whiskey made me forget about my life. I stopped caring for others and myself. It was a break from reality.”

  The reactions from everyone around us are synonymous. There is pain written across all the faces.

  “What did you feel?” Alana asks.

  “I didn’t feel anything, but I saw pain ... the pain I was causing people—family and even strangers. I saw the bottom of a lake after falling in and hitting my head. I saw a warning at work. I saw the evil in people. I saw rock bottom after only two weeks. But the pain hid behind the numbness. It was easier that way.” August breaks her stare from the wall across the room and peers over at me.

  “Then, I made a friend who has been trying to help me the way I always tried to help Keegan. It has meant the world to me, which is confusing when I try to figure out why my devotion didn’t do the same for Keegan.”

  I can’t help but wonder if August is t
ouching anyone’s innermost thoughts in here. It’s hard enough sometimes to see our personal self-destruction, so I can’t imagine how hard it is to see what our choices do to others.

  “You are a courageous woman, April. I admire you for your strength and will to help Keegan. What happened to Keegan was a decision based on his struggles. It had nothing to do with you. You need to understand that. We all know that drinking doesn’t solve anything—it’s an escape, not a solution.”

  “I’m sorry if I don’t belong here,” August says. “I felt like I was drowning in misery, and even though it was only a two-week bender, I started feeling the urge to keep drinking, and I don’t want to feel that again.

  The one thing that came out of this experience, which I’m not sure is good or bad, is that I have a better understanding of how hard it must have been for him to try to stop drinking.”

  Everyone in the group claps, and it surprises me. “Take Keegan’s second chance and live the way you wish he would have,” the woman next to me says.

  “Who else would like to share?” Alana asks.

  August sits back into her chair and releases a breath. I reach over and run my fingers through her hair, reminding her I’m here, and I will stay by her side.

  The next forty-five minutes fly by with stories I never imagined hearing, and it makes me wonder how many of the nightly patrons at Kenny’s are going through the same thing. There was a time when I wondered if people thought I might have a drinking problem due to my nightly routine at Kenny’s, but I stopped caring because I know the real reason; I don’t want to eat alone.

  When we arrive back at August’s Jeep behind Kenny’s, I can’t help feeling a million different things. I wish I could bring August with me to my meeting too, but I can’t. It’s something I must do on my own. Having someone I could share my excitement with this morning was new and more than I could have wanted. I don’t remember the last time someone has been happy for me or supported me the way she did.