Текст книги "Falling "
Автор книги: E. K. Blair
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Текущая страница: 1 (всего у книги 29 страниц)
Copyright © 2013 by E. K. Blair
Cover Design by E.K. Blair
Editing by Lisa Christman, Adept Edits
Interior design by Angela McLaurin, Fictional Formats
https://www.facebook.com/FictionalFormats
Photography by Andrei Vishnyakov
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-578-13351-5
prologue
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
chapter six
chapter seven
chapter eight
chapter nine
chapter ten
chapter eleven
chapter twelve
chapter thirteen
chapter fourteen
chapter fifteen
chapter sixteen
chapter seventeen
chapter eighteen
chapter nineteen
chapter twenty
chapter twenty-one
chapter twenty-two
chapter twenty-three
chapter twenty-four
chapter twenty-five
chapter twenty-six
chapter twenty-seven
chapter twenty-eight
chapter twenty-nine
chapter thirty
chapter thirty-one
chapter thirty-two
chapter thirty-three
chapter thirty-four
chapter thirty-five
chapter thirty-six
chapter thirty-seven
chapter thirty-eight
chapter thirty-nine
chapter forty
chapter forty-one
chapter forty-two
chapter forty-three
chapter forty-four
chapter forty-five
chapter forty-six
chapter forty-seven
chapter forty-eight
chapter forty-nine
chapter fifty
chapter fifty-one
epilogue
acknowledgements
For my husband
No fall could ever compare to the one I had with you.
Two pills. Two fuckin’ blue pills. I swore I’d stop this shit, but I can’t stand the pain that still radiates in the back of my head where he shattered his beer bottle the other night. I hate that I’m just like him—dependent on this shit. Fuck it.
Tossing them into my mouth, I pour the cheap tequila down my throat and relish the burn that singes in my chest. My body falls lifelessly back onto the bed while the muffled music pounds through the walls.
“Give me some,” Rene says. Or is it Rachel? Who the hell cares? She pulls the bottle out of my hand and takes a draw of the amber liquid.
Handing it back to me, all I see is a hazy shadow as I feel her crawl on top of me. This chick leeched herself to me when I walked into this party earlier. I knew she’d be an easy lay, and when she shoves her hand down my pants and grabs my dick, she proves me right.
I don’t even try to focus as my body starts to weigh down from the effects of the pills. I love this feeling. Numb. Heavy. Warm. Hazy. It takes me over, and I don’t even realize that this girl is now fucking me until I look up. Closing my eyes, I begin to drift. Drift from the hell that consumes me. It’s Saturday night. The night he stays out late drinking just to come home and impale everything he hates about his life into me.
Waking up, head still heavy, vision clearer, I sit on the edge of the bed. I look over my shoulder and see some redhead, naked, sleeping. Who is she? I don’t remember what happened, but I know we screwed because my pants are flung across the room, and I see the used condom on the floor.
My watch says it’s after one in the morning, and I need to get home. Pulling on my pants, I stumble slightly as I make my way through the house filled with people I barely know, drinking, dancing, making out.
When I start my car, I know I shouldn’t be driving, but I also know that I need to go because my dad normally drags his drunk-ass in around this time. I hate knowing that my mom will be there alone with him.
Pulling up to the dark grey, two-story house I have always lived in, I can’t help but think about how the impeccably manicured structure is simply a mask for the madness that lives within. My stomach clenches when I see his truck in the driveway. I shut the car off and rush inside, but I know I’m too late when I hear my mother crying. Bolting through the house and into the kitchen, I get there just in time to see my dad swinging his arm around and smashing a coffee mug into the side of her head. Turning to face me, her face is void as she falls to the floor, blood everywhere.
“What are you looking at, you piece of shit?” he spits at me, and I fuckin’ lose it.
My body roils with vengeance when I charge at him, and we tumble, crashing to the floor. Rage takes over as I begin to pound my fists into his face relentlessly. Over and over. Skin splitting. Blood gushing. The sounds of my mom screaming and the grunts I force out with every blow to his face are a distant echo in my head.
He thrashes beneath me, but I don’t stop. I know I’m gonna kill him, and I hope I do. My teeth snap shut when he drives his palm into my jaw, causing me to bite my tongue. He continues to fight his way out from under me, flailing his arms, and dumping shit everywhere when he yanks one of the kitchen drawers out of its tracks.
My mouth fills with blood, and just when I spit it into his face, I fall over onto the floor.
“Fuck!” I scream through gritted teeth as I grab my side. I hear the clatter of metal falling to the ground and watch my father’s black boots stumbling away from me.
Cold shivers prick at my body, and my vision fades as my breathing becomes more and more shallow. My mother’s warm arms scoop my shoulders onto her lap as she cries, and I let my head fall to the side. When I see the bloody butcher’s knife, I lift my shaking hand that’s clutched to my side and raise it in front of my face. All I see is red.
I wake up the next morning, body sore and twenty-seven stitches in my side, along my ribs, where that son of a bitch stabbed me last night. Sitting up, I flinch against the stinging flesh. My mom is still asleep. I made her stay in my bed last night in case my father came back home, which he didn’t.
I quietly make my way downstairs and feel the guilt from everything that happened last night flood through my veins. If I’d never gone out, my mother probably wouldn’t be sleeping in my bed with a concussion and stitches in her head.
I’ve been so selfish lately and getting too fucked up on ecstasy and alcohol to protect my mom. The drinking, the drugs, the rage that fired through me last night—I’m him. He’s a part of me. He runs through my blood. I hate him. I don’t want to be him, but I am.
Having him consume me like this makes me sick to my stomach, and I swear to God, I will do everything I can to avoid what I fear is destined to be my future. I’ve gotta stop the fuckin’ pills. I’ve gotta . . .
A loud knocking on the door pulls me out of my thoughts, and when I make my way to the front of the house and open the door, two cops are standing there, staring at me with a look I can’t quite make out.
Taking off his hat, one cop asks, “Is this the home of Richard Campbell?”
“Hey, boss. That clown you call your friend is asking for you.”
“I’m finishing up,” I tell Max as I sign off on a few orders. “How long has he been here?”
Standing in the doorway to my office, he answers, “Not long. Half an hour or so.”
I don’t say anything as I finish up my paperwork and toss my pen on the desk, leaning back in my chair with a deep sigh.
“Everything okay?”
“Tired,” I say as I look up at my friend. Max has worked for me for a few years now. He serves as security ever since business picked up at the bar after I bought it out from its previous owner. He’s a good guy and extremely loyal, which makes him a commodity I can’t afford to lose. Beneath his shaved head and insane build that intimidates most people that walk through the doors here, he’s got a big heart.
“Call it a night, man. It’s late, and you’ve been up here all day.”
“Yeah.” I push back from my desk and stand up, making my way out of the office. When I pass Max, I clap his back, saying, “I’m gonna go talk to Gav then head out.”
Max follows as we walk down the stairs and into the bar that I’ve owned since I graduated from the University of Washington. This place has become a second home to me. It’s where I spend most of my time.
Bumping shoulders through the crowd of people, I spot my old college buddy, Gavin, tossing back a bottle of beer.
“Ryan, dude? Where the hell have you been?”
“Working.”
“Mel!” he shouts over to one of the bar girls. “Get this old man a beer.”
“No, Mel. I’m good,” I tell her, and she just shakes her head at Gavin, knowing what a partier he is.
“What’s up with you tonight?”
“Tired, man.”
“You not staying?”
Before I can answer, a tall blonde catches my eye as she starts making her way through the crowd and up to the bar. She steps next to me and leans over the bar top to get Mel’s attention, and when I eye her, Gavin mumbles, “Yeah, you’re staying,” all too knowingly.
“Ryan, right?” the blonde asks as she turns to look at me, and when I nod my head, she introduces herself with a slow, “I’m Gina,” trying to sound sexy, but it’s lost on me ‘cause I couldn’t give a shit what her name is. Girls like her are an almost daily occurrence.
“Have we met before or something?” I ask since she already knows who I am.
“Not officially. I’ve seen you around though.” She grins at me as she says this, but her fake tits are too distracting for me to focus on her face. It’s when she giggles that I snap my attention up. “You own this place, right?”
I nod my head again. One thing about me, I’m not much of a talker. I’m a pretty quiet guy for the most part, but with chicks especially, I don’t talk. There’s no need to. I don’t care to delay the inevitable. I’m a straight shooter, and being as tired as I am, I cut the shit and say, “Wanna get to know me better in my office?”
Her smile grows, and I take her hand, leading her to the back stairs. I spot Gavin trying to nail his own bait, and he gives me a cocky grin when he sees me pass by.
We walk into my office, and I close the door, pinning her up against it, clasping her wrists in my hand above her head while I run my other hand up her skirt and between her legs. Letting go of her wrists, she works with my pants, anxious to get them off.
I fumble in my back pocket, and when I retrieve the condom, I quickly rip it open with my teeth, spitting out the shredded foil as she tugs my pants down. I waste no time. Closing my eyes, I shove her panties to the side and take her against the door.
I never care to look too much at the girls I bang. Honestly, I don’t want to connect in any way.
This is me—disconnecting.
Screwing chicks as they come along. I don’t talk. I don’t watch. My escape lasts for as long as it takes for me to get off, then I move on. I’ve been this way my whole life, from a fifteen-year-old freshman in high school to a now twenty-eight-year-old man. I’m emotionally messed up, and I don’t even try to hide it.
Clinging herself to me, legs wrapped around my waist, I bury my head in her neck, and the thick perfume she’s wearing makes me screw her harder, wanting to finish up so I can go home and wash this shit off of me.
Pouring another cup of coffee, trying to wake up before heading out to the gym, my phone starts to ring. I know it’s my mom before I even look. She always calls first thing Sunday morning—predictable.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, honey. How’re you doing?”
Taking my coffee, I walk over and plop down on my couch as I say, “Good. Nothing new.”
“What time do you think you’ll be here tomorrow?” she asks.
“Around two,” I tell her. My mom still lives in Oregon at the same beach house that I grew up in down on Cannon Beach. After high school, I moved here, to Seattle, to go to college, but I still go back home often to visit. “Tori’s gonna come too. Sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. Is that cool?”
“Of course. Is she bringing the kids?”
Taking a sip of my coffee, I laugh and say, “No. She’s going crazy. That’s why I invited her to hang with me for a few days. She’s desperate to escape. She said that Connor has been a nightmare lately, throwing crazy temper tantrums. So she’s going to leave the kids home with Trevor.”
“Oh, dear. Four is such a rough age. I remember when you were four. You were always embarrassing me. You hated wearing pants, so it didn’t matter where we were, you would just strip down bottomless in public for all to see.” She starts laughing, and I can’t help joining in with her when she continues through her chuckles, “I would be so embarrassed, but when I tried getting you to pull up your underwear, you just screamed and drew even more attention.”
“I don’t remember that,” I laugh.
“Well, I do. Eventually, I had to tell you that it was against the law and the police were gonna come get you and throw you in jail if you did it again.”
“Great parenting, Mom!” I say as I shake my head in pure humor. I love hearing these funny stories of my past since most of my memories are ones I wish I could forget.
“Well…” she squeaks out. “I didn’t know what else to say, so I went with scare tactics.”
“Did it work?”
“No,” she says with a soft giggle. “Well, it’ll be great to see the both of you.”
“You too. I’m gonna go hit the gym, but I’ll call you when I’m on my way tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay, dear. Drive safe, and I love you.”
“Love you too, Mom”
I go upstairs to change before I head out to the gym to meet up with Max. We’ve always worked out at the same gym; that’s how we first met. Making sure everything is locked up, I hop into my jeep and make the short drive to the Athletic Club. Max’s car is already in the parking lot when I pull up.
“Hey, boss,” Max shouts through the empty gym. Nobody is ever here on Sunday mornings, so we make it a point to get together at this time.
“What’s up?” I say as I walk over to him. “You been here long?”
“Nah.”
We head towards the indoor track to do a quick run before lifting.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you, but I’m going out of town for a few days, so Michael will be at the bar all week.”
“Going to see your mom?”
“Yeah. Mostly plan on surfing with my cousin,” I say as we make our laps.
“Well, when you get back, I need your help.”
“With what?”
“Traci is moving in, so I need you to help me with her furniture.”
Looking over at him, I question, “She’s moving in?”
Laughing at me, he says, “Ryan, don’t act so surprised. We’re almost thirty. Don’t you think you should slow it down a bit yourself? Find a girl?”
“Nope. You know I don’t do the whole girlfriend thing. Never have. I like being alone.”
“No one likes being alone.”
“I like being alone,” I repeat, but it’s a lie. Truth is, I’ve always been too scared to have a girlfriend. Too scared to allow myself to even have feelings towards someone else. Too scared of putting myself in a situation only to discover the person I believe lives inside of me. A person just like my father.
“Whatever you say,” he teases as we continue our run. “My buddy, Chase, was wondering if we needed his help when classes start up in a few weeks.”
“Working the door?”
“Yeah. He’s a good kid. He’s in school full-time but said he’s free to work evenings.”
Rounding another lap, I tell him, “Yeah. That’ll work. Have him call Michael.” Michael has been managing the bar for the most part lately. Knowing that the bar is in good hands and is running smoothly has allowed me more freedom with my schedule, and the income has been nothing but generous.
After a long workout with Max, I decide to stop by the office and take care of a few things before heading out of town.
“Hey, Mel,” I say as I make my way past the bar to the stairs, and she gives me a flirty wink laced with mockery. Shaking my head at her, I go up to Michael’s office.
“Hey, I thought you were out of town,” he says from behind his desk. Michael started working here at the beginning of the summer. He’s in his mid-thirties with a wife and kids. Dependent on the paycheck I write him, he’s proven to be dependable.
“Tomorrow.” Taking a seat in one of the chairs, I tell him, “Max has a friend that’s gonna be calling you about a job. Check him out, and if he doesn’t work, I need you to find someone who does. We need another guy to work the door. Summer has been a little slow, but shit always kicks up when classes at the university start.”
“Got it,” he says as he files through a stack of orders. “Anything else?”
“Yeah, I need you to start booking out the bands for at least six weeks. I’d really like to find a few we can book steady, so see what you can come up with. You can always call Gavin to see if he has any leads as well.”
“Sure thing. When are you gonna be back?”
“Few days or so,” I respond as I stand up to leave. “You got everything under control?”
“Yeah, man. Don’t worry about things here. I’ll catch you when you get back.”
“It’s about time you got here.”
“Sorry. Got tied up this morning,” I say when I walk through the front door.
“Spare me the details,” Tori teases as she shakes her head before giving me a hug.
Walking into the kitchen, I ask, “Where’s Mom?”
“You just missed her. She ran to the store to get stuff for dinner.”
“Wanna head out so when we get back you women have enough time to cook for me?” I joke while she gives me a jab to my ribs.
Tori is only three years older than me. Our moms are sisters, so we spent a lot of time together growing up. I have three cousins, all girls, but Tori is the closest in age to me and the only one that surfs, so we were pretty inseparable when our families would get together. We’ve always been good friends. She married Trevor in her early twenties and now has two kids. Seeing her as a wife and mother never deters me from giving her shit the same way I did when we were younger.
“You know Indian Beach is going to be insanely busy today,” she tells me.
“Yeah,” I sigh and look out the windows onto Cannon Beach. The waves aren’t hitting as hard here, but they’re big enough. “Let’s stay here then.”
“You sure?”
“We can wake up early and hit Indian tomorrow before the crowds get there.”
Nice weather is short-lived around here. Once the grey skies clear and the rain slows, everyone swarms to the Oregon coast, and Indian Beach is the spot that draws in the most people.
Hopping off the couch, she says, “Sounds good. I’ll go grab my wetsuit.”
We spend the next hour in the water until I hear my mother calling my name up on the beach. Paddling in, I walk out of the water, and my mother knows me too well when she starts taking a couple steps back, but I rush in and wrap my arms around her, soaking her clothes.
She laughs, and when I let go of her, she grumbles, “Now I have to go in and change. Thanks!”
“You’re welcome,” I tease.
Shaking off the mock irritation, she says, “It’s good to see you, honey.”
“You too.”
She tucks a lock of her short blonde hair behind her ear and asks, “How much longer are you guys going to be out here?”
“Not too long.”
She gives me a smile. “Okay. Well, I’ll be inside whenever you two are done,” and turns to go back in.
When I paddle back out, Tori is sitting on her board, and I join her as we bob up and down in the choppy water.
“What’re you doing?” I ask.
“Taking a break,” she responds as she looks out to the setting sun.
I can tell something is bothering her, so I come out and say, “Talk to me, Tor. What’s up?”
She looks over at me, annoyed that I can read her like I do. Letting out a big sigh, she questions, “You ever wonder what it is we’re doing?”
“Meaning?”
“Life,” she says, taking a pause before continuing, “I guess I just thought I would feel more content than I do. Truth is . . . sometimes I feel like I’m too settled. Kids. Husband. Like I’m stuck.”
When she looks over at me, I grab her board, steadying it next to me. “You’re not happy?”
She doesn’t respond.
“No,” I answer for her.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. You’re thinking too much.”
“Are you happy?” she asks.
It’s a loaded question. I’m numb most of the time. Friends are dropping off the scene, settling down with girls, and I’m still doing the same old shit. But the fear outweighs the jealousy, so I don’t get too hung up on the fact that I’m emotionally incapable of having that. I never have had that. Never allowed myself the opportunity. All I know how to do is care for myself. I’m selfish just like he was. I’m not a provider the way a man should be; I’m a taker. I stay disconnected—and take.
“I’m as happy as I can be, I guess.”
Tori never knew about my father, that he was a dick who used to pound his fists into his wife and son. Black eyes, broken ribs, bruises, and concussions. We kept it hidden well, my mother and I. They knew he drank, maybe not as heavily as he did, but that much they knew. Everything else, we never spoke about. Once he died, Mom was determined to start a new life. A life that had nothing to do with our past.
“Do you ever think about settling down?” she asks.
“No,” I respond with forced ease.
“So you’re happy? Having a different girl in your bed every night?”
I laugh. “Every night is an exaggeration, and those chicks aren’t in my bed either. They stay downstairs.”
“How is it that you haven’t gotten the shit beat out of you yet?” she jokes in disgust.
My laughter grows as I say, “Lucky, I guess.”
We sit for a minute or two when I finally ask the kicker, “Are you not happy with Trevor?”
It doesn’t take but a second for her eyes to gloss over as she admits, “I don’t know.” When the tears fall, she reveals, “Maybe it’s supposed to be this way. Maybe what I was expecting just isn’t reality. My reality is . . . I’ve lost myself along the way somehow. Between two kids and not working, I’m just lost. I don’t know of any other word to describe what I feel.”
“What does Trevor say? Does he even know?”
“He doesn’t want to hear me complain after he’s been at work all day.”
“Talk to him, Tor. Whatever is going on with you, he loves you and the kids. Maybe it’s time for you to get out of the house. Go back to work.”
She wipes her face and laughs softly. “The thought of not being with my kids kills me. I know you’re right, but mommy guilt is a bitch.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t know about that,” I chuckle. Shifting, I lie down on my board and say, “Come on. Let’s drink,” before paddling back in.
After dinner, I walk into the kitchen to grab a beer and check my phone while Tori and my mom talk in the living room. Popping the cap off the bottle, I take a long sip before picking up my phone. I scan through some new emails that have come through and forward a couple to Michael.
Setting my phone back down, I lean against the counter and take another swig when my eye catches the cracked wood in the corner of the kitchen island.
“What the hell is your problem, kid?”
“I’m sorry. It was an accident.”
Quickly grabbing a towel to clean up the juice I spilled that is now pooling under his briefcase, large hands grab my neck and shoulder. He abruptly throws me onto the floor, and the force of his strength sends me flying into the center island. The sharp corner pierces my back and sends a fire of pain up my spine as my head ricochets hard against the wood. I hear the crack and start crying. I’m scared he’s gonna get more upset with me if he sees the damage.
I lie on the floor, avoiding eye contact, and grip the back of my head. I can already feel the bump growing.
“I’m sorry. It was an accident,” he sneers, throwing my words back at me as he slings a dishtowel at me. “Clean this shit up.”
That crack has been there since I was seven years old. It’s such a faint line that I doubt my mother has ever noticed it.
“I’m calling it a night,” Tori announces as she walks in and gives me a hug, pulling me out of my past.
“Early morning. Let’s try and head out around seven.”
“Sounds good,” she says before she turns back to the living room to tell my mother goodnight and then heads upstairs.
My eyes shift back to the crack briefly as I turn to go into the other room. I walk over and sit down with my mom on the couch.
“How are you doing, darling?” she asks, patting my knee as I get comfortable.
Thinking back to my conversation with Tori in the water, I ask, “Are you happy, Mom?”
“Where is this coming from?” she questions, and I mindlessly find myself rubbing the back of my head where that bump from twenty-one years ago doesn’t exist anymore, but the memory still does.
“You’re all alone here in this house. I worry.”
“I’ve always been alone in this house.”
She never remarried after my dad died. I haven’t even known her to date. We’ve never talked about it, but I just figured she was too scared.
“Can I ask you something?” I say as I turn to her.
“Anything.”
“How come you never sold this house?” I wonder if the past still haunts her like it does me.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s filled with so many bad memories.”
“But it’s filled with so many good ones too, dear.” She smiles when she continues, “I remember holding you in my arms when I brought you home from the hospital. This is our home. It always has been. The one thing that bastardized this place is gone.” She pats my knee as she says this. Nervous reflex. She isn’t convinced of her own words. I’m good at reading people, especially her. “What about you?”
“Me?”
“Are you happy?”
I dig my thumbnail under the damp label on my beer bottle. Nervous reflex. I’m sure she sees it too. We are good at reading each other like that.
“I worry about you,” she says softly.
“You don’t need to worry about me. I’m good. Business is good,” I assure her.
She leans back on the couch and lets out a sigh as she says, “I don’t doubt that work is good, but I wonder how much longer you plan on keeping up like you are. I wonder when you’ll decide to slow down and settle.”
“You know why I don’t settle, Mom.” This is no secret between us. She has always known why I’ve never gotten involved with anyone. She knows my fears. I tell my mother nearly everything.
“You’re nothing like him,” she affirms sternly, and when I look at her, I deny her words.
“I’m a lot like him.”
She doesn’t respond, and I feel bad for cheapening her words. “Sorry.”
“It hurts me to know this is how you think of yourself. I don’t want you to be alone. I want you to find someone that you can be happy with.”
“I want the same for you,” I tell her.
“I know you do, but you’re young. You have time on your side.”
I can’t help but laugh. “God, Mom, you act like you’re a blue-haired lady at the bingo hall.”
She laughs with me and says, “You know what I mean.”
“I know.” Letting out a deep yawn, I take the last swallow of my beer and lean in to kiss her on the cheek. “I’m gonna hit the sack. Tor and I are headed to Indian in the morning.”
“What time will you guys be back?”
“Around ten or so.”
“I’ll cook you kids breakfast.”
I smile at her referring to us as kids and say, “I love you, Mom,” as I stand up and look down at her.
“Love you, too.”
