If You Fall

Seven

tw/ cutting/self harm/scars

He left four days later and I struggled as I always did. His leg was barely healed enough for him to put weight on it while using a cane. 

I was literally wringing my hands watching him set his bag by the door. "You're not well enough," I couldn't help but point out, though I was trying not to say anything.

He smiled ruefully, and hugged me, and I tried not to cry, and failed. "S'il te plaît, ne pleure pas, chérie," he said, fancy words for please don't cry.

"I'm not," I lied into his chest, not wanting to let go ever and not able to do anything about him leaving. It killed me.

"I'll be back before you know it," he said brightly, pulling away to hold me by my upper arms and give me a better smile. "You will be making zee art, writing zee books," he mocked himself. "Won't even know I'm gone."

I gave him a look but wiped my face and resettled my hair. "I doubt that very much," I said.

"And you will climb safely at all times and not do anything risky and not open the door to my sister . . . or anyone else for that matter," he continued, tucking my hair behind my ear.

I shook my head so the hair fell forward again. It needed dyeing. Maybe blue. The other cotton candy color. "Go then. There are other worlds than these." A quote from my favorite books, Stephen King's Dark Tower novels.

"And, like the boy Jake, I shall return. Always!" He kissed my cheek and gave me another squeeze, enveloping me in the scent of aftershave and cigarettes and sweat and just him.

"Fais attention," I told him. Be careful. Tears resumed pouring down my cheeks but I knew it made him feel worse so I turned around and pretended to mess with my indoor tree that was really more of a plant. "You need water," I told it in a shaky voice, though it didn't.

He wasn't fooled. "I love you, Addy," he said, opening the door. "I wish I didn't have to go."

I didn't turn around and I couldn't talk if I tried. My heart was dripping into my shoes. It took everything I had not to beg him to stay. Mostly because I knew he would if he could, which somehow made it worse because it was what we both wanted but the fucking powers that be had to interfere.

I nodded instead and held up my right hand in the ASL sign for I love you so he could see it. I felt him hesitating and waved him on because I was going to bawl and I didn't want to prolong his leaving. I heard him sigh and the soft click and then I sank down on the floor and held my knees and cried so hard.

A week later, Bella came over. She usually slept over one or two nights a month. 

She hugged me and she reeked of alcohol, part of it sour sweat from the night before, part fresh from having just been consumed. She had long brown hair, blue eyes, and obviously some Hispanic heritage.

Left as an infant in a drop box, she knew nothing about her birth parents other than her mother had drank heavily and likely used drugs and smoked while pregnant with her, due to her Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. She was so dyslexic she could barely read or write.

Despite all the damage inflicted upon her, which had began before she was even born, she was highly intelligent. No one had seen it so, as a child, when she was sent to school, she was in special education classes because of her disabilities and erratic behavior.