Page 77 of When We Are Falling

It’s a beautiful fall day, with a crisp blue sky and fresh breeze blowing in off the sea, but the horizon is dark, petulant gray clouds drifting our way. It looks like rain.

Turning away from the harbor, I walk with my head down, lost in thought. Just as I’m about to reach the bar, movement in my periphery makes me flinch a split second before a hand grabs me, closing painfully around my forearm, yanking me to a stop.

I spin around, heart lodging in my throat, and there he is: David. His appearance shocks me to my core. His dark hair is disheveled, eyes wild, bloodshot, the whites tinged with a sickly red that makes my stomach turn.

He’s breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling like he’s just sprinted a marathon, but it’s the gauntness of his face that truly unsettles me. The hollows under his cheekbones are more pronounced, his skin sallow and stretched too tight over his bones.

He’s wearing a faded black hoodie, frayed at the cuffs, with a stain on the front. His jeans hang loosely on his frame, held up only by the belt cinched tight around his waist. They’re torn at the knees, and not in the stylish way: it looks like he’s been crawling on them.

He clutches a worn canvas bag close to his side, the strap digging into his shoulder, bulging with who-knows-what inside. The sight of him, so disheveled, so far gone from the David I used to know, sends a jolt through me—a mix of fear, concern, and a deep, aching sadness.

This isn’t the boy I spent three years with trying to survive Sylvia’s house. This isn’t the David who used to sneak me snacks when she wasn’t looking, the David who always had a smile on his face, even when things were tough.

“What were you doing there?” His voice is rough, almost a growl, as he tightens his grip on my arm. His nails dig into my skin, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make his desperation clear.

I swallow hard, my mind racing. “Did you follow me?”

“I’ve been watching her. Watching that house.” He stares at me, the pier extending out into the harbor behind him, the water so blue, the white of a gull peeling away against the cerulean sky, away from the gray clouds creeping closer.

Searching for the right words, forcing a swallow against the dry of my throat. “David, I just went to see her. I guess I was hoping she’d confess to what she did. I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help you.”

His eyes are wild, darting between me and the dark clouds on the horizon as if the world itself is closing in on him. The wind picks up, the pier creaking as small waves break against its struts. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, maybe weeks. The skinny boy, the one who vowed with me to always look out for each other, is barely recognizable.

The memory of that vow comes back to me: two scared kids, realizing early on it was just them against the world. No matter what, I’mnotgoing to just give up on him.

“Listen to me. I need you to hear this because I want you to move on, to get the help you need. Yes, I went to see Sylvia. She didn’t even remember who I was. She’s lost her memories. She didn’t know me, and I’m not sure she knows anything about what happened to you, either. I know you want me to give evidence against her, which I can’t do anyway, but I’m not sure there’s any point in you even thinking about taking this further. It’s more important that you heal, that we get you the help you need.”

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it, just bitterness. “Lost her memories? Yeah, right. That’s convenient, isn’t it? Just likethat, the old witch forgets everything she did? And you believe her?” His grip on my arm tightens.

“Please listen to me. We can get you help. We can move forward from this together. You don’t need revenge. You need to heal.”

His eyes narrow: “You’re in on it, aren’t you? You’re helping her cover it all up.”

“No! I would never do that.” I try to pull away from him, but his grip is unyielding and suddenly I’m aware that we’re in a public place, that people who know my moms might see us. I lower my voice, working hard to put on a neutral expression, to act like this is the most natural thing in the world for us to be standing here, for David to be holding my arm, leering over me.

“Look, I’m not covering anything up. I went there because I wanted to understand, to see if there was anything I could do to help you. You mean so much to me. We don’t need to do this. Don’t let her come between us. Please.”

His face is inches from mine now, his breath hot and stale and ragged against my skin. The desperation in his eyes is awful, and unexpected nerves start bubbling up inside me. The waves crashing against the struts seem to echo the pounding of my heart.

“You’re lying!” His voice is low, filled with venom. “You’re all lying. You think I don’t know what’s really going on? You think I’m stupid? You think I don’t see the way everyone looks at me?”

I shake my head, trying to speak, but the words catch in my throat. I’ve never seen him like this, so consumed by paranoia and anger. The old David, the one who said it was the two of us against the world—he’s not here, not right now, anyway.

“David, please. I’m not your enemy. I’m trying to help you.”

But he’s not listening. His grip tightens even more, and I wince as pain shoots up my arm.

Footsteps approaching fast, the sound of heavy boots on the boardwalk. Ethan appears beside us, eyes blazing with anger. He takes in the situation at a glance, and before I can even process what’s happening, he’s shoving David away from me, hard.

“Get your hands off her!” Ethan orders, his voice a low, dangerous growl as he places himself squarely between me and David. His broad shoulders are tense, his fists clenched at his sides, ready to fight if he has to. “Back off,now. I’m not asking again.”

David stumbles, his eyes widening in surprise, but he doesn’t back down. Instead, he rights himself and faces off against Ethan, wild-eyed and desperate. “This is none of your business! Why are you always here?”

“Calm down, man.” Ethan stands a little taller.

David takes a threatening step forward, fists clenched, one arm drawing back, lining up a hit, and for a split second, there’s madness in his eyes—he’s totally out of control, and there’s no reasoning with him.

Ethan doesn’t hesitate. He meets David’s advance head-on, fist flying out in a clean, powerful punch. The impact is solid, the sound of knuckles connecting with bone a sickening crack.

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