Page 1 of Close to Falling

Chapter One

Chalky tablets filled with the promise of no feeling bounce off each other in the clear sandwich bag in my hand. I pull it apart and tip it upside down, releasing two pills into my palm. I grab my driver’s license and place the pills onto the small mirror on top of my dresser. Laying the card over the pills, I place my palm on top of it and smash them until they are tiny flakes of powder. Then I separate four small lines. Taking the cut-off straw, I lean down and snort. I tilt my head back, wincing once the bitter powder taste hits the back of my throat.

“He let me go,” I whisper, still trying to understand it all, trying to figure out why he thinks this is a good idea. He wouldn’t tell me the three words we always say when the other needs reassurance. I sniff and rub my nose. Placing my hands onto the edge of my dresser, I grip it until my knuckles turn white. I crunch up four more lines as the pain slices me on the inside. Tiny, like paper cuts.

A single lamp casts a velvet golden glow in my dark room, along with strips of moonlight that’s escaped through the small cracks of the plastic blinds. My shadow appears on the wall of memories across from me, letting me know I’m not completely alone. I walk over and reach my hand out, my fingertips gripping the edge of one of the pictures. With a swift yank, I rip it off, remembering promises of forever floating out of his mouth into my heart. I yank more photos before I sink onto my bed, because I now know that no longer applies to us. Choking on tears that fall too freely from my burning eyes, I try to make them stop, but I’m not in control anymore. Shaky lungs and a heart that keeps missing beats fight to keep me alive, but my mind is turning against them. Leaning my face down into soft cotton, I grab my comforter and squeeze it so tightly I can feel my fingernails breaking through. Screams of sorrow escape my mouth and cover the pillow my face is pressed into, disrupting the silence in my small room.

A wave of nausea breaks inside my stomach, and I get up and run to the bathroom. Clutching onto porcelain, I throw up until my ribs ache. Coldness from the ceramic seeps through my jeans, and my shins press painfully into the hard floor, but I welcome another form of pain. I lean back against the wall behind me, and more tears fall as I roll my head and look up at the flickering light. I close my eyes briefly before I put my palms down flat and push myself up off the floor. I look at my reflection, and I don’t recognize the person looking back. My eyes are swollen, and my pupils are dilated from drugs that dissolved before I got sick. My face is pale with blotches of red spread throughout. I look into my brown eyes and see it. I see the glow of my soul flicker out and disappear, nothing left but a black empty space.

I’m soulless.

Glass cracks against my fist, leaving my face disoriented. Now I look like I feel, shattered with sharp edges. I clutch the sink, wondering just how fast I would bleed out. My mind drifts, taking me back to places I want to forget, memories I wish I’d never had. Walking out of the bathroom with no thought at all, I snatch my drawing pad off the dresser and toss it into the trashcan. Grabbing his hoodie before I walk out of my room, I slide it over my head and take the hair tie off my wrist. The stairs creak when I walk down them as I throw my hair up and head to the front door. I don’t even look over at Landon or Frankie as I walk past them.

“B,” Landon says, standing up, but I ignore the boy I call my brother.

“Maddie B. Callaway,” Frankie says sternly, and I stop in my tracks. My hand on the doorknob, I turn to face him, seeing the pain from inside me etched onto his face.

He feels it, too.

Permanent wrinkles in his forehead show how we kids have pushed him to the limit more than once, but he would never say it out loud. Hell, it isn’t easy raising three foster kids who know what it’s like to be given up or left behind. I stare at him with no heart on my sleeve. No one will ever know again what my love feels like. My life source beats to keep my body alive, but that is now its sole purpose. It will be used for nothing else.

“Be careful,” stressed from loving three kids who aren’t his blood tells me as realization hits him. He knows I’m gone, and no one is bringing me back. I nod and grab my keys off the key holder. Looking over to Landon one last time, I see the hurt in his eyes also, but there’s nothing in me that cares. I’m heartless. High on the inside, and at the moment free of the pain.

I turn the knob and shut the past.

A Few Months Later

“Maddie.” I hear and slowly pick my head up off the bar.

“What?” I groan, tipping over the full shot glass in front of me with my clumsy hand. Liquor spills onto the mahogany top, and I mumble, “Sorry.”

“The cab I called is here,” the deeper than an average man’s voice says, sounding a little more irritated than before. I slightly open my eyes, and my blurry vision clears as I look at the dishrag that’s worn out from being washed too many times. He tightens his hold on it, and thick veins under black ink protrude from his strong grip. I look up and see it’s the bartender. Shawn or some shit. I don’t know. I grab the glass bottle that’s been in front of me long enough for it to count and slide off the stool. It leans on two legs before gravity flops it back down on four.

“You don’t need any more of that,” Shawn tells me.

“Who the fuck are you? My father?” I laugh bitterly. “I’m gonna say no on that one,” I mumble, all matter-of-factly. “Him being dead and all.” Dismissing the bartender with a wave of my hand, I trip over my own feet. I manage to get my balance with some help from another barstool and then take a sip from the whiskey bottle as I walk past pool tables with no players. I sniff and rub my nose before I open the door to the hole-in-the-wall shit bar and step outside. Cold wind lifts up stray pieces of my dark hair and swirls them around my face as I feel the cracks in my hand widen from no gloves and too many nights spent without them. Grabbing the car door handle, I feel tiny pieces of ice break away as I lift up and open the door. I get into the cab. I guess he knows where I’m supposed to go because he takes off without me saying a word. I don’t care where he takes me really.

Buildings of cracked red brick and old stone that has seen years before me fly by the window, and it’s too hard to concentrate, so I close my eyes and let sleep find me, as it does a lot these days. Sleep is my only escape. It frees me from reality and moves me to a different place in time. Some days the memories are sweet. Like a cold watermelon on a hot summer day. I’m a kid again and sitting on the front porch steps, my mouth covered in delicious juice from the big slice of fruit in my hand as I watch my boys play baseball in the front yard. I relish those nights. I try to hold on to them, giving my body a break from all the pain I feel when I’m not messed up. But some nights I don’t get the happy dream, and during those nights, my dreams are not dreams at all, but gut-wrenching nightmares. They pull me under, but the sad thing is, they aren’t some figment of my imagination. They are real life. Bits of the past forever burned inside my mind.

“Hey.” I hear and feel someone tapping me. I open my eyes and look around.

“Where am I?” I ask, my voice sounding groggy and unfamiliar as I take in the cracked blue leather around me. Musk that’s embedded in these nasty seats drifts upward, making me wrinkle my nose in disgust. Outdated air fresheners hang on the rearview mirror, and I roll my eyes.

“Well, at least you try,” I grumble.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing important,” I reply, sitting up.

“This is where that bartender told me to take you,” he says, and I look out the window, noticing my ratty apartment building.

“Thanks,” I mumble as I open the door.

“Hey, you gonna pay me or what?” he asks. I dig into my jeans pocket and toss him some money before I shut the door. Dogs bark as I make my way to my one bedroom. This is what my life has turned into. I’m a messed-up piece, and I wish I cared. It’s been months since I’ve seen or talked to Frankie and Landon, but I’m okay with that. That’s what happens when life keeps throwing you shit. You either move on or you don’t, and I don’t.

Walking inside my door, I remove my coat and walk over to my bed. The old mattress gives beneath me as I sit down and remove my shoes. The loose wooden headboard knocks against the wall, making the only sound in the small room as I rest back on it. I’m alone again, and my friends call to me like they always do. I reach over to the nightstand drawers and pull one open. Clear baggies filled with my special form of peace lie flat, and I grab one of them. Yanking it open, I tilt it upside down and let more than I need fall out into my hand. I toss them back, chasing them with the leftover liquor from the bottle on the table beside me. The hard liquor burns going down, but it’s a burn I welcome because it’s the only thing I feel. The bottle slips through my fingers, and the echo from the hard glass hitting the floor bounces around me as I fall back and lie down. The room spins, and I sit up.

“God, make it stop,” I groan, but it doesn’t stop, so I get up and stumble to the bathroom. Walking straight isn’t happening, and I end up going sideways, tripping over a shoe before I land on my face. The taste of blood fills my mouth, and I laugh because I can’t help it. Fucking pathetic and drunk, I put my palms down flat and try to push myself up onto my knees. Grabbing the back of the chair, I lift myself up. Once I’m upright, I walk into the bathroom and turn the shower on. I glance over at the toilet, noticing a few empty cocaine sacks that didn’t go down. I wish they weren’t floating in water… and I wish they weren’t empty.

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