Fear of Falling(51)

As if being pulled by an unseen force that I couldn’t understand or resist, my gaze swept over to Kami who stood stock-still, her attention focused only on the man on stage. I couldn’t even tell if she was breathing, though her mouth hung ajar just a bit. And, as if the same current pulled her to me, she slowly turned her head, giving me a full view of those big green eyes, shining with unshed tears.

I didn’t even think about. I clapped CJ on the back, grabbing his attention and ordering him to take over. Then I scooped Kami into my arms and led her to the back office before anyone could get a glimpse of the beautiful girl who was crumbling before my eyes.

Once we were alone, the closed door muffling the song that had obviously conjured a hidden pain, I led her to the couch. I held Kami like my life depended on it—like her life depended on it—because at that very moment, I wanted to be her lifeline. Whatever was eating her up inside, I needed to make it right. I needed to make it better.

“Kami, baby,” I whispered into her hair just as the first round of sobs wracked her entire frame, shaking us both. The ache behind the sound both startled and scared me. I had seen her cry before, but that was after her near-attack. She was in shock then, almost paralyzed with fear. This was different. There was so much anguish in her cries that it seeped into my skin. Her tears served as translucent tattoos, marking us both with the evidence of her immeasurable pain. I felt it. I broke for her too. I refused to let her suffer alone.

The semi-muted music shifted into an upbeat tempo, but I didn’t let Kami go. I couldn’t. Her tears had validated me. They gave me purpose, made me realize just how incredibly much I needed to be in this girl’s life. And just how much I needed her in mine, no matter how hard she tried to fight it. The past few days were a distant memory. Her coldness towards me was forgiven and forgotten. I didn’t give a damn about any of it. Only this girl in my arms mattered to me.

Even after she emptied all her tears into my shirt, I still didn’t let go, murmuring soothing words as I kissed the crown of her head.

Kami’s demons had somehow become mine without me even knowing them. And I swore on my life that I would fight every one of them. I would fight for her.





Shit happens.

I never really understood that saying. Yeah, there were certain situations in life that were shitty, but they were just that; they were life. So it really wasn’t the shit in life that was, well, so shitty. It was life itself.

Life happens. That was much more appropriate.

Unfortunately, many of us found that out earlier than some. We found out just how awful life could really be. We found out that monsters were, indeed, real. They walked among us. They looked just like you and me. They came in the form of the people that we loved and trusted the most. The people whose only job was to love and protect us.

Funny thing about life is that it never turns out the way you want it to. It’s never fair. It’s harsh and brutal. It kicks you when you’re down. It makes you wish you could give up and part with it just to have a semblance of peace.

I almost felt that peace unintentionally. And if I had known exactly what I was fighting against, I would have succumbed to it. I would have traded my young shitty life for the peace that came with death.

I should have. I would have been free.

My father took me to a party when I was barely five years old. He said there would be other children there for me to play with. I was excited because he never took me anywhere. I usually stayed at home with my mother, breathing a sigh of relief whenever he was away. I got to watch television then. We didn’t have to cower in my room whenever he was feeling “playful.” It was the only time I didn’t see my mother cry.

Yet, for some strange reason, my father took me along this time. I remember the loud music and the different colored bottles of strong smelling alcohol burning my small nose. I remember people staggering around in an intoxicated haze and the half-naked women gyrating on men’s laps. And I remember the swimming pool. I had never seen one, and I was in awe.

Many of the adults kept disappearing inside to a back room. Then they would come back out, their eyes glazed and movements sluggish. My father told me he needed to go back in that room to “talk” to someone. I told him I wanted him to take me swimming.

“You wait here and I’ll be right back,” he told me. Then he dropped me into the pool, fully dressed, and told me to hang onto the side. I was too short to reach the bottom, and he said if I let go, I’d be in big trouble. I wanted to listen to him. I wanted to be good. I didn’t want to do anything to ruin this experience for me. I was actually happy.