Fear of Falling (44 page)

The body was a miraculous thing.

You could tear it apart, rip it to shreds, and somehow, it healed. Collagen formed scar tissue that sealed the gashes. Bones could be reset, and cartilage could regrow. Pain subsided until you didn’t feel the deep ache every time you breathed. Even the brain could heal, blocking out the horrifying details that woke you up at night, covered in sweat and crying. It, too, could be soothed and coaxed into healing through time and intense therapy.

But the heart? That organ never fully healed itself. It could never be right once it had been damaged. But no matter how broken it was, no matter how badly it hurt every time a memory slipped through the cracks and gripped you, it just kept on beating. You kept on moving, kept on living. Even when you wanted to curl into the fetal position and die, it wouldn’t let you. Those jagged fragments pulled themselves together and continued to pump blood through your body.

Every heartbeat killed you, but you were alive. Even if you didn’t want to be.

I placed the jar of vibrant stars back on my windowsill and smiled. It was a big deal for me. To smile again. To find a reason to want to smile again. It had taken months to get here. To find just a tiny bit of peace from the hell that was my life. Not anymore. I wouldn’t live like that. I wouldn’t let
him
take that away from me.

I didn’t do it alone, although sometimes it felt like I had been banished to the tiny island of Me. I became a recluse. I didn’t talk. I didn’t eat. Hell, sometimes it felt like I didn’t breathe. I existed.

For weeks, I stared at the stars on my windowsill, silently cursing them, hating them, but still needing them. Each one served as an individual reminder. They reminded me why I still breathed. Why I still kept moving forward no matter how badly I wanted to give up. They reminded me of the love I had, the love I shattered, and the love that kept me tethered to this life.

One day I wouldn’t need those stars. I wouldn’t need the crutch of my fears to keep me from leading a full, healthy life. I’d be able to kiss them goodbye and never look back. And I’d finally be free.

The pieces of my life were finally coming back together. My father was charged and convicted of attempted rape, attempted murder, and trespassing. That, along with the slew of warrants out for his arrest, resulted in him being sent to prison for no less than 20 years without the chance of parole. That gave me a small slice of peace, but it didn’t make me happy. Who could really be happy about having to relive your own personal hell in front of a room full of strangers? Yeah. That earned #254.

Sometimes it took tragedy to make you see the things that were staring you right in the face and breathing down your neck. I knew I had problems, but I kept them tucked away, smothered with denial. After many nights spent on my bedroom floor, shaking, rocking, and crumbling right before their eyes, Dom and Angel finally persuaded me to get help. I went back to seeing Dr. Cole and, as much as I hated to admit it, the know-it-all bitch was right. My fears had become irrational. I was collecting them like coins or stamps. Like tiny paper stars. Like shot glasses from all over the world.

My body and mind weren’t the only things that were on the mend. My mother had made the trip from The Philippines to help with my care after I was released from the hospital. We talked. We screamed. We cried. And I finally told her everything that had been festering inside me like a disease.

My mother had lived through the unthinkable. She had been beaten and tormented beyond anything I could ever imagine. He took everything from her, leaving nothing but the hollow carcass of a woman. And, being birthed into a traditional Asian family that didn’t believe in counseling or exposing dark family secrets, my mother never got the help she needed. Therapy was taboo. Talking about your problems with loved ones, let alone a stranger, just wasn’t the norm for them.

My mom never got a chance to heal. She didn’t have a Dom or an Angel. She didn’t even have a Blaine. But she had me. And together, we would fix what had been broken between us. It would take time, and probably enough tears to fill the Grand Canyon, but we would get through it. She was my mother. She was
me
. Repairing our relationship was helping me come to grips with what had happened to me. What happened to
us
.

I looked over at the guitar sitting on its stand in the corner of my room. I hadn’t touched it since…since before the attack. Since Blaine. When I let him go, I let go of music. I said goodbye to the one thing that made me feel whole. That made me fearless.

Music made me remember, and I needed to forget. It was damn hard. Shit, it was impossible. But it was getting easier to breathe everyday. I could think about him without breaking into a million pieces, sobbing so hard that my chest ached. I’d even been able to say his name aloud. And when Angel would update me on AngelDust’s weekend shows at Dive, she didn’t have to omit him from the story. Shit, he wasn’t Voldemort. Still, I insisted they keep all Blaine-related news to a minimum.

I missed him. Missed him like hell. But this was better for him. He deserved a healthy, loving relationship. One where the girl worshipped the ground he walked on and showered him with affection. Someone who didn’t break down when fear swallowed her whole. Blaine deserved normal, and I was far from that. And that was ok. I had come to grips with that fact. I could want the best for him and know that it wasn’t me, and still manage to be happy for him. Eventually.

That was the noble thing to believe. But loving someone, yet knowing that you could never be with them, doesn’t make them any easier to forget. If anything, it just made you want them more.

You see, the heart was a stubborn, selfish bastard. It didn’t let go easily. It never did what the brain commanded, no matter how badly you tried to push it into detachment. It kept on feeling just like it kept on beating. And the more you tried to deny it of what it wanted, the more it pined for that forbidden piece of fruit, the stronger the craving grew. So while it became less painful to accept that Blaine and I could never be, it felt like my heart would explode every time I thought of his playful smile. Or remembered the way he smelled. Or daydreamed about the feel of his bare skin against mine.

I didn’t let myself wonder if he missed me too. I wasn’t a total glutton for punishment. I knew Blaine wouldn’t stay single for long. It had been months. Months without any contact whatsoever. He never tried to see me after I dismissed him at the hospital. No phone call, not even a text. He was done with me, and I should have been satisfied with that result. I had been right all along. I told him I wasn’t the girl he was looking for. I just hate that I had let myself try to be.

I’d probably always love Blaine Jacobs. But I also loved him enough to let him go.

“Hey Kam?”

I looked up from the piece of paper I had been mindlessly folding into a crane. In the past few months, my collection had tripled in size. Luckily, Dom had suggested I donate most of the pieces to the center where he worked. The kids loved them so much that he arranged a special origami class once a week. Of course, it took many hours of begging to persuade me to do it, but after I saw how much those children enjoyed it, I was sold. Many of them were suffering from self-esteem and anxiety issues. Origami gave them an outlet. It was therapeutic. To be able to take a blank sheet of paper, something that is often discarded or ripped to shreds, and create something beautiful and graceful with it…it really put things in perspective for me.

I smiled at my best friend and roommate and waved him in. “’Sup? How was work?”

Dom strolled in, loosening his tie. His brownish green eyes looked weary though they still sparkled. “Tiring. Had a young girl come in today, probably around 11 or 12, and already very sexually active. Her mom can’t get through to her and if she doesn’t get help, that girl is gonna be sitting on Maury’s couch within a year.”

“Yikes. That’s tricky.”

“Yeah,” he replied, flopping back on my bed. “But that’s not the worst part. I’m pretty certain she’s been sexually abused.”

I tossed the crane on my nightstand and gave Dom my undivided attention. “What? Are you sure?”

“Yeah. All the signs are there. And if I’m right, her promiscuity is a result of whatever trauma she’s experienced. So talking to me won’t help. It will only scare her more.”

“Have you tried?”

“Of course! At first, she clammed up. Then—and I swear, I did nothing to provoke it—she came onto me. This
child
was trying to proposition me for sex!”

I shook my head. “Oh my God.”

Dom reached over and grasped my hand the way he did when he was about to ask me for a favor. I braced myself. “I need you on this, Kam. Please. Maybe you could talk to her?”

“
Me?
How could I be of any help?”

“Because you can relate. She needs another female to talk to about this. She’d be more open with you. Plus, you’re amazing, Kam. No bullshit. You’ve overcome so much and have turned out better for it. And whether you want to believe it or not, you are warm and nurturing. Kinda like how I imagined my own mother would have been like. You’d put her right at ease.”

Tears glazed my eyes as I shook my head. “Damn you, Dominic Trevino. Playing the Mother Card. That’s a low blow.”

“You’re sweet and comforting,” he continued, knowing he had hit my soft spot. “The sound of your voice just draws people in. Makes them listen. You’re absolutely the most selfless, good-hearted person I have ever met.”

“So not true,” I mumbled.

“Please, Kam? This girl needs you. You could potentially save her life.”

I let out a resigned sigh. I imagined myself in one of those old cartoons where Elmer Fudd morphs into a giant lollipop after Bugs Bunny makes a total sucker out of him. “Fine, fine. See if she’ll come to the next origami class. I’ll stay after and talk to her then. But I can’t promise anything.”

Dom attacked me with a huge, wet kiss on the cheek. “Thank you so much, Kam. I swear you won’t regret this; you’ll see.” He climbed to his feet and stretched his broad, muscular body and yawned. “I’m gonna try to grab a nap. Gotta date tonight. Thanks, Kam. Love you.”

He was at my door when I called out to him, stopping him in his tracks. “Hey, Dom?”

“Yeah?” he asked, spinning around.

“I love you too.”

Even from across the room, I could see the tears shining in his eyes. He smiled and looked away, trying to compose himself, then nodded. Moisture was already bathing his cheeks before he could turn and escape my bedroom.

I was cooking an early dinner on a Friday night when Angel entered the kitchen before heading to Dive to perform. Her expression was unreadable though I knew something was bothering her.

“Spit it out,” I finally said, as she munched on a slice of the red bell pepper I was slicing for the stir-fry.

“What do you mean?” she answered with her best doe-eyed guise. I could see right through those big baby blues and pouty, glossed lips.

“The thing that you’re just itching to tell me. Go ahead and say it. What happened? Seduced another lonely housewife in our building? Corrupted someone’s daughter?”