Fear of Falling (41 page)

A stinging sensation on my cheek and a muffled voice tugged at the seams of my consciousness. Then pain. So much pain. My head. My neck. It all felt stiff, as if I had been sleeping awkwardly for hours. But when my hand grasped my forehead and felt warm stickiness, I knew that an uncomfortable night’s rest was not the cause of my unease. I couldn’t be so lucky.

“Wake up, you little bitch!”

A palm struck my cheek, engulfing it in pricking flames. I tasted blood from the flesh inside my mouth that had ripped open from the impact. I coughed and sputtered, too stunned to cry out.

“I said wake up!”

I knew this voice. I knew it like I knew the fears etched on each star on my windowsill. Knew it like the monsters that haunted my dreams. Knew it like the ache that spread through my chest from years of loneliness and rejection.

He was the reason for it all. He had created those fears. Had spawned those monsters, and had left behind that debilitating ache.

Him.

He was here. He had found me.

Pure, undiluted fear raced through my veins and seized every sense. I was paralyzed with it, rendered completely useless against him. Screaming, fighting, crying—it was futile. He stole it all from me.

“You thought you could run from me,” he sneered. “You thought you could hide, and you would be safe. Ha! You’ll never be safe. I’ll always find you.”

Against my better judgment, I opened my eyes. They stung from the blood that dripped from my forehead, blurring my vision. Green eyes, wild with rage, yet so similar to mine, stared back at me. Full lips, resembling my own, were tightened into a murderous sneer over yellowed teeth.

He was me, and I was him. Features so alike that there was no denying that he was my father, and I was his daughter. Features that made my mother hate me because I was the living, breathing reminder of the man that killed her.

“Now that I have your attention, you little cunt, time for you to give me what I want,” he growled.

I could hear the words but I didn’t understand. I didn’t get what he wanted from me. Hadn’t he done enough?

You answer Daddy when he speaks to you. Don’t hesitate. Daddy doesn’t like it when you do that.

“I don’t know what you want,” I croaked, around my swollen tongue. My lips felt foreign. Puffy, like the rest of my jaw, the way they did when pumped full of Novocain from the dentist. But I wasn’t numb. No. I felt everything. I writhed in overwhelming pain.

My father knelt in front of me. “Don’t play dumb with me!” he spewed, grabbing a handful of my hair and yanking my face close to his. I took in his crazed features, trying to focus my senses. He was obviously older, and the years had not been kind to him. Drugs and alcohol had corroded his once dashing face, leaving his jaundiced skin marred with pockmarks and scars. Some of his teeth were missing, and the ones that were left were yellow or rotten. His brown, once full, shiny hair was thin and matted. And his eyes—eyes that once shone brightly whenever he picked up a guitar, eyes that had occasionally exuded kindness and love, eyes that looked exactly like mine—were dead and cold. Lifeless.

My father was dead inside. He was gone, just like my mother. He had taken their lives in a murder-suicide a long time ago. I had been an orphan all this time; I just hadn’t realized it.

“Please,” I begged, my voice no more than a strangled whisper. “I don’t know what you want from me. I’ll give you anything. Anything! Just please don’t hurt me.”

He shoved me back, releasing the tight grip on my hair before breaking into a full-belly guffaw. “You stupid little bitch. My money! You
will
give me my money! Where is it? I want it now! Give it to me!
Now!”

I winced. Not from the stinging in my scalp. Not from the oozing gash on my forehead that was dripping blood down the side of my face. Not even from the cuts inside my mouth that made it painful to talk. It was
him
. Seeing him so crazed and delusional. So desperate and out of control.

I hated this man. Hated him with everything inside me, yet, I couldn’t help but hurt for him. He was a broken boy once. His father did to him what he had done to me. What he was doing to me now.

This man was once my father. No matter how much I despised him, he was half of me. But the man before me right now was a stranger. A cracked-out, sickening stranger that I had never seen before.

“I’ll give it to you, I swear! But I don’t have it here. It’s at the bank. If you let me go, I’ll get it for you. I promise. Just let me go, and I’ll get it all!”

Fury washed over his ugly face, and he bared his decayed teeth, taking a step towards me. “No. I want it now!”

I scurried back, colliding with the couch. My hands searched for something – anything—that I could use as a weapon, but the closest lamp was feet away. I whimpered in desperate resignation. “I can’t get it to you now! I have to get it from the bank!”

“Well, if I can’t have it now, then I’ll take something else.”

His hand went for his belt buckle, and I felt a brand of terror that I couldn’t even imagine. It was the kind of inconceivable fear that spawned nightmares. Reprehensible dread that forever ruined you. Murdered your spirit. Slaughtered your soul.

My stomach roiled violently, causing the taste of bile to invade my mouth. Cold sweat blanketed my skin, mixing with the blood that ran from my face. Tremors assaulted every inch of my body, and my senses were overwhelmed with panic.

No. Please don’t. Please don’t do this.

I wanted to say the words. Wanted to beg him to spare me, but fear had seized my vocal chords. It had stolen my breath as well as my sanity. I had to be hallucinating. This couldn’t be happening. No. I refused to believe this was real.

“You’re a little slut, aren’t you? A little slut that opens her legs for any guy. Well, now it’s time to open your legs and that nasty little mouth for Daddy.”

“No!” The word ripped from my throat in a sob.
“NoNoNo!”

“You’ve been a very bad girl, Kamilla. A whore, just like your slut mother! So, first I’m going to beat you. Then I’m going to take what’s mine. I’m going to fuck you like the whore you are.”

He took another step towards me, unleashing his belt from his pants. He folded it in half and slid the leather between his fingers slowly, a ritual I had seen him do dozens of times. A ritual that sucked the breath right from my lungs and demolished the tidy, fragile compartments of my psyche…

“You’ve been a bad girl, Kamilla. A very bad girl. And now I have to punish you.”

“No! Please, no, Daddy! Please! I’m so sorry. I promise to be good! Please, no. Don’t hurt me!”

“See what you make me do, Kamilla? I have to. I have to hurt you because I love you.”

“Please. Please, don’t.”

“Don’t make me angry. Your mother made me angry, and you see what happened to her. Do you want to be like her? Do you want to be a dirty whore like your mother?”

“No, Daddy.”

“Then come here and get what you deserve. It’s your fault; you make me do this, Kamilla. You make me hurt you.”

He stood before me, his pants unfastened and his brown leather belt at his side. He smelled of stale beer, and filth as if he hadn’t showered in weeks. “This is what you deserve, Kamilla. You’re a dirty, filthy whore. And whores need to be beaten. You make me do this to you. You make me hurt you. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t love you.”

Before I could utter a semblance of a plea, he raised his arm up over his head and brought it down in a blur of haggard skin and worn leather. I didn’t even have time to brace for the attack, let alone shield myself from it.

The first blow landed across my shoulder and face, setting it ablaze, bursting with reds and oranges. I felt my skin split open with the impact. My eye suffered the worst of it, and I couldn’t tell if it was swollen shut or if the blow had taken out my eyesight. It was all pain. All fire. I couldn’t differentiate it. Couldn’t tell where the agony ended and relief began.

The second one made me see stars. Not the beautiful, twinkling ones that inhabited the night sky. The ones that appeared in blurry splotches behind swollen eyelids. The ones that told you that unconsciousness was near, whispering promises of vivid dreams, if you just succumbed to it. It hurt too much to scream, and I was too weak to even cry. I was tired. So tired. I wanted to sleep and escape this pain. I wanted those dreams that the stars boasted. I needed them.

The third slash across my face claimed me. Dragged me under in a deep sea of numbness and detachment. A place where pain was no longer felt, fear was not my captor, and my father’s love did not rip me apart and scatter each piece of me, making it impossible to ever be whole again.

I almost felt this peace once. I was five, and it was waiting for me, beckoning me to the bottom of a swimming pool.

And now… now I had found it. I found the peace that came with death. And this time, I didn’t fight against it. I ran to it with outstretched arms.

“Can’t you drive any faster?”

“If you have a problem with my driving, maybe you should’ve driven your own car. Oops! You can’t, can you? Because you’re fucking
drunk
. So just sit back and shut up,” Angel sneered from over her shoulder.

Normally, I would’ve shot back with my own assholish comment, but she was right. I was fucking drunk. But I had miraculously sobered up quite a bit once I saw what was lying amongst a clutter of shot glasses and peanut shells almost fifteen minutes ago.

I had to get away from CJ’s groupies, and had only marginally escaped the pressure to suck a shot of tequila from Wendy’s rack. They were nice tits; I couldn’t deny that fact. But they weren’t Kami’s tits. Kami had great tits. Perky and soft. Perfect, sweet nipples. Just the right size to fit in my hands…

Fuck. Even my thoughts were drunk and stupid.

I slumped back and tried calling her again, hoping the reminder would defog my mind. I screwed up. I know I did. But I really hadn’t done anything with those chicks. I didn’t want to.

I had just been about to grab a bottle of water and a cab home when I saw it. A small, red paper heart. It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head, and I immediately woke the fuck up. Kami was here. At least she had been. And if she glimpsed what was going on over at CJ’s table, I knew I had some serious groveling to do, whether or not she wanted anything to do with me.

I couldn’t let her believe I was
that
guy. The guy that got drunk and stupid whenever shit hit the fan. The guy that hooked up with any girl with a warm hole and a wet mouth. Ok, maybe I was that drunk and stupid guy. But Random Hookup Guy? That wasn’t me. Not anymore. Not since Kami.

I don’t know how long I stood there holding that red paper heart in my hand, looking as if I had been tasered in the nuts in the middle of that crowded bar. But I knew I had royally fucked up.

“Where did you get this?” I snapped at Corey just as he passed by to grab a bottle of vodka.

His brows knit together, and he shrugged. “Oh, uh, I can’t be sure but I think Kami had it in her hand when she…”

“Kami’s here?”

“Yeah. Only for like a second though. Then she just left.”

“When?” I asked stepping into his personal space. I was tempted to grab his collar to shake the shit out of him, cheesy soap opera style. Maybe a dramatic backhand to drive my point home.

“Like maybe 5-10 minutes ago?”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” I shouted, drawing the attention of just about every bar patron. I didn’t care what they thought about my behavior. Not where Kami was concerned.

“What the hell is going on?” Angel said, sauntering up to the bar with Dom in tow, looking like he was ready to break some skulls. Probably
my
skull.

“Kami was here.” I lifted the paper heart for her to see, but I didn’t hand it over. It was mine. It was meant for me.

“What? I didn’t see her come in,” Angel frowned.