Fall to Pieces - Shari J. Ryan Page 0,16
problem, Auggie.”
I laughed because his statement was funny. His words were funny. I told myself he was delusional if he thought he didn’t have a problem, but those thoughts were just floating into dead space because it’s common knowledge that someone with a severe problem can’t see their troubles at all. I studied him, waiting to see if he had anything else to say. I hated the way he looked when he had fallen off the wagon.
Keegan’s head appeared disjointed from his shoulders. His neck protruded with a weakness. His tawny brown eyes had taken on a gray hue in contrast to the scarlet veins webbing throughout the pale-yellow coloring. His stare was emptier than the glass he had just left behind, but his heavy eyelids were covering most of the truth. Those lips I used to love to kiss hung as if someone had beaten him in a boxing ring.
An unfamiliar person might have thought Keegan was merely tired, but it was the look of reconciliation with a vice that has threatened his life many times before.
“I’m tired,” he added. “I’m going to bed.”
“It’s two in the afternoon,” I reminded him.
“Well, I have a headache.”
“Of course you do,” I scolded my boyfriend—a grown man, not my child.
I shook my head with dismay. “I can’t do this anymore, Keegan. I can’t.”
His eyelids struggled to perk in alertness. “You’re just angry,” he huffed.
“No, I’m serious. I don’t want to live this kind of life anymore.”
Keegan ran his fingers through his greasy chin-length waves and puffed his cheeks out like a blowfish, slowly exhaling his self-induced frustration.
“So, what—you’re just going to leave or kick me out?” His words slurred together as if pauses would steal too much of his energy.
“No, Keegan. That isn’t the type of person I am. I am going to help you get better first.”
“Why?”
I can understand his confusion. A person dealing with as much anger as I was with him might walk right out and never look back, but I had been with Keegan for so long, and I knew he wouldn’t get better on his own. I knew the disease was more than he could handle.
“I don’t need help,” he argued.
“Yes, you do. Hate me for it if you like, but this time, you need to get better for you because I’m still leaving at the end.” I realize I took away an incentive to get well, but I don’t want to be his motivation any longer. At the same time, I don’t want to feel guilty knowing I walked away when he needed help.
The problem with Keegan is, he needs to decide to get better, or he’ll end up in the hospital, jail, or detained for public intoxication. At best, he’ll lose all his landscaping jobs again. It won’t be until one of those things happen that he’ll toy with the idea of temporary sobriety. So, I must stick around until something terrible happens.
My headache is finally subsiding after a long day, and I’m packing up my belongings to head out. For a moment, I reconsider my recent activities, hanging out at the bar like a drunk. I’m not sure I want to go through another day of headaches or exhaustion, but I won’t have closure until I understand why he did what he did.
I pull the leather strap of my messenger bag over my neck, letting it hang across my body. I touch the outer pocket, running my fingertips along the zipper before reaching in for my phone.
I try to avoid calls throughout the day as it can be distracting, but my parents and sister know they can call my office phone if there’s an emergency. I used to keep my phone out on my desk all day because Keegan would send me sweet messages, but over the last year, that slowly ended, like our relationship.
May’s name appears a few times, so lift my phone and click to read her messages.
* * *
May: Sissy, can we meet tonight. I need your advice, and I want to see how you’re doing.
* * *
May: We can go wherever you want.
* * *
May: I’m free all night in case you’re trying to think of an excuse to avoid me.
* * *
My hand falls to my side, and I roll my head back with frustration. Mom has probably set May up to check on me because shutting down and wallowing isn’t acceptable in my family.
The only saving grace is that May is not judgmental. With her being five years