Fall to Pieces - Shari J. Ryan Page 0,3
off at a shelter for homeless children. I’ve seen the aftermath of an abused child, a child who doesn’t know when or if they’ll see their parents again. I know what to expect when I go to work each day; a house full of children will be excited to see me for my shift, but I won’t be able to hug them or let them hug me because it’s against the rules. I won’t be able to console them when they’re missing a parent and I can’t tell them their life will be okay. Yet, someone needs to take care of these poor children, and that person is me.
After leaving the group home yesterday, my only plan was to go back to my place, hit the pavement for a two-mile run, cook up an easy tuna casserole for dinner, and binge watch whatever shows pop up on the trending feed of Netflix.
When I approached the main entrance to my apartment, I reached into my pocket for the keys, scraping my fingertips along the ridged edge of the pointed teeth. A pain dug into my stomach, unexplained, without warning. I wondered if my lunch was bad, but I had a turkey sandwich each day this week, and I had been fine the days before. I swung open the glass door, skipped by the mailboxes, promising to return to my bills later, and jogged up the three flights of stairs. I broke more than a few sweats on the way, but mostly because of the nagging pain in my stomach which is getting worse by the minute.
I figured Keegan was home, since he only works until four most days. In fact, I don’t recall a time he wasn’t home when I got out of work, so I twisted the doorknob and gave it a shove, but there was no give. I took my keys back out of my pocket and struggled to find the right one before another round of pain rolled through my stomach. I unlocked the door and rushed inside, dropping my bags by the coat hook next to our entryway closet. “Keegan?” I called out. Our apartment isn’t large, but we opted for the studio plus a bedroom layout, so he couldn’t be out of hearing range. I figured he could be in the bathroom or taking a nap. “Babe?”
The bathroom was first on my list, but the door was closed, which it never is, even when we’re both here. I knock first, but there’s no answer, so I twisted the knob, pushing my way inside.
Something was resting against the back of the door, blocking me from stepping in without using force.
The bathmat sometimes gets stuck, a towel falls off the rack from the back of the door, or the man I had devoted myself to for thirteen years chose to end his life in our bathroom, behind the door.
I don’t know anyone who might stop and think about what they’d do in a similar situation, or how they may react.
We’ve been together just less than half my life. We became friends sophomore year in high school, then turned into high school sweethearts, and recklessly followed each other to college. He dropped out; I stayed in school. He got a job, supported us while I got my degree, and we’ve been cohabiting ever since.
As I sat Indian style in front of Keegan’s body, I ran my fingers through the loose caramel curls that framed his face so perfectly, making him look like a hybrid of a young Keanu Reeves and Adrian Grenier.
It was a long minute before a sharp pain plunged through the core of my body. My muscles tightened and my lungs felt flat—air was not flowing the way it should. I rocked back and forth gently, cradling the man I was supposed to have forever. A shriek spilled from my aching lungs and a heavy sob, rooted from the bottom of my stomach quaked through my body until I was completely numb and breathless. “Why?” I cried out. “Why would you do this?” I pressed my cheek against his, feeling the lifeless chill of his skin. “We could have had a life together. You only had to do one thing. Fix yourself. Dying wasn’t the answer, Keegan.”
I used the side of my hand and a gentle sweeping motion to close his eyelids, hiding his lifeless hazel eyes. I reached up to the counter for one of the empty pill bottles and replaced the extra contents he didn’t