If I Fall Read online

  Britt Morgan

  If I Fall

  Copyright © 2021 by Britt Morgan

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  Britt Morgan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  Britt Morgan has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

  Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.

  First edition

  This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

  Find out more at reedsy.com

  Contents

  Foreword

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Foreword

  Dear Friends,

  If I Fall is a book so different from the rest, and I hope you have and/or will enjoy it. I started as a teenager writing dark YA, but then as I grew and burrowed my way into the business, I was told that romance is the way to go. I love romance, it’s why I’ve written it for so long. But romance was nothing close to what I really enjoyed writing, and that is dark, angsty, real-life stories for those people out there who face these daily struggles. I was an angst-ridden teenager, and it’s during those times I wrote this book and then shelved it and never looked back, until now.

  I hope you enjoy this book, every raw, devastating moment of it. I know I enjoyed writing it.

  Xo, A.

  Preface

  “God, but life is loneliness, despite all the opiates, despite the shrill tinsel gaiety of “parties” with no purpose, despite the false grinning faces we all wear. And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter - they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long. Yes, there is joy, fulfillment, and companionship - but the loneliness of the soul in its appalling self-consciousness is horrible and overpowering.”-Sylvia Plath

  Chapter 1

  March 31, 2018

  * * *

  “Khloe, your phone. It’s ringing.”

  My eyes flickered open. I didn’t move, and instead, let my gaze flash around the room. I laid there for another moment under the comforter, motionless and silent, still half-asleep. The air in the room was stale and smelled sour with stifling heat and B.O. My head swam with dizziness, much like it had before I fell asleep, and my stomach churned from the after-effects of booze and weed.

  “Khloe,” the voice said again. I closed my eyes. Maybe if I ignored it, it would stop talking.

  The tiny silver cell phone sitting on the dresser next to my bed was nothing short of deceiving. The catchy tune I had momentarily listened to on repeat, now made my eardrums want to explode. How could something so loud and annoying come from something so small and fragile?

  “Khloe, answer the fucking phone!”

  The male specimen lying next to me sat up, reached across, and plucked the phone from the dresser before tossing it near my head. It was still going off, shrill and violating. Christ. Why hadn’t the person hung up yet? Still groggy, I grabbed the phone and looked at the screen before flipping it open and putting it to my ear.

  “Carter?” My throat was raw and scratchy. Attractive. It tasted like bile. I cleared it and winced. “What are you doing? It’s four in the morning.”

  For a moment, there was silence. An eerie and unnatural silence that made my heart thump against my insides like steel drums. My throat tightened.

  “Carter?”

  “Hey, Khloe.”

  My best friend’s voice was different—quiet; almost poignant. I rubbed my face and kicked the covers off, sliding my feet into a pair of slippers. I padded down the hallway to the bathroom so I wouldn’t wake up the guy who was asleep again and probably drooling into my pillow. I made a mental note to wash it tomorrow if I wasn’t too hungover to function.

  “What’s up?” I asked, shutting the bathroom door behind me. “Is everything okay?”

  Another long silence cocooned me. I could barely hear him breathe.

  “Are you with anyone?”

  “Just some guy I met at work tonight. But I’m in another room. It’s alright.” I ran a hand through my tangled brown hair, trying to recall the last time I’d taken a shower and washed it. At this rate, dreadlocks would be my next fashion statement.

  “What did I tell you about sleeping with losers you meet at the club?”

  “Oh, relax.” I leaned over the sink to survey the mascara stains under my eyelids. I looked like a harlot. “He’ll be gone by morning. You’re going to worry yourself to death. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with scoring free drinks all night.”

  “You’re only eighteen,” Carter said. “You’re supposed to be a server. You’ll get fired if you keep it up.” He sighed, and silence led again. I waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t.

  “Carter?”

  “I’m here.” His voice washed with sleepiness; groggy, as though he was in and out of some dream world. My fingers tightened around the cell phone in my hand until my knuckles ached. “Besides, Ava needs to stop sneaking you booze. She’s a bad influence.”

  “That’s beside the point.”

  Another long silence greeted me, but I didn’t push it, just waited for him to talk. Sometimes that’s all you could do.

  “I care about you, you know,” Carter said after a full forty-five seconds. “And you have a habit of doing reckless… things.”

  “Only to push your buttons.” I took a seat on the edge of the bathtub and crossed my legs, scanning the mysterious bumps and bruises up and down my skin. Blackout nights and perplexing injuries were not new to me, but they were puzzling, nonetheless.

  “It
’s not funny.” His voice tightened. I paused, startled by the sudden anger in his tone. Carter rarely snapped, especially not at me. The last time he’d raised his voice in my direction, I’d twisted his arm behind his back until he apologized just to escape the agony.

  “Don’t you use that tone with—”

  “I worry about you.” He cut me off. His voice was softer now, his anger diminishing. He sounded off somehow… buzzed, maybe, or high. But Carter didn’t drink. I’d never seen him cradling so much as a Dr. Pepper at parties. “I really do. I worry about you.”

  “You don’t have to,” I retorted. “They’re a lot of things I wouldn’t have been able to get through without you. But the rest is up to me to decide for myself.”

  “If this guy in your bed is gone before tomorrow morning, I won’t have to kick his ass.” For a moment, Carter sounded like his old self, and some of my concerns faded.

  “Oh, best friend, what would I do without you?” I stood and turned on the cold water in the sink, then leaned down and filled my mouth, swishing the stale taste of beer and cigarettes out the best I could. I didn’t have the energy to brush my teeth, so this would have to do.

  “Carter?” I said, drying my mouth with a towel. “Are you sure you’re okay? It’s usually me calling you at four in the morning, not the other way around.”

  “Jusqu’ a la procaine fois.” It was our secret phrase, meaning, ‘until next time’ in French.

  “That didn’t answer my question,” I said with a smile. From my bedroom, I could hear the guy snoring in my bed. I didn’t know his name, barely knew his face, and I didn’t care to.

  “Take care of yourself, ami.”

  “Will you stop speaking French and talk to me?” I sat back down on the edge of the bathtub. The beer from earlier sloshed around in my stomach. “I know something’s wrong, Carter. You’re my best friend. Talk to me. Why do you sound so weird?”

  The loud beep in my ear made me flinch and I held the phone away from me and stared at it, dumbfounded. Even during our worst fights, sometimes even the ones that had escalated to a screaming match, neither of us had ever hung up on the other one. It was an unwritten rule.

  “You ass,” I said aloud, dialing his number and pressing the green button. We were going to get to the bottom of this, upset or not. After the fifth ring, I snapped the phone shut, opened it, and then dialed again. I figured he’d have to forfeit and admit bad tempered defeat, eventually.

  “Carter,” I said to his voicemail. “If you don’t answer this phone, the next time I call, I’ll come over there and pound your fucking door down.” I snapped the phone shut for the fifth time and sat fuming on the edge of the bathtub, giving him time to listen to my voicemail. He never could bear to hear me upset, so I didn’t doubt the phone would be ringing any time now.

  Anytime.

  I dialed again, a small lump of panic rising in my throat as the phone rang and rang. Flipping it shut I shoved it into the pocket of my jeans, grateful—though not for the first time—that I’d passed out in my clothes. In my bed, the male still snored, even louder now. I kicked off my slippers, yanked on some shoes, and sneaked out the door, careful not to wake the stranger. I could only hope he’d be gone by the time I got back.

  The chill of a Washington morning in early spring hit me as I fumbled in the dark for my car keys and slid into the driver’s side of the piece of shit Grand Prix that almost didn’t qualify as a car anymore. It started on the fourth try, sputtering and wheezing as it gave into what sounded much like a mechanical asthma attack. I slammed it into drive and headed towards Carter’s place. I was unwilling to admit my high school car, Missus Betty, was probably nearing the end of her eventful life. We’d all known it for a while, but the reality of the situation still stung—especially when she was still chugging along after two-hundred-and-fifty thousand miles.

  “We’re almost there,” I said to the wheezing car. “I know it’s cold outside, but just a little further—” Missus Betty wheezed up the hill in the direction of Carter’s off-campus apartment. The lights were off when we finally arrived, and I put the car in park and turned off the engine, patting the dashboard with a thank you. I slid out of the car and trudged across the lawn to the front door. I tried the handle. Locked, per usual. What a girl.

  “Carter Drake, open the damn door!” I shouted. In the house next to his complex, a dog began to bark, shattering the stillness of the early morning. I spun around to face the general direction of the barks. “Shut the hell up!” I didn’t care if I woke the neighbors. They were uptight assholes, anyway. A tree obscured the window to Carter’s bedroom and I couldn’t see a light on. Maybe he’d fallen asleep midway through our argument, or was in the bathroom.

  “I’ll break your window!” I threatened. As I stood on the front porch in the dark, the dog’s barking grew louder, and I became colder. Too annoyed to stand there until the sun rose, I picked up a small stone from the garden, pulled back my arm, and heaved it at the second-story window. It made a sharp splitting sound against the glass before bouncing off and hitting me in the face. I cursed, holding my nose, suddenly remembering the spare key hidden under the rock in the garden.

  “Damn you, Carter,” I mumbled. I fell to my hands and knees to grope around in the dark for the flat stone that hadn’t moved for two years. My fingers brushed the smooth surface, and, using my cell phone for light, I grabbed the key and brushed the dirt from my pants before sticking it in the lock and pushing the door open.

  The entire apartment was dark—silent. Aside from the buzzing of the fridge in the kitchen, there was no sound. I pocketed the key and felt against the wall for the light switch, flipping it on and shutting the door quietly behind me. The living room lit up, blinding me momentarily. I looked around, seeking for some sign of Carter, but the house was still. Just as expected, the place was spotless. Over the suede chaise sofa laid a hand-woven quilt, the quilt I’d made him during my long-ass, torture-filled summer at camp without him. The coffee table in front of the couch was tidy, only flaunting a few stacked magazines and an Aloe Vera plant. The apartment was clean—cleaner than my place had ever been, which was typical for the two of us.

  “I’m coming up,” I hollered at the stairs. “I hope you’re decent.” I waited for some reaction; some grumbled reply or sleepy bitch-out. Instead, there was silence—a silence that chilled my core. “I know you’re here. I saw your car by the curb.” Trying to ward off the dizzying effects of my hangover, I climbed the stairs one at a time, giving Carter enough time to fully wake before I reamed his ass for hanging up on me. “It’s your fault I’m not sleeping right now,” I said. My head pounded, my vision fuzzy as exhaustion overcame me. I stopped in front of his door and let my hand rest on the handle, pushing it open. “I may very well kick you out of bed and—”

  There was silence, an eerie, terrifying silence that seemed to freeze time. In that silence, someone started to scream. For a fleeting second, I wanted to cover my ears and yell at them to shut up: grow up, be quiet, get the fuck out. Shut the fuck up.

  Then I realized it was me.

  I spotted the bottle of pills first, a neon orange prescription bottle lying open on the floor. The lid was off, and it was empty. Next to the empty bottle of pills, he was there.

  With a sob, I dropped to my knees in front of him. I could hear my breath coming in quick, short gasps of panic as I reached out and allowed my trembling hand to feel for any sign of life. His lips were tinged blue, his eyes partially open and staring at the ceiling above us. His skin, at one time running so much warmer than everybody else’s, was cooling down. Chilled and waxy.

  “No,” I screamed the word until it hurt my throat. “I don’t understand what’s happening. I don’t understand what’s happening. Carter? Carter. Tell me—tell me what’s happening. Carter!” I collapsed onto him, letting my head rest on his chest. “I need to call 911,” I murmured. Jumbled thoughts raced through my mind, none of them making a bit of sense. I pulled my ce
ll phone from my pocket and dialed the emergency line. My hand shook so severely I dropped the phone twice.

  “It’s okay,” I said to Carter. “They’ll be able to help you.”

  “911, where’s your emergency?” asked the operator on the other end of the line. I touched my face, only just noticing the tears rolling down my cheeks.

  “My friend,” I said. I reached down and squeezed Carter’s hand. “He’s-h-e needs help. I need an ambulance. We’re in the Kirkwood Meadows apartments, number sixty-one.”

  “I’m sending Paramedics now,” the dispatcher said. “Ma’am, can you tell me what happened?”

  “No. I don’t know. I just-I need someone to come and help him. I need someone to come and save his life and I—” The cell phone dropped from my fingers. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I heard it clatter to the floor, bouncing against the hardwood floor of his bedroom. I reached for him again, resting my hand on his, our temperatures clashing. I could feel my face and fingers start to tingle and numb, threatening a panic attack.

  “It’s going to be okay,” I said, lacing my fingers together over his chest. I began compressions, holding my breath, as the seconds ticked by in slow motion. I paused for a moment and checked for a pulse. There was nothing. “I love you, Carter,” I whispered, pumping his chest again. “I’m so sorry, just stay with me. They—they’ll help you.” Then, in the silence of the house, among the midst of death, I lost it.

  Chapter 2

  “Don’t do this to me! Don’t you dare do this to me. Please come back. Please, please, please…”

  “Ma’am, please step aside.”

  “I can’t do this without you!” I screamed. Numbness overcame me. Shock. I watched the paramedics load Carter onto the stretcher. They’d arrived in decent time, pounding at the door before coming it. It was probably my hysterical cries that alerted them to where we were. They’d pushed me aside, shoved, really, yelling something that I couldn’t comprehend. The first medic, a woman, felt for a pulse. I saw her shake her head at her partner, but she started compressions anyway. The second medic strapped an oxygen mask to Carter’s face, and together the two of them loaded his limp body onto a gurney. Compressions continued, but I knew from the depths of my soul that nothing could be done.