Fall from Love

times he cussed in the process.
    After a couple of hours of studying I slam my book shut, turn off the light, and bury myself under the covers. Glancing at the clock, I see that it’s almost two in the morning. When I finally close my eyes, I look forward to Adam coming back home and snuggling into the bed behind me.
     
    ❧
     
    Sometime in the middle of the night I’m woken up by a loud, annoying ringing sound; not a warm body pressing up against mine like I hoped it would be.
    Opening my eyes, I focus and glance around the dark room, quickly remembering that I’m at Adam’s place and not my apartment. My first thought is that the annoying sound is an alarm clock, but the sound begins to sound vaguely familiar and then I realize that it’s my cell phone ringing.
    I stumble around the dark room and see the glow from the dresser in front of me.
    “Hello,” I answer, squinting my eyes at the clock in front of me, seeing that it’s four twenty-seven in the morning.
    “Is this Holly? Holly Treadwell?” The man’s voice on the other end is urgent and serious.
    Instantly, my heart starts to hammer against my chest. I’m not sure why, but images of my family run across my mind. Has something happened to my mom? Dad? Brother? Even through my foggy just-woke-up-mind, I know something is wrong. There is no other explanation for a strange man calling… especially at this time. A horrible pain starts in the pit of my stomach and with my free hand, I grip the dresser in front of me, expecting the worst.
    “Yes, this is Holly.”
    “Holly, there’s been an accident,” the urgent voice comes back on the line. He pauses for a few seconds and the silence is so painful, I feel like I’m being sliced in two. “It’s Adam. He’s being air lifted to St. Anthony’s hospital. I think you should head over there as soon as possible.”
    I hold the phone to my ear and, even though I heard everything that the man has just said, it almost feels like I’m dreaming... or maybe it’s that I want to be dreaming.
    “Holly.” The man’s voice is louder now. “Did you hear what I just said? You need to get to St. Anthony’s as soon as you can.”
    Somehow, I snap myself out of the daze I’m in. “Yeah, I heard you. I—I’ll be there.”
    I put the phone down on the dresser and stumble backwards, falling onto the bed, feeling as though my knees are about to give out beneath me.
    This isn’t happening; this can’t be happening.

 
     
    Chapter One
     
    I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious ambiguity.
    ~ Gilda Radner
     
    Months later...
    “Come on, Holly. I’ll beg if I have to,” Jenna tilts her head at me, pleading. I see the desperation and determination in her eyes and I wait for the guilt to hit me, the desire to go out and have fun, but it never comes. I feel absolutely nothing.
    “Just give it up, Jenna. There’s nothing you can say or do that will convince me to change my mind.”
    Her shoulders slump over in defeat. “Nothing? You’re gonna make me go alone? I’m sure Becca will be there. You know how she annoys the shit outta me.”
    “Then don’t go,” I say blankly.
    “C’mon, classes start back next week. One last weekend to have a little fun before our senior year starts.”
    When I don’t respond to her, she juts out her lower lip, giving me her best pouty face. Normally, that face would make me do anything she wants, but that was back when I actually cared if I hurt her feelings. A few months ago, I would’ve sworn that face could’ve melted the blackest of hearts, but as I sit here and stare at her, it does nothing to me.
    “It’s open mic night at Sterling’s... you love open mic night,” she adds, trying her best to persuade me.
    My heart tweaks a little and I almost feel relieved, knowing that there still may be some life left in it after all. The memories and happy times I’ve had at Sterling’s flash through my mind. The energy from the crowd, the total feeling of freedom I felt when I sang up on stage, the laughing, the having fun—enjoying life. I close my eyes and try to shut the memories out, not wanting to travel down memory lane. I used to love open mic night at Sterling’s.
    Instead of answering her, I