When She Falls V2

Status: 2nd Draft

When She Falls V2

Status: 2nd Draft

When She Falls V2

Book by: graymartin

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Genre: Romance

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Content Summary


Just one month from med school graduation, Ethan Chase is about to start the life of his dreams, with a promising career and a supermodel-with-a-Harvard-degree fiancée. Problem is, he might want
something more, and he might have just found her.



Callahan Perrin is a young prodigy with a troubled past. Famous since childhood for her haunting and unique art, her gift is also her curse. Is she destined for a tragically short life like her
father or can she find another path?



I workshopped the first seven chapters of this WIP a few years ago. Lost the thread, but now I'm trying to pick it back up. Those of you who remember the story can pick up where I left off at
Chapter 8. Cheers, Gray

Content Summary


Just one month from med school graduation, Ethan Chase is about to start the life of his dreams, with a promising career and a supermodel-with-a-Harvard-degree fiancée. Problem is, he might want
something more, and he might have just found her.



Callahan Perrin is a young prodigy with a troubled past. Famous since childhood for her haunting and unique art, her gift is also her curse. Is she destined for a tragically short life like her
father or can she find another path?



I workshopped the first seven chapters of this WIP a few years ago. Lost the thread, but now I'm trying to pick it back up. Those of you who remember the story can pick up where I left off at
Chapter 8. Cheers, Gray

Author Chapter Note


Callie and Ethan get off to a rough start.

Chapter Content - ver.2

Submitted: May 05, 2020

Comments: 3

In-Line Reviews: 6

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.2

Submitted: May 05, 2020

Comments: 3

In-Line Reviews: 6

A A A

A A A

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Tuesday, March 24th, 8:00 AM

 

Callie

 

Icarus.

Callie stared at the empty canvas, trying to picture even one detail of the lost sketch, but nothing came. It was like chasing an early morning dream – the kind that seemed so vivid at the moment of waking only to be forgotten within a few heartbeats.

Icarus falling.

She tried shutting her eyes and saying the words out loud this time. Surprisingly, a few pixels of color swirled up behind her closed lids, only to fade like sparks in the wind. Gone, never to be rekindled. The vision of a lifetime, ruined.

Fucking meds. Why didn’t they just lobotomize her while they were at it?

“Awesome! I see you’re painting again!”

Oh, joy. It was Robo-shrink, right on schedule and more annoyingly cheertastic than ever.

“So…” Sophie Choi approached the easel with Joe Med Student in tow. “Let’s see what you’ve been working on.”

Callie didn’t even bother looking up at her guests. Instead, she retreated to her bed, hoping that if she crawled under the covers, they’d leave her alone.

“We didn’t interrupt the creative process, did we?” Choi asked, as if she hadn’t noticed the canvas was blank. “Do you need more supplies? Paint? Charcoals? Anything else?”

“Where’s my sketch?” Callie croaked.

“Your sketch?”

“Yeah.” She cleared her throat but that only made her voice sound raspier. “The one I made at the Copley Plaza. I left it in my bag.”

“Sure.” Choi bobbed her perfectly coiffed head. “When we’re done with our session, we’ll see what we can do.”

“But I need it now.”

“I understand, but –”

“No!” Callie snapped the paintbrush in her clenched fist. “I don’t think you do understand! I. Need. My. Goddamn. Sketch!”

“I see.” The psych resident took a few steps backward, clutching her iPad to her chest like a shield. What did she think? That she was going to be stabbed to death by a shank fashioned from a paintbrush? “Maybe now’s not such a good time to talk. You sound like you need some time alone.”

“No… hey, please don’t go!” Callie realized her mistake. It was written all over Robo-shrink’s face: Girl, you need more meds. Stronger meds. That’s what they always did in a place like this whenever you showed any emotion. They upped doses. Threw different combos of anti-psychotics and SSRIs at you until you became a nice, compliant little zombie.

“Listen.” She modulated her tone to sound perfectly calm and rational. “I didn’t mean to lose my shit.” She bent down to set the paintbrush fragment on the floor and then backed away, hands raised in surrender. “Sorry about that. It won’t happen again.”

“No problem.” Choi stooped to collect the debris. “We’ll just try again after breakfast, ‘kay?”

“But I’m fine. Really, I feel much better than yesterday. More myself, you know?”

“That’s great.”

“Whatever cocktail you have me on…” Give her a smile, Callie. Sell it. “It’s really working this time.”

“Terrific.” Choi glanced up from her iPad, fingers still tapping in her notes. “Why don’t we just see how the rest of the day goes?”

“Miss Perrin?”

Callie turned to the tall med student, surprised he’d spoken. She wasn’t alone, judging from Choi’s peeved expression.

He raked a hand through dirty blond hair. “If I can find that sketch, would you like me to bring it to you?”

That seemed to piss Robo-shrink off, big time. “Ethan,” she warned in a voice layered with calmness to mask the bitchiness lurking beneath. “Now’s not the time for that. Miss Perrin needs some rest.”

“Sure.  I just thought –”

“We’ll talk about this later.”

“That’s okay,” Callie jumped in. “If you can get my sketch that would really help. It’s in my handbag.”

“All right then.” Joe Med Student nodded, already heading for the door. “I’ll be right back.”

He paused at the doorway, just long enough for her to thank him with her eyes. His were blue, she noticed – the kind of dazzling blue that made you think of Caribbean waters.

When he answered her with a thumbs up and dimply grin, she realized something surprising.

Take away the dorky white lab coat and Joe Med Student was kind of hot.

 

*

 

He returned with her Kate Spade after lunch, apologizing for taking so long. Finding the bag hadn’t been the problem. On the other hand, clearing the contents with the floor nurses had been tougher than getting past airport security. Then he’d been stuck in teaching rounds.

“They confiscated some contraband,” he said, handing over the bag. “I’m afraid you’re down a manicure set, half a pack of cigarettes, one lighter, and a roll of fruit Mentos.”

Callie ignored the babble, chewing on her lower lip as she dumped the contents onto the bed.

It has to be here! What if they took it?

“I mean, I get the lighter and manicure set, but what’s with the Mentos?”

“Choking hazard.” She snatched up a folded sheet of paper.

“Is that it?”

“Yeah.” She exhaled, feeling the tension drain from her body as she studied the sketch. Nothing had been lost. When she closed her eyes, the full image rematerialized, burning though her mental haze like the sun through fog.

“It’s…” The student peered over her shoulder. “Really interesting.”

She could tell from his tone that he didn’t get it, but then again, how could he?  To an untrained eye, the smudged collection of red and black streaks would look more like a Crayola doodle than a priceless work of art. The kind she used to scribble on restaurant napkins when she was a kid, trying to tune out the sound of her parents fighting. But wasn’t that the whole point? To get back to a moment that most normal people had lost.

Joe Med tried to pull up the bolted desk chair, frowning when he discovered it wouldn’t budge. After scanning the room for an alternative, he shrugged and settled on the edge of her bed.

“I’m clueless when it comes to art.” He glanced at the sketch in her hands. “So, what are we looking at?”

Callie scowled at him.  “Just an idea. You wouldn’t get it.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right about that. But I’m here to learn if you’ll teach me.”

Did he realize how cheesy that line sounded? Probably not, judging from his clueless grin. “You’re here to learn psychiatry.” She bit her lip, mentally tacking on the words you stupid dork. “And I’m your guinea pig. Isn’t that how this works? Aren’t you supposed to ask me about my troubled childhood or something?”

Before he could respond, she jumped up from the bed and crossed the room, stopping in front of the easel. She smoothed the sketch out against the blank canvas and started sharpening a charcoal against the frame. No blade to do the job, obviously. And no brushes either, thanks to her recent freak out.

“Actually…” She heard the bed creak as Joe Med rose to follow her. “I’ve got a confession to make. I’m more interested in learning about art. It’s taken me less than a day to realize I have absolutely no interest in psychiatry.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Honest answer?”

Callie shrugged, eyes not moving from the canvas.

“Well, for one thing, psych’s the only elective with no call or weekends.”

“So, you’re lazy.”

“Maybe.” He laughed, like the insult didn’t even register. “I mean, I’m not usually a slacker, but this is my last month of med school, so I figure I’ve earned the right. Besides, after graduation comes internship at NYU. That’s going to be intense, so I’d better recharge my battery now.”

“Fair enough. But here’s the thing, er…” She gave him a sideways glance. God, did this dude ever stop smiling? “Nathan, right?”

“Close. It’s Ethan.”

“Yeah, well Ethan. You seem like a nice guy and all, but I’m not looking for any company here, and I’m definitely not looking for new friends.” She pointed a charcoal-smudged finger at the door. “I’d blow out of here if that was an option. Hell, I’d smash a Callie-shaped hole through the wall if I could, but this isn’t some fucking cartoon. I’m being held here against my will. This is jail for me. Get it?”

He mulled that over for a while before saying, “I understand why you’d feel that way.”

“Wow.” She glared at him. “Less than one day in and you’ve already picked up the lingo.”

“It’s not lingo. I’m pretty sure I’d feel the same way in your shoes.”

For some reason, the naivety of that dumb comment set her off. Or maybe it was the sympathy in his voice. She spun around, gutting him with her eyes. “I’m not wearing my shoes.” She raised a foot to show him. “They stole mine and gave me these ugly-assed Keds, like I’m some kind of convict.”

“You’re not a prisoner, Miss Perrin.”

“What? You think I’m here by choice? Like this is something my agent dreamed up to get me more publicity?”

“No!” His eyes went wide. “That’s not what I meant at all. I –”

“Excuse me, but who the fuck are you again?” She knocked over the easel with a snare drum crack. “And what do you know about me? Or anything, for that matter? You’re nobody!”

It was a totally bitchy thing to say, but that’s who she was, right? Callahan Perrin, teen prodigy gone psycho. From A-list hottie to psych ward hot mess. Wasn’t that why TMZ and all the other blogosphere assholes couldn’t get enough of her? Why she couldn’t go a week without being a punch line on some middle-aged loser’s late-night talk show?

As these toxic thoughts raced through her mind, Joe Med just stood there, frozen and expressionless, like one of those portrait models from Art 101. He certainly had the classic good looks and sculpted physique for the job. When he did finally move, it was toward the door.

Great, she thought, sucking in a breath.  Now I feel like I just kicked a puppy. In the balls. “Hey! Wait!”

He paused with his hand on the doorknob, looking like he might ignore her and keep going. But then he turned back to face her.

“Listen, I’m, um, sorry. This…” She gestured to the walls around her, as if that explained everything. “It’s just not a good time for me.”

He leaned against the door frame, waiting for her to continue.

“And I’m not good at this. At… dealing with people.”

He frowned at that admission. Or maybe it was a half-smile. “That’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” She forced herself to look up at him, surprised to be blinking away tears. Emotion. Which meant the morning meds must be wearing off. She rubbed at her eyes, sniffing. “You were just trying to help. To cheer me up.”

“Looks like I did a great job at that.” He took a tentative step back into the room, smiling again. Not the type to hold a grudge then. “Can I get you a tissue?”

When she nodded, he retrieved a box of Kleenex from the desk. She tugged out a sheet and sniffed, dabbing the corners of her eyes.

“Thanks.” She touched his shoulder before quickly withdrawing her hand. “I really do appreciate you finding my sketch but… you understand why I need to be alone right now, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“It’s just… I need to get back to my sketch. You know, before the muse is gone.” She managed a smile. “She can be such a flaky little bitch.”

“No need to explain. You’ve already been more than generous with your time.” He reached out to offer her more tissues, fingertips brushing against hers. “Can I get you anything else before I go?”

She shook her head, staring at the crumpled tissue in her fist, at the fine tremor that never stopped. Fucking meds. Last time they did this to her, she couldn’t paint for months.

“It’ll get better,” he said, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure whether he was talking about the tremor or life in general.

“Maybe.” She turned to pick up the easel from the floor, then carefully repositioned the still blank canvas. “It usually does, for a while.”

“And then what?”

She shrugged. “Who the hell knows? It’s life, right?”

Once the door had clicked shut, she picked up the charcoal again and stared at the blank canvas, heart sinking. Black on white. A world without color. If she ever escaped from this place, that’s all they would leave her.

 

***


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