Breathing Lies: (The Breathing Undead Series, Book 1)

by Jessica Sorensen

  After we release each other’s pinkies, I start crying again, though.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks worriedly.

  Tears drip down my cheeks as I stare at the shoebox in front of us where my dead fish is. “I just miss her and I feel bad that she died… It was my fault.”

  He glances from the box to my face then reaches over and slips his fingers through mine. Like every time he touches me, he trembles a bit.

  “I’m sorry you’re hurting.” He brushes away some tears from my cheeks with the back of his hand. Then with an uneven breath, he leans forward and places a soft kiss against my cheek. “And it’s not your fault,” he whispers. “You’re the sweetest person I know, Har. You’ve never done anything to intentionally hurt anything or anyone.”

  My heart is like a butterfly in my chest, but I feel so much better…

  I frown as the weight of what Kingsley said in that moment crushes my chest.

  Back then, he thought I was the kind of person who’d never intentionally hurt anything or anyone. Only a couple of years later, the incident on the dock happened and I pretty much stopped talking to him. It makes me wonder what he thinks of me now.

  But maybe I can change that. Be a better person.

  I hitch my pinkie with his and his fingers trembles ever so slightly, like the last time we made a pinkie promise. But unlike the last time, his gaze is so intense I swear I can feel it searing into my soul.

  “Thank you.” My voice is surprisingly steady. “And thank you for letting me hang out with you tonight.”

  “You don’t have to thank me for that,” he says. “And I’m sorry if I acted like a jerk earlier. I just…”

  “Have serious social issues,” Porter chimes in, meeting my gaze in the rearview mirror. “I blame it on his brother. Foster fucked his head up big time. And his parents aren’t any better. But I think you already know that.”

  “Shut up, man,” Kingsley shoots him an icy glare. “Unless you want me to air out your family’s drama in front of her.”

  That wipes the smile right off Porter’s face. “All right, I’ll stop.”

  Kingsley relaxes a smidgeon until his gaze fastens onto our interlocked pinkies. Then he swallows hard but doesn’t pull away, scratching at the side of his neck.

  “You can let go if you want to,” I tell him, even though I don’t want him to.

  What I want is to feel calm and touching him is making me feel that way.

  If I could, I might touch him forever.

  Rubbing his lips together, he gradually pulls his pinkie away from mine. The moment our skin breaks contact, a numbness seeps through my body.

  Cold.

  Dead.

  Empty, except for the sporadic sensation of confusion.

  Why do I feel this way most of the time?

  Better yet, why do I only not feel this way whenever I’m around Kingsley?

  Twenty-Two

  Harlynn

  The party ends up being not too far away from the gas station, near a log cabin in the forest and about a few miles away from the lake. While I can’t actually see the large body of water that almost devoured me that night, I can smell the scent of moss and moisture in the air, a reminder that it’s not too far away, haunting me with memories, not just of myself, but of Paige.

  Images of that dream I had of her briefly flash through my mind as Porter parks at the end of a long row of cars and rolls down the window, letting the scent of lake water creep into the cab. Once he’s parked, he climbs out. Kingsley follows suit, getting out too, and flips the seat up to let me out.

  As I lower my head to duck out, I end up tripping over my untied bootlaces and almost eat a mouthful of dirt. But Kingsley catches me and stops me from falling.

  His fingers slide down my arm to steady me and my pulse quickens. Safe, safe, safe, I swear it whispers to me. Then he withdraws his hand and my heart rate settles, murmuring cold, cold, cold.

  I glance up at Kingsley, wondering if he can feel any of this, but he’s not even looking at me, his gaze fixed on the fire and the people surrounding it.

  Almost everyone here is holding either a beer bottle or a cup. Some people are smoking, some are making out, and some are dancing to the music blasting from a stereo.

  “You should probably remind dead girl of the rules,” Porter tells Kingsley as he rounds the front of the car, stuffing his keys into his pocket.

  “What rules?” I ask but then pause. “Wait, is this like the last party I went to with you guys? The one that had the no drinking or smoking anything rule?”

  It’s the first time I’ve actually spoken directly about that party with them, and surprisingly, I don’t feel as ashamed as I thought I would. Then again, the girl who thought she’d feel ashamed might not even exist anymore.

  Kingsley turns to me, his face a shadow against the night. “Yes, please, don’t drink or smoke anything anyone gives you, okay?” He scratches at his wrist, his gaze bouncing from the fire then back to me. “In fact, you should try to avoid drinking anything at all while we’re here?”

  “What if I get thirsty?”

  “Then tell me and I’ll get you a drink.”

  “But then wouldn’t that technically be breaking the rules, since I’d be drinking the drink you gave me?”

  Porter smirks at me. “Such a smartass.”

  I flip him off but he only laughs then strolls off toward a group of people.

  I redirect my attention back to Kingsley and find him frowning at me.

  “Har, I promise you can trust me,” he swears, the fire reflecting against the intensity in his eyes. “I wouldn’t ever do anything that would hurt you.”

  “I know.” The words—they feel so true.

  Truer than anything else in my life at the moment.

  It’s crazy, though, trusting him this much when I know he’s harboring a secret from me. But I can’t seem to make the sensation fade away.

  A smile starts to touch his lips, but he hastily erases the look and turns around, hiking toward the fire. His bootlaces are untied like mine and I find myself smiling over the similarity. But my smile quickly evaporates as I become aware that I’m standing in front of Porter’s car by myself, and almost all of the faces around me are unfamiliar. I’ve never been one to just walk up and try to make small talk with someone I don’t know. That’s always been Foster’s thing. I could follow Kingsley, but he didn’t invite me to. And there’s no way in hell I’m going to tag along with Porter.

  I deliberate climbing back into the car and hiding out in there, but that won’t help me get any closer to the truth. And besides, the old Harlynn would’ve climbed in the car and hid, and I don’t want to be her anymore.

  I slide my foot forward and slowly head toward the crowd, telling myself I can handle this. Halfway there, Kingsley slows to a stop, turns back around, and scans the area. When his eyes land on me, a crease forms between his brows.

  “You coming?” he asks.

  While I may have just grown the ladyballs to endeavor into the party on my own, I’m grateful for his offer and hurry over to him.

  “What were you doing?” he asks when I reach him.

  “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to hang out with me or do your own thing, so…” I lift a shoulder.

  He sweeps strands of his hair out of his eyes. “Why would we invite you here if we didn’t want to hang out with you?”

  “Well technically you didn’t invite me,” I remind him. “In fact, you said that if you knew Porter was picking me up beforehand, you wouldn’t have let him.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.” He fiddles with the chain dangling from his belt loop. “I’m sorry I said that. It just kind of took me by surprise when he showed up at your house. Plus… I worry about you hanging out with us.”

  My brows pull together. “Why?”

  He works his jaw from side to side as he stares at the fire. “I just don’t want you getting involved in the shit that is my life right now.”


  I sink my teeth into my bottom lip as I assess his profile, the sorrow haunting his eyes, the fullness of his lips.

  God, he’s so beautiful.

  I’ve thought this about him before, but felt guilty about it, like there was something wrong with my mind. In this moment, though, without Foster around, the guilt isn’t present.

  “Why is your life shit right now?” I ask. ‘Is it… Does it have to do with that Evan guy?”

  He scuffs the tip of his boot against the dirt. “It has to do with a lot of things.”

  “And you can’t tell me what these things are? Not even a little bit?”

  He shakes his head and sighs. “No, I really can’t.” He stops kicking the dirt and straightens his stance, his gaze finding mine. “Come on. Let’s go do this party thing.”

  His swift shift in topic gives me a bit of whiplash, but I hurry after him as he walks into the crowd. People are standing so close to one another that we have to push our way through. I’ve never been one for being in crowds and claustrophobia starts to set in. As if he’s in sync with my emotions, Kingsley reaches back and takes ahold of my hand. His fingers tremble as he tugs me forward, guiding me around until I’m right in front of him. Then he places his hands on my hips and steers me forward, using his elbows to create a path.

  My claustrophobia dissipates and is replaced by the butterfly sensation I got when he kissed me on the cheek all those years ago. His chest is pressed against my back and I swear I can feel his heart beating as rapidly as mine. The scent of him engulfs me, along with his warmth.

  Safe. Safe. Safe.

  I very well may have been content staying that way forever, just me and him in the middle of the throng of people, with his hands on my hips, my heart beating deafeningly in my chest, the feeling of being alive dancing in the air. But eventually, we arrive at the edge of the crowd and he withdraws his hands from my hips.

  A quiet sigh leaves my lips, but the music swallows the sound up.

  “Sorry about that.” Kingsley moves up beside me. “I remembered about halfway in that you get claustrophobic around a lot of people. Well, unless that’s changed.”

  “No, it hasn’t. I’m surprised you remembered, though.”

  He shrugs then turns toward a table with a bunch of bottles and cans on it. “You had that panic attack that one time when we were at a carnival and it was super crowded. When I asked why you were panicking, you told me you get scared when you’re around a lot of people. I made a mental note of it so I could make sure it never happened again.” He eyes over the drink selection. “I think I was too young to realize that we wouldn’t always be around each other so I couldn’t always protect you.”

  Protect.

  Porter had said the other day that I had my very own protector, implying that Kingsley was it. Maybe he was right.

  When Kingsley looks at me, his brows furrow. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s nothing. This is just… nice.”

  His confusion grows. “What is?”

  I shrug. “Hanging out with you.” When uncertainty floods his eyes, I ask, “What?”

  Shaking his head, he picks up a bottle and fiddles with the lid. “It’s nothing.”

  “No, it’s something.” When he makes no effort to respond or even look at me, I steal the bottle from his hand.

  His gaze darts to me then he grabs the bottle from me, frantically peering around. Then he leans in to whisper in my ear, “Remember, no drinking anything unless it’s from me.”

  I resist a shiver as his breath dusts across my skin. “I wasn’t going to. I was just trying to get you to tell me why you’re annoyed that I said it was nice hanging out with you.”

  “Oh.” He slants back, scratching his head. “It doesn’t annoy me.”

  “Liar. I can tell it does.”

  “I swear it doesn’t.” He sets the bottle back onto the table. “I just wonder if Foster was here, if you’d even be standing here talking to me.” He can barely look at me as he says it.

  The barely is enough to make me feel a tremendous amount of guilt.

  “I’m sorry for cutting you out of my life. There was just a lot of stuff that happened over the years that made me question whether or not I should be friends with you.” I sink my teeth into my bottom lip. Saying the words aloud makes me feel awful. “I was stupid, though, for being confused about it. I should’ve been friends with you. I can see that now.”

  He stares at me, his expression unreadable. “What stuff happened to make you feel that way?”

  I consider telling him about what Foster told me all those years ago, but that might start a fight between him and Kingsley, and I don’t want to be the cause of that. But being a liar doesn’t feel like a great choice either.

  “It has to do with Foster, doesn’t it?” he says before I can come up with an answer.

  The lack of emotion in his voice makes me question how long he’s thought this.

  “No,” I start, but then the lie burns on my tongue. “Yes… Maybe… I don’t know.” I blow out a stressed breath. “I don’t want to start a fight between you two.”

  “You won’t,” he assures me. When I lift a brow, he adds, “I wasn’t lying about what I said in the gas station the other day. I don’t start fights with Foster. He just hates me. Always has.”

  “That’s not true. He doesn’t hate you. You guys just don’t get along—”

  “No, he hates me,” he cuts me off, his tone resolute. “He has since the day he realized I wasn’t going to do whatever he wanted. It was around the time we started being friends with you and he told me you were going to be his friend, not mine. When I wouldn’t agree to that, he got irritated and told my mom that the hole I dug in your backyard—you remember that hole?” He doesn’t wait for me to finish, anger flashing in his eyes. “He told her that I said I was going to bury you in that hole. I wasn’t allowed to see you for an entire month because of that and by then, you and Foster were already friends. And I had to go to therapy because my parents thought I was crazy.” He smashes his lips together, his fingers trembling as his hands ball into fists. “I’m sorry. I don’t need to put my shit on you.”

  It feels like the ground is about to open up and swallow me whole. Like my life is one big lie. The sad part is, only weeks ago, I wouldn’t have believed Kingsley. But now, after Foster lied about saving me, after I found the necklace, after what the cashier said to me, I can see the truth. That my best friend—ex-best friend is a fucking liar. And with Foster being so tied to every aspect of my past, it makes me feel like I’ve been living a nightmare for the last eighteen years and I’m just waking up. Perhaps death did that to me. Perhaps I was sleepwalking through all those years, and when death seized me by the lungs, it woke me up—screamed at me to see. Perhaps who ever breathed life into me, breathed me into another life.

  Before I can tell Kingsley any of this, though—well not all of it, but some—he stalks away toward the trees, muttering, “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

  Snapping out of my shock, I chase after him, grabbing his arm right before he reaches the trees. He grinds to a halt, tension rippling from his body. I try not to take it offensively and skitter around to stand in front of him.

  “You’re not an idiot,” I insist. He won’t meet my gaze, staring over my shoulder, his dark eyes so damn haunted it nearly tears my soul in half. Mustering up every damn ounce of courage I have, I mold my palm to his cheek and force him to look at me. “You’re not an idiot,” I repeat and his throat muscles bob as he swallows hard. “I am.” He starts to shake his head, but I refuse to let him, my hand remaining firm on his cheek. “I’m an idiot for believing Foster. For not making my own choices. For not being able to see what was really going on. But I can see it now. I really can.”

  His hesitant gaze searches mine. “I don’t want to sound like an asshole, but I don’t get it.” He steps back, roughly tugging his fingers through his hair, and making the strands go askew. My hand falls lifelessly to my sid
e, already aching to touch his skin again. “I mean, it’s always been Foster. Always… It’s why I never said…” He sucks in a gradual breath. “And now you’re here, telling me you believe me, not him. It just… It doesn’t make sense.”

  “It kind of does, though, if you really think about it,” I mutter, eliciting a questioning look from him. I sigh, knowing I can either tell him the truth or continue tiptoeing around it. And I’m tired of tiptoeing—tired of lying.

  Liar.

  Liar.

  Liar.

  I’ve been a liar for so long. I’m realizing that now. That even before the accident, I lied about how I felt, what I thought. Who I really was.

  “I already told you about the necklace I found in Foster’s room,” I say. “And about how he’s been lying about having it for all these years. Well, I also found out there’s other stuff he’s been lying to me about too.”

  “Like what?” he wonders. When I don’t answer right away, he adds, “Not that I’m questioning you. I know my brother lies all the time.”

  “No, you’re fine.” I hug my arms around myself as the wind picks up. “It’s just one of the things is going to make me sound a bit weird.”

  “Har, I may not be a lot of things, but weird definitely isn’t one of them. Trust me, whatever you say, I’ll be cool with it.”

  “Even if I tried to convince you there was a unicorn right behind you?” I crack a nervous joke.

  The corners of his lips twitch upward. “Wouldn’t be the first time. And can I point out that the last time you said something like that to me, you almost convinced me it was true.”

  My lips pull into a smile. “Holy crap, I almost forgot about that.”

  We were seven and hanging out alone while Foster was at a soccer game.

  My mom had been babysitting Kingsley and we’d been telling scary stories about ghosts living in the forest. When I got too scared, I tried to convince Kingsley that there were really unicorns living in there.

  His reply: “You might be right. The other day I thought I saw a sparkly horse running around in the trees.”