Breathe With Me (The Breathe Series Book 3)

by Wendy L. Wilson

  “Abby, what the fu…”

  “Hey…” she cuts me off, a cocky tone that is ready to let me have it even more than she apparently already has. “I just figured that would be a change up from the lame-ass tattoo that Hayden may get on his bicep. Seemed pretty fitting…don’t you think?”

  “Ohhh Come On!” I holler out, staring longer at the tattoo, with the phone now crushed in my hand. “Are you serious?!”

  Abby laughs. “Yeah, I think that is exactly what the tattoo artist said when I showed him what to put on it.”

  “What the hell was I doing the whole time when you were discussing this particular design?”

  She lets out a squeal, enjoying the hell out of my agony, “Oh, you were right there, talking with us. You had a ridiculously huge smile on your face the whole time.”

  “Geez! You mean, I didn’t see the freaking flower and say…Oh whoa, whoa, hold up…lets butch this bitch up and add a skull and cross bones or a baseball bat or a damn hammer or something?” I whine, sounding like a girl now with a pleading tone and hoping that I at least spoke up.

  “Oh no…are you kidding! You couldn’t even see straight at that point. You probably thought the tulip was a bat,” she says in a matter of fact way. “Oh, but hey, it’s better than my first idea.”

  “Well just what the hell was that, dolphins and gold fish jumping through the ‘P”?”

  “Oooo, that would have been good too. Nope, I was going to have them tattoo a penis to your forehead, you know, given the fact that you are now a penis-head…your words not mine.”

  I imagine Abby on the other line, painting her nails or doing some nonchalant, every day thing while I am freaking out that I am now branded across my ass with something that makes absolutely no sense to have on my body.

  “Well, you should have gone with the dong on my face, because she won’t even talk to me and now…”

  Abby spits out a loud laugh. “Well I really didn’t think you’d go for that one, but not to worry, I saved the sketch. We’ll do that next time we go out.”

  “Oh hell, no, woman. My drunken, ink covered ass will stay far, far away from you.”

  “Well, I think there is only one solution here, don’t you think?”

  I stare ahead, unable to unlock the trance I have on my new found body décor.

  “What’s that…skin grafts? The makeup shit you girls put on your face across my ass every time I have a date? Butt implants?”

  “No, Evan…maybe rather than being a pain in the ass, maybe you need to just go and get her. I mean it looks like your ass belongs to her now, after all.”

  My eyes focus on the curve of every letter, ignoring all the lame frilly garbage that makes me look like a tree-hugging, nature-loving dude or extremely secure in my masculinity. What the…

  I don’t even respond to what she says, I don’t need to. I know she’s right and what better to remind me to get my ass in gear than this.

  “You know I’ll get you back, right?”

  “Well you know that I have that other tattoo design handy at any moment I need it.”

  I chuckle, looking at the blades of grass along the bottom of the tattoo, “I guess my ass would be grass if I tried anything to get you back anyways, huh?”

  “Yep so you better get your ass on the move.”

  I shake my head; there is no getting one over her. “Bye, Abby.”

  Clicking end call, I set the phone on the counter and slide my jeans up, nearly jumping out of my skin as they brush over the red, irritated flesh. I grab my phone and bring up a text to her.

  Me: Please tell me there are instructions for taking care of this thing?

  Abby: Hahahaha…It’s not a puppy, Evan!

  But yeah…they are in your nightstand drawer. And wth is with all the condoms? Good grief! Maybe we should get Whore branded across the other cheek?

  Shaking my head, I crack up at her feistiness.

  Me: No! Never Again!

  I GET TO THE RESTAURANT, almost ashamed that I lied to Dad when he asked where I was going. I’m not even sure why I didn’t just say I was going to get a bite to eat with a friend. Whoa, well a friend he definitely is not. He’s family, but I don’t even consider him that. He’s…

  I don’t even want to think about it.

  “How many?” the hostess greets me.

  “Ummm.” I look behind her, not even sure of whether he will be here yet or what he would look like now. Maybe I should just take off back home. I glance at my phone, nervously clutched in my hand as if it can shield me from what will be said today. 11:38, I’m early. “I’m meeting someone so I guess two.”

  “Right this way…”

  I follow along, not particularly paying attention to where I’m going, my feet are on autopilot as I flip my head from one side to the next, nervous that he’s here, yet scared that he may not come. When he answered my email almost immediately, before Abby even got to my house, I instantly panicked. Lucky for me, Abby is a terrific mediator and helped me through talking to him and setting up a time to meet with him. The last two weeks have been an emotional roller coaster, however this is something I knew I had to do alone.

  “Will this be ok?”

  Looking around, I’m not even certain when we stepped back outside to the front patio. “Yes, thank you.”

  The hostess leaves. Wrapping my fingertips around the cool steel back of the outdoor chair, I pull it out and slide down, swinging my purse over the back of it. People walk by on the sidewalk, going about life as normal and all the while I’m screaming inside and on the verge of running back home. I thought I could do this, but maybe I can’t. I turn around, the need to flee fully alive and burning through me to a point of nearly shooting flames right out of the heels of my feet to get me to the door. Standing, I reach for my purse.

  “Trent…Hey, wait…” a female voice hollers out by the street.

  I freeze, my eyes wide and pointed in the wrong direction. Moving in slow motion, I turn my head to look towards the street, afraid to even see. My chin barely brushes my shoulder. Is it him?

  “What, I gotta go,” a dark brown haired guy with his back to me calls out. He stands beside a gray SUV, dipping his head into the passenger window. “Oh geez, thanks. I can’t believe I almost forgot that.”

  A pretty young blonde sits in the driver’s seat, leaning over and handing him what looks to be a wallet. I glance to the back seat and see a little boy busy playing with a toy train, oblivious to anything going on around him. I stare, hypnotized, still unable to see the guy’s face as he darts to the back window and taps on the glass. The window goes down and he bends his head in, quickly spinning around and darting to my left towards the entrance of the restaurant.

  “Bye Daddy,” the little boy hollers.

  I snap my head in the other direction to the guy that I still have not gotten a good enough look at. He stops at the door, holding it open and turns directly in my view.

  “Bye baby.”

  My eyes go wide and my mouth hangs open in astonishment. His big brown eyes dart right past me, clearly unaware that I am here or perhaps not recognizing me, but I’d never forget his face. I lower myself back down to the chair, slowly, because at this point I’m not sure my legs will even move. Turning, I plant myself back down and I place my hands in my lap, bowing my shoulders and leaning my chest in towards the edge of the table, to get as close to a comforting fetal position as I can get.

  Commotion sounds past the doorway to the patio. My heart picks up pace and my breathing comes out in quick huffy spurts.

  “I’m not sure, but I might know if I see…” I stop breathing as the same voice comes in behind me and then stops. “I got it. Thanks.”

  My ears pick up on the rustling of fabric and soft footsteps and my whole body quakes. I can’t even look up. My mind flicks to that night; I squeeze my eyes shut, a wave of fear crashing over me and making me spin, as I start to feel the bed dip beside me and the sheets above me stir.

&nbs
p; “Piper?”

  I flinch, an earthquake of panic flashing through me. Goosebumps shoot over my skin, but I’m fully conscious. The tremor of darkness that crept over and threatened to engulf me, passes by as I open my eyes.

  “Piper?”

  I look up, fear, remorse, anger, hurt and pain all taking a backseat as I stare at his face. My heart beats at a normal pace and my breathing slows. I have no clue how to feel at this moment. A weepy sensation hits the back of my eyes and pushes forward under my lids and until I may cry, yet my heart doesn’t ache. I don’t say a word as he continues to stand, looking around and fidgeting his hands like a little boy. Staring back up at his face, I quickly find the same kid that came to stay with us after his mom checked into some drug rehab program; the same square jaw, a hint of freckles over his nose and dark brown eyes that made him look like blood relation rather than an adopted cousin. I pause, looking back over his eyes that seem worried and lacking confidence as his brows dip in regret.

  That alone makes my voice reemerge, “Yeah, it’s me.” I press my lips together, not sure of what else to say.

  He looks around, seeming lost, but I don’t even have it in me to tell him to sit.

  “Can I get you two something to drink?” a waitress calls out, coming as a surprise, because I didn’t even see her walk up.

  He jumps too, swiftly pulling out a chair and taking a seat. “Just a water.”

  I nod, “Same for me.” I could really go for something stronger, but I’m not sure I’ll even have the desire to drink or eat.

  She leaves and it’s just us again, awkwardly looking around the surface of the table as if there is some hidden treasure that we are eager to find, but we both know better; it should be shameful for him to look at me and I just can’t bring myself to look at him for long. I suck in a breath of courage and pull my eyes shut for a moment.

  “Thank you…” he mumbles and my eyes spring open, staring right at him, fearlessly.

  “What?” his words hit me wrong and a bite of anger takes hold as I grit my teeth.

  “For meeting with me. I know I’m the last person you want to sit across from.” He looks around at the few tables that are occupied around us and it suddenly occurs to me just how uncomfortable this is for him too.

  “You have a child?”

  He swings his attention to me, looking shell-shocked by my question, then flips his head around to look at the sidewalk only a stone’s throw away from our table.

  “Oh…yeah.” Pointing his thumb over his shoulder, he goes on, “My wife, Sarah and son, Jax.”

  He clears his throat, still looking uneasy, but I keep my eyes locked on him, unable to look away now. He has a family?

  Just as I think about it, but before I can open my mouth, he speaks again, “I met Sarah a few years ago and it took me a long time to open up to her about my past, but I finally did. I honestly never saw myself having a family…” he pauses, his throat bobbing as he looks to the side.

  The same waitress as before places two glasses on the table and pulls out a small notepad from the black pocketed apron at her waist.

  “Are you ready to order?”

  “Oh, ummm…” he swings his eyes to me, dumbfounded as if we aren’t sitting in a restaurant. “Yes, can I have a coffee and then just a bagel?”

  She jots it down, moving her pen quickly, then looks at me.

  I put my hand up. “Nothing for me, thank you.”

  She darts off, and he goes on, “Before I told Sarah, our relationship was all over the place. I think we broke up about every couple of months. I’d just get freaked out, almost scared of myself,” he stops abruptly and I look around, expecting the waitress to already be back. “Is this ok? I mean, I figured you wanted to know about…” he stops again.

  Shaking my head, I’m not sure how to respond. I don’t want anything from him; I know I don’t want to hear I’m sorry, but I’m not sure what I expected from today. I’m just here, hoping for some sort of peace from my own chains; the chains he gave me all those years ago.

  So I say the only words that make sense, because I sure have nothing to say at this point. “Go on.”

  His brows shoot up, crinkling his forehead. “Ok…ummm, well, I finally told her and it helped. It was almost a relief to share it with someone. I never told anyone up to that point, except for my counselor. I didn’t really think there was anyone else that knew.”

  This comes as a shock, because last week I finally got the courage to call my mother. The reunion wasn’t peaceful. I ended up crying and telling her exactly what I thought of her abandoning me at a time I needed her most, but what ignited more fury than I knew I could hold is when she told me that her sister had told her about Trent years ago. That’s why she took him in, yet when her own daughter accused him of doing the same act, she immediately went into denial. Nothing ever ripped out my heart more than to know that; she knew it was true, yet still left me.

  “But my mom knew…” I enlighten him with info I’m sure he didn’t know I was aware of.

  His eyes go wide in surprise. “Yes…she did,” he says it slowly. “I didn’t know she knew for the longest time though. I wasn’t even aware of what had happened in your immediate family. I moved back out here when I was eighteen and I reconnected with her. She told me all that had happened in a brief summary and how she felt it was her fault that she let me stay with you all. I felt even more ashamed after that.”

  I crinkle my eyes on his words, an onset of tears coming into my view. Taking a deep breath, I instantly push them away, but cannot make my tongue work. A lump settles in my throat and clogs up any sound from coming out.

  Trent stares at me for a minute before going on, filling the silence at our table.

  “Listen, the same as I told you in the letter…I know this won’t take away anything, but I want to tell you what happened to me. It doesn’t excuse it or make it right or…”

  He stares ahead at me; I flinch and then nod my head, nudging him to go on. I’m having a hard time viewing him as being too nervous or afraid or worried to approach this subject considering he was the one actually bold enough to execute the same act upon me. I just want to sit here and listen, because I don’t know how to join in on this type of conversation; just give me all the information and let me process it.

  “Yeah, well, I…ahhh…” he fidgets his hands, placing them on the table and flicking his thumbs back and forth against each other as he looks at them, concentrating as if he’s twirling a strand of yarn around them. “So, I guess I’ll just…”

  For some reason, my heart dips, watching him struggle; I’m not sure why. I owe him nothing. He, however, owes me everything, my youth back, my innocence, courage to move forward, more than he’ll ever know. Or does he know? I dip my brows, compassion filling my heart, tears blurring my vision, yet confusion over why this is even coming over me.

  I speak up, without even knowing I had any words to say, “Trent, just tell me…I’ll listen,” I say it like he’s my friend, like he’s someone that did not wrong me. I offer him the shoulder he didn’t have before his actions were directed at me; I offer him what I have had little of because of my own fears.

  His fingers stop their slow dance with each other, and he looks at me, a disbelieving, touched emotional look glazing his eyes. Crumpling up his face into a pained frown, he pulls his lips together into a straight line before opening his mouth with a gentle nod.

  “Ok…” he squeezes his eyes shut, then back open as he lowers his voice, “It started when I was 8 and not too long after she adopted me. I was already situated in my new room, a new school and tried to get in the same routine that came with going to a new home, but then she started having parties. She and her friends would drink and get high, I even got up in the middle of the night to go to the restroom and found one of her friends shooting up. A couple of weeks later it started.”

  A knot forms in my stomach and although I don’t even have to ask, I do. I need to hear. “What start
ed?”

  He gulps, nudging his chin upward and looking to the sky for a brief moment.

  “The same friend of hers that I walked in on, came into my bedroom in the middle of the night.” He presses his eyes shut and I do the same, a revolting nausea coming over me. “She told me to stay quiet and that it wouldn’t hurt. I stayed quiet just like she said. I had heard things from other kids that had dealt with sexual traumas, but I never thought it would happen to me. I guess, I was in shock and too scared to say a thing. I just laid there.” He takes a huge breath, his shoulders rising as he glances over my head.

  I look down, seeing his coffee and bagel at the table, having absolutely no idea when it was delivered. I’m not even sure he notices.

  “She did things to make my body cooperate and honestly at that point, I never even knew anything about that sort of thing, how it worked, what was done, but I hated it the whole time. I’d start to sob and she would tell me to be quiet…”

  Holding my hand up as tears stream down my face, I stop him. I can’t listen to it all. My heart aches and my whole body shakes in pain, but not for me, I hurt for him; for him. How could I feel anything but hate for him? There’s one thing I need to know and it’s the hardest thing to ask.

  “I’m sorry. Should I stop?”

  I shake my head, then nod, pausing before shaking my head again. “I understand.” I don’t fully, but I get what happened to him. “I just…well, it’s hard to hear…” gritting my teeth, I halt, focusing on my breathing and trying to control my trembling hands as I see that tears also glisten in his eyes.

  “I know. I’ll skip those details. That just went on for weeks, then months and soon it turned into years. Not always the same girl, but each one knew the drill like it was a scheduled event,” He lets out an incredulous deep gurgle that comes across as an insincere breathy chuckle. “They always made me promise not to say anything and what did I do, I listened. I knew it was wrong, I knew what they did was not normal and wasn’t supposed to happen, but I still kept to myself, too scared to speak up.”