Breathe Me (A 'Me' Novel)

by Williams, Jeri

  Chapter 14

  Harley

  I knew before I actually felt her that my monster was in my room, lurking, waiting to strike.

  After waiting for what felt like hours for her to come and deal with me, I fell asleep on top of my covers. It made her angrier if she had to pull back the covers to get to me. Plus, it wasn’t like they helped much. I must have flipped over on my side, facing away from the door, when it had been my intention to lie the other way. My back, vulnerable and still a little bruised, was hers for the taking.

  I had been on the cusp of a deep sleep, but I became hyperaware of her, kind of like when you sense some watching you. Her breathing let me know that she was undoubtedly angry; the alcohol wafting off her let me know her eyes would be glazed over; and the thing that I was most aware of, the silence, let me know she was out of control.

  “I can’t stand you,” she slurred. It didn’t matter if she knew I was awake or not; this proclamation wasn’t new. And no matter how much she said it, it still tore at a small piece of me.

  Every single time.

  If I didn’t know this was coming, I would have let this, this hurt, override my choking fear, my hopelessness that it would always be this way. For some reason, Deklan popped into my head and what he would think if he ever found out I was this girl who’d been beaten on the inside and out instead of the person he’d heard about from his brother, someone who was sure of herself and knew what she wanted. He would have never kissed me if he had known, and in that moment, I was glad for the fake life I’d created to hide behind, because that lie afforded me a glimpse at feeling wanted by someone.

  “Wish you had never been born. Ssssshould have ssswallowed you when I had the ch-chance. He left because of you!”

  I could have moved, I had the time, but I had found that protecting myself, fighting, made it worse, so I stayed put as the first blow of the belt, buckle first, hit me directly in the middle of my spine, the sting of it spreading down to my legs.

  “I can’t stand to even look at you, you piece of shit.” Another hit. I tensed but otherwise took it, careful not to make any noise. I controlled very little of my life inside these walls, and I learned to check my emotions at the first strike because I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

  That was my control and mine alone.

  Each stick of the buckle bit into different spots on my back, above my butt, top of my spine, and several to the middle, and each hit became more out of control and painful as I tried to hold it in. I tried to think of happy thoughts, like what all the self-help bullshit tells once abused victims who have PTSD or something similar. Only problem was I was still being abused and I didn’t have too many happy thoughts to draw on. Correction: I had one.

  “Why can’t you fucking just do what you are told for once, you ssssstupid whore.” She was losing stamina, the alcohol taking her to a drunken-induced tiredness. After one last heavy hit, she dropped the belt and was done, but not before calling me more names that were more fitting for her than me, then walked out.

  I let out my cry I had been holding in with a gasp, sucking in air as the pain made me dizzy. I wasn’t going to attempt to move. I just lay there for the remainder of the night and allowed myself to replay Deklan’s kiss, to get lost in the look in his eyes right before his lips came down on mine. I replayed the strong grip he had on me as he slipped his tongue inside my mouth and the noise he made right before he let go. I replayed that over and over in my head until I drifted to a place where there were no assholes or monsters. I drifted to a place where I was happy, where I was loved.

  * * *

  Pain. That was my first thought when I awoke stiff and still on my side some hours later. Shame was the second, followed by pity, blame, and anger. I was ashamed because I knew, knew I was an intelligent person, enough to know that everything about last night was wrong and punishable in a court of law, yet I wasn’t making any plans to leave. Pity, because I knew that at least I wouldn’t get any more physical abuse until these healed; she was courteous that way, and it was pitiful that I had fallen into a routine, pitiful that I even had a routine. At least I had a few weeks of reprieve.

  I deserved this. I had been stupid and careless. I knew on some level it was my fault. Had I just snuck back in the way I’d left, I would’ve been waking up pain-free. But I let the possibility that some man, a man who obviously wanted nothing more from me than a quick lay, distract me and make me forget all my barriers and precautions that I needed to take. I didn’t know if I was more angry with myself or my mother, because even after all of that, I still craved her approval, still sought it like a poet seeks a muse. And that pissed me off. Why couldn’t I hate her as much as she hated me?

  Slowly, I moved off the bed, swallowing the pain with each step toward the mirror. I didn’t want to look, but I had to. I had to know. I was at least grateful that my shirt had absorbed some of the hits, though not much. I eased my arms through the sleeves first, the fabric sticking to what I knew was dried blood, and shimmied it down my legs and stepped out. I stared at myself in the mirror, daring—no, willing—myself to turn around and see the damage.

  “Just get it over with,” I willed myself. I didn’t have to turn much. The angry red marks were very evident on the places she struck me most: my lower back and close to my waistline. In her drunken fury, she’d actually managed to break the skin, making little half-moon marks that would most definitely scar. This was how she did her talking. This was how she told me she hated me, hated me so much. She caused me insurmountable pain to prove it.

  There was no way I could go to work like this. I wouldn’t be able to get anything done. But I never missed work, mostly because it was my only outlet but also because she never let me. If I could walk, I could work. Honestly, pain was pain. Nothing I hadn’t dealt with before, and not surprisingly, I’d built up a very high pain threshold. At a loss, I pushed that problem aside and listened at my door. Heavy snoring told me she was still passed out, so I readied my body and very quietly slipped out to the bathroom.

  Taking a shower was a bitch and a half. While the hot water helped relax my tight muscles, it also stung like a thousand bees were pricking me. I allowed myself to cry because, well, I had no better reason other than it fucking hurt. I watched as it all mixed together and washed down the drain—tears, blood, water, and any hope for a normal, happy life. After getting dressed and slipping back to my room, I swallowed about seven aspirin and promised myself that I wouldn’t get that distracted again. There was a reason I’d put up barriers to the outside world, a reason why I acted tough as nails and like I didn’t take shit from anyone. Deklan had made me forget about trying to be someone I wasn’t, and look where that got me. I tried to forget his sinful eyes and what I now knew to be very kissable lips, but his intense stare kept creeping back into my mind. How do I get over whatever this is?

  “You better be taking your ass to work today, too.” My mother’s voice broke through my inner struggle, followed by the wall vibrating as she slammed her door shut. She had gotten up only to tell me that. There was no arguing. Her word was law.

  I started thinking up an elaborate lie that would explain away my soreness to anyone who looked too closely. It was quiet when I opened my door. She was probably passed out again. I quickly and quietly tiptoed down the hall and slipped out the front door. Walking to work proved difficult, as every muscle in my back protested. It was a very slow trek and one that if I didn’t pick up the damned pace would make me late to work. I had already been late once, and I was deathly afraid of losing my job and having to bear the brunt of that. I couldn’t be late today. I shuffled along as fast as I could when I became acutely aware a car was slowly following me. The car pulled up and stopped beside me.

  “Hey, you need a lift?” a sandy male voice called out through the open passenger window of the rust-colored car. It took me a moment to realize who it was as I squinted to see the asshole from last night in the driver’s seat.

  “N
o, thanks,” I said coldly and started my slow pace back up. I had no problem standing up to him. He was not her. He was a piece-of-shit guy who treated women like shit, and by the way his eyes were hungrily racking over my body, he was also a pervert.

  “Aw, come on, don’t be like that.” He put the car in park and got out.

  I immediately halted my footsteps, not wanting to walk closer to him, but it did no good, as he stalked toward me.

  “You look like your momma worked you over real good last night. I got something that will make you feel better.” He cupped his crotch and squeezed it, winking at me. What the actually fuck? This wasn’t happening.

  “Don’t fucking think so, asshole.” I was used to my mother’s pieces hitting on me, thinking it was mother like daughter with us, so I knew how to deal with them, but with this guy, my fear was teetering on the edge. He seemed different, wicked. “Or would you like me to tell my mother?” I leveled my stare at him, trying to make my whole persona threatening.

  “Like I care what that bitch thinks. Don’t fucking threaten me, little girl. I always get what I want.” He licked his cracked lips and smiled wolfishly as he leaned in closer.

  “You need to fall back.”

  Deklan appeared out of nowhere—where did he even come from?—behind the asshole and looked dangerously pissed.

  The asshole turned around, seemingly unfazed by the interruption, and looked at Deklan as if he were a fly buzzing around his head.

  “This ain’t got nothing to do with you, boy. I’m a friend of her momma. I was just offering her a ride.”

  Yeah, a ride I wouldn’t take even if he was the last man on a planet full of zombies.

  “I’ll say it one more time, because apparently you didn’t hear me. Fall the fuck back.” The look on Deklan’s face had totally transformed, and I was momentarily reminded of the older brother from this TV show about vampires that Ember and I used to watch on her computer during lunch breaks.

  Asshole was either stupid or had a death wish, because Deklan was clenching his fist so hard his knuckles were turning white and his eyes had turned dark gray, they were almost black. If I saw him on the street, I’d cross it.

  “Look, kid, I told you—”

  Deklan punched him so hard he had to be seeing stars.

  Asshole stumbled but didn’t go down, looking at Deklan as if he wanted to murder him. He flexed his jaw like he was testing it out to speak, but Deklan beat him to it.

  “I don’t give a shit what you told me. I suggest you take my advice. Otherwise, it’ll be like popping Pringles in this bitch. I won’t stop at just one.”

  Asshole looked from me to Deklan then back again, deciding something, then said, “Whatever. No pussy is worth this, even if it is from a virgin.” He brushed past Deklan, hitting his shoulder, before getting back in his car and speeding off.

  Chapter 15

  Harley

  “You good?” Deklan asked, coming over to me. The street thug I saw a few minutes ago was not quite gone but definitely simmering under the surface. I knew that kind of anger, saw it almost every day, and while I was 89 percent sure Deklan wouldn’t hurt me, it ignited in me the same reaction it always had and probably always would.

  Fear. But a different kind. I wasn’t scared of him, just scared of the day when I wouldn’t see him again and how that made me feel like I couldn’t breathe.

  “Golden, thanks.” I stared at him as he flexed the hand he’d just used, wondering what it was like to punch someone. I was morosely curious about it, too familiar with the other end.

  “Who’s the dick?” He looked in the direction of the fleeing car as if he wanted to chase after it. His voice was softer now, seemingly calmed down now that the threat was over. I, however, was still frozen on the spot, unable to move. I was also pretty sure he heard that asshole’s little “virgin” declaration when he walked off.

  “Just some guy my mom’s…my mom knows,” I amended, nervously. Forget that I was already nervous around him, but knowing that he heard, that he knew, made me almost turn into an invalid.

  “Come on.” He grabbed my hand and started to tug me along, causing me to whimper a little at the sudden movement. My back, I had forgotten.

  His brow furrowed as I resisted. “Did he hurt you?” He stepped closer to me, eyes roaming all over my body, inspecting me for visible bruises.

  His search was so careful it rocked me. No one was this nice, people didn’t come to my rescue, and no one cared that my life was shit. I learned those things at a young age. Everyone had problems, and no one wanted your problems on top of theirs. Yet here he was tenderly stroking his thumb over the back of my palm, asking me if someone had hurt me. I wanted to tell him yes, someone had hurt me. I wanted to tell him like I had never wanted to tell someone something so badly in my life. I wanted for him to beat the bad away like he did with the asshole because I didn’t know how to do it myself, because I was too weak.

  Too scared.

  “Harley?” He ducked his head so that he could look into my eyes. His probing eyes were silently willing me to tell him.

  “No, I’m okay.” I forced a small smile, trying to throw my shields back up and stamp down the urge to trust him. As much as I wanted to tell him, I knew it wouldn’t do any good. No one could save me from my life. It was always going to be this way. What was I expecting him to do about it? We had kissed, he wanted to get in my pants, but that didn’t mean he wanted to sign up to take on a lost cause.

  A weakling.

  What would happen when he found out? He would be disgusted that I was so weak and stupidly fearful to allow myself to live this way. That I would allow this to happen to me. I knew what he would feel because it was what I felt every moment of every day.

  He didn’t say anything, just nodded and tried again to tug me forward. I tried to take it slow, but even that one step sent fire across my back, causing me to let out a small cry through my clenched teeth. Shit, that hurt.

  “What the hell, Har?” He whirled on me, his eyes accusing. I had little time to soak in the fact that I liked my name on his lips. And that I was stupid for slipping up.

  “It’s nothing. I had a little fall yesterday.” I laughed what I hoped was a carefree laugh and waved my hand dismissively. “I’m a total Bella.” Then I cursed myself for making that stupid reference. He obviously wouldn’t have read that book. He was way too cool for that.

  “A fall.” He mumbled as he let go of my hand and studied me for a beat. In that short time, I had gotten used to his touch enough to miss the heat of his hand in mine. He ran his hand over his close-cropped bark-colored hair. It was cut so low I couldn’t get the exact shade.

  “Look, I know you don’t know me, but what’s up? You one hundred, really?” He looked so sincere, and I was so tired of pretending of living this lifeless life. Tired of the fear ruling me, consuming me so completely that I didn’t know who I was, never did. I wanted to beg him to kiss me like he did last night and make me forget about it all because that moment was the single most best one of my miserably sad life. I wanted to tell him that every time she hit me, kicked me, punched me, or told me she wished I had never been born that it was another pill added to my stash, another piece of my heart that dulled. That I was broken beyond repair.

  You can’t fix me.

  I didn’t tell him any of this. The fear that when I did it would be the last I saw of him locked the truth in my throat like a hard-to-swallow pill. Instead, I focused on his eyes, memorizing them and stamping down my wavering shield, and gave him an eye roll. “You sure you don’t have a uterus? That was dangerously close to sounding like a chick,” I said, then arched an eyebrow and, just for shits and giggles, flicked my eyes down pointedly.

  His intense gaze wavered for a fraction of a second before a muscle ticked in his jaw and he smiled arrogantly, then replied smoothly, “I do actually. It’s so large it hangs down my thigh. Want to see?”

  “Please,” I scoffed, shifting to keep my achi
ng back from locking up. “I’m sure I’d need glasses to see it. With a magnifying lens.” I almost sounded like my normal, fake self.

  “If I’m sure about anything in my life, it’s how untrue that statement is.” His eyes dared me to inspect the truthfulness of his words. With a smirk, he leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, revealing his thick biceps threatening to pop out of his T-shirt, and just stared at me, consuming me with his eyes but not like before. His eyes seemed to roll over me slowly, searching this time, instead of the sensual slow dance he normally did. It was as if he was looking for a chink in my armor, a flaw. I couldn’t let him look too closely, so no matter how much pain I was in, I forced myself to move, to act as though nothing was wrong and my back wasn’t protesting with sharp pains every move I made.

  “Look, as awesome as this little stare down is, I have to get to work.” I walked around him and started down the sidewalk, each agonizing step making me hiss through my teeth. There was no way I’d make it to work on time now. That asshole ate up my walking time. Even if I ran, I’d still be there late. And I wasn’t running anywhere. Shit.