Breathing 02 - Barely Breathing

by Rebecca Donovan

  "What are you thinking?" he asked when I was quiet for too long.

  "What was she even doing there? That place was awful."

  "I don't know," he replied, just as confused.

  The night replayed itself in my head: the phone call, the sketchy bar, the confrontation with the creepiest guy on earth.

  "Were you―" I began, just as Jonathan asked, "What did―”

  We both stopped and he encouraged, "Go ahead."

  "Were you really going to hit that guy?"

  Jonathan pressed his lips together, like he was considering his words carefully. "You mean, if you hadn't stopped me?"

  I nodded.

  "Definitely." He answered without hesitation. My eyes widened at his bluntness. He looked down and rubbed his hands together. "It’s a part of my past that I don't like to talk about." He raised his head. "But that's never happened before."

  "What?"

  "No one's ever been able to stop me. I usually lose it, and there's no holding me back."

  "You're a fighter?" I clarified, not expecting the confession. For the first time I noticed a thin scar under his chin, and another above his right eyebrow, both barely visible.

  "Used to be," he corrected. "My past, remember. I haven't gotten that angry in a long time. It scared me."

  "It scared me too," I admitted.

  He stopped rubbing his hands together, troubled by my admission.

  "The whole thing scared me," I said, still feeling the after effects trembling beneath my skin. "Let's just say tonight sucked all around."

  "Yeah, it did," he exhaled. Jonathan leaned toward me to make certain he had my attention. His dark brown eyes focused on me, pulling me in when he said, "I don't ever want to scare you again." I couldn't say anything. The conviction of his words poured into me, and I could barely breathe.

  He leaned back against the couch, releasing me from the connection. I took a deep breath to ease the pounding in my chest.

  "What were you going to ask me?" I was finally able to get out.

  "You said you thought it would be different. What did you mean?"

  “I haven’t lived with her for almost five years,” I explained evasively, staring out the window into the night. "She's been hurt before, and I don't want her to go through that again. I just want it to be different for her, for us."

  “Where were you during those five years?”

  “In hell,” I breathed, resting my head against the couch. He was quiet. I continued to stare into the dark, eventually breathing myself to sleep.

  ~~~~~

  When I opened my eyes, the room was a warm gold as the sun filtered through the trees. My heavy lids closed again, and I pulled the blanket over me. I was about to drift off when I set my hand down and felt the hard lines of his thigh beneath it. My eyes stretched wide. My instinct was to jump up from the couch, freaked that I fell asleep with my head on his leg. But I didn't want to wake him, so I sat up slowly. Jonathan remained seated on the end of the couch, his head lolled to the side, breathing deeply.

  I found my jacket draped over the arm of the rocking chair and my shoes placed beneath it―knowing I’d had them on when I fell asleep. I rubbed my eyes to ward off the remaining drowsiness and carefully rose from the couch. A floorboard creaked when I stood. His head rocked in response, and his eyes blinked open.

  “Sorry,” I whispered, my heart beating quickly. I’d really wanted to be gone when he woke up.

  “What time is it?” he asked, squinting as he read his watch. “I should get going.” He yawned and stretched his arms over his head.

  “You’re not staying?”

  “Um,” he stalled, not expecting the strain in my voice. I bit my lip, realizing how I sounded.

  “I mean,” I fumbled, searching for a way to fix it. “I thought that…”

  “I can stay,” he interrupted. He sighed as his eyes climbed the stairs.

  “You don’t have to.” I could tell he was unsettled by his decision.

  “I don't understand what happened last night,” he said, resting his head on the couch and searching the ceiling. "I've seen her drunk, and I've seen her get emotional. But I've never seen her that bad before.”

  I hesitated, taking in his troubled face―debating if I should just go up to my room. He was obviously concerned about her, and so was I.

  I sat down on the couch, with one leg folded under me so I could face him. “She was upset.” He rolled his head over to look at me. “I'm sure it's been hard having me move back in, too. I remind her of my father, and that... hurts her. I want to fix us, but I don't know how if I'm the reason she's in pain.”

  Jonathan studied my eyes, as the truth of my words swallowed me.

  “You didn’t do this to her,” he soothed. I averted my eyes. "And as much I feel guilty for not calling her back, I didn't do this to her either."

  We sat in silence for a minute. I tried to convince myself that what he said was true, and I knew it was. But I couldn't help feeling that if I hadn't forced myself back in, she wouldn't be forcing herself forget.

  “Can I ask you something?” Jonathan inquired hesitantly.

  “Sure.” I turned back toward him, waiting.

  “What happened to your ankle?” He eyed the scar on my right foot, which was curled under me. I pressed my lips together, not prepared for the question.

  He opened his mouth to say something when I answered, “A going away present.”

  He was quiet a moment. “From hell?” I raised my brows in confirmation, not expecting him to get it. “I have one of those.” Before I could react, he lifted the right side of his shirt to reveal a long, thin scar that ran under his ribs. “Lived there once too.”

  There were so many questions I wanted to ask him, but shock stole them from my tongue. I eventually excused myself to my room.

  Jonathan remained on the couch, not leaving as he’d promised―but not making any attempt to go to my mother's room.

  Despite being exhausted, I couldn’t fall back to sleep. I wondered if he was downstairs lying awake as well, trying to figure out what might have happened to me. I couldn’t even imagine how to begin to ask someone to reveal their nightmares.

  15. Another Chance

  “Jonathan, I'm so sorry. I promise I’ll be better.”

  My eyes blinked open, only moments after they'd finally shut. I remained still, listening.

  “Please, don’t leave me,” her words were broken with emotion. Footsteps creaked down the stairs. Cries filtered through my door. I didn’t dare move, fearing they’d know I could hear them.

  “I won’t leave,” he stated from the bottom of the stairs. His voice didn’t hold signs of promise, but consoled with a defeated breath. “I need to clear my head, okay? But I’ll come back tonight and we’ll talk about it.”

  “You promise?” she asked, in an elevated voice that was stressed with desperation. His answer wasn’t verbal because the next thing I heard was the door shutting, followed by gasping sobs at the top of the stairs.

  It was difficult to listen to her. My insides ached, wanting to take away the hurt―but I didn’t. I pulled up into a ball and waited. Waited for her to find her breath and put herself back together. Her whimpers only quieted with a click of her door.

  I crawled out of my bed and dressed in running pants and a long sleeved running shirt, pulling a fleece over it. I needed to get out of the house, away from the consuming emotions. I tied my sneakers and slipped on gloves, hiding my hair under a baseball cap. The brisk air filled my lungs as I stepped out the door.

  The sun was out, and the temperature was above freezing, melting away the edges along the shoveled sidewalk. I eased into a jog and breathed deep, releasing the tension in my shoulders as I followed the concrete squares beneath my feet. I forgot my iPod, which would have been ideal to distract me from playing the previous night over and over in my head. Instead, the racing thoughts remained trapped.

  I explored the intertwining neighborhood, finding
a park a few streets away. It was filled with kids in snowsuits jumping off whatever they could into the thick mounds of snow. Their laughter and squeals were a welcome sound in contrast to the cries that echoed in my head.

  As I rounded the corner of the park, my jogging slowed at the sight of the blue pick-up truck. When I saw Jonathan sitting on a bench staring at nothing, I stopped. I considered turning around and running in a different direction, pretending I didn’t see him. But then he spotted me, and I wasn’t going anywhere.

  I walked toward him, tucking my hands in my fleece pockets.

  “Hey,” I offered, standing in front of him. “It’s not bad out today. It’s not California, but it’s not bad.”

  Jonathan nodded lightly. His eyes remained troubled. I sat down next to him on the wooden bench. Neither of us said anything for at least a minute.

  I was contemplating getting up to continue my run when he spontaneously confessed, “My father didn’t like me very much. I wasn’t submissive like my mother. I didn’t worship him like my younger brother. I didn’t let him control me, so he’d do anything he could to break me. My life's been complicated, and I can't...” The words trailed away and he stared into the distance.

  “I can’t do this. This… drama.” He took a breath and finally looked over at me. “I need my life to be simple. I need to know what’s coming, to be in control. I don’t handle the unexpected very well.” He dropped his gaze.

  “I understand. So does that mean you're done? That you're leaving?"

  "Why? You think I should?" He waited for me to answer.

  "I don't think I'm the person to tell you what to do. But I don't want her to hurt either.”

  "Emma, I promise that I don't want to hurt you... I mean, her." I turned toward him, confused by his stuttering sentence. His eyes flickered in apology. "I don't want to hurt Rachel," he emphasized. "You believe me, right?" His dark brown eyes delved into me the way that they did, invading my thoughts and leaving me too vulnerable to resist. He held me captive until I was able to pull away with a shiver. "Right?"

  I nodded, staring down at my lap.

  “My aunt didn’t like me very much either," I blurted out of nowhere, redirecting my gaze toward the house across the street. "Actually, I’m pretty sure she hated me. I mean, you don’t strangle a person if you like them even a little, do you?”

  Jonathan’s eyes widened in surprise. I guess he hadn't seen that coming.

  “Wow, that was kind of a messed up thing to say,” I admitted with a nervous laugh.

  “Yeah, a little,” he said with a slight chuckle.

  "I can't believe I just told you that." I shook my head in embarrassment. "You'd think that I'd be over it by now. I mean, she's in jail. But I can't seem to let it go."

  "Believe me, I understand. My father's been dead for years, and he still gets to me."

  Any remnants of a smile fell from my face. "I'm sorry."

  “I’m not.” I was taken aback by the conviction in his voice. His face was emotionless and smooth. And in that moment, I was envious. I shifted uneasily, struck with guilt for wishing she were dead for even that one second.

  Jonathan exhaled audibly. “Wow, we’re depressing as hell, aren’t we?”

  I laughed at the tension breaker. “Pretty pathetic.”

  “So, what are you up to today?” he asked, averting the heavy topic that threatened to devour us.

  “Well, I guess I’m going to finish this run,” I answered. “Then… I don’t know. And you?”

  “Exercise sounds good,” he acknowledged. “Maybe I’ll go for a swim. Then, I guess I’ll be back over.”

  "What are you going to do?" I asked, fearing his motives to return.

  “Don’t worry,” he assured, “no more drama. Despite what happened, I don't freak that easy. I'm not going to break it off.”

  “Good.” I smiled lightly, finding myself hoping my mother wouldn’t continue with her liquid therapy and end up pushing him away for good.

  I left him on the bench with words of seeing him later and returned to my run. I had a hard time making sense of what was happening, connecting with someone through shared misery. I didn't get it, but I wasn’t ready for him to leave either.

  I returned to the house cleansed with sweat, and discovered that I’d missed a call from Casey. After stripping off the layers and guzzling a glass of water, I called her back.

  “Will you go to a party with me tonight?” she asked, straight to the point.

  “Uh,” I stumbled, not expecting the question. “I don’t know.”

  “Please, Emma,” she begged. “Jill and Sara are away, and this party is supposed to be amazing. I don’t want to go by myself.”

  I sighed, having a feeling I was going to regret saying, “Fine, I’ll go.”

  “Yes!” she exclaimed loudly. “I’ll pick you up at nine, okay?”

  “Sure,” I agreed. “Where are we go―” She'd hung up. I supposed it didn’t matter. They were basically all the same anyway.

  “That’s a cute sweater,” my mother noted as she watched me concentrate on brushing my lashes with mascara. It was the first time I'd seen her. She'd stayed in her room most of the day.

  “Thanks,” I responded, twisting the tube back together. “It’s really warm though, so I hope I don’t get too hot.”

  “Cashmere does that. Wear a nice tank top underneath. I have a white one that would look great if you needed to take off the sweater.”

  “Okay, thanks," I replied, glancing at her reflection in the mirror.

  She hesitated and said, "I keep fucking up, huh?" I turned to face her as she let out a disheartened sigh. "I'm sorry."

  Before I could respond, she went to her room and returned holding a ribbed tank top with a sweetheart neckline.

  "Thank you," I offered, not sure how to recognize her apology. I pulled off the hooded green cashmere sweater and slipped on the tank.

  “Fits perfectly,” she admired. “Where’s the party?”

  “Not sure exactly,” I admitted. “Do you want me to call you?”

  “No,” she replied with an indifferent shrug. “You’re not the troublemaker kind, too much like your father.” She smiled gently and turned to walk away.

  "Mom," I beckoned, "I mean, Rachel." She turned back toward me, her face worn and sad, even though she was trying to hold a semblance of a smile. "Are you okay?"

  My mother blinked away the tears that formed in her eyes. She cleared her throat and tried to laugh. "I can't believe I'm acting like this." She swiped a hand over her lids. "I'm behaving like a sixteen year old." Then she quickly spurted, "No offense."

  I smiled.

  "I knew he was younger. And I knew that I get attached easily," she explained. "I shouldn't be surprised that I freaked him out." She appeared distraught as she confessed with a pained voice, "I just like him so much, Emily."

  "I know." I smiled in sympathy absorbing the crushed look in her eyes. I wanted to tell her that it would be okay. That he wanted to be with her too, but I wasn't convinced that was the truth. So instead I offered, "You're stronger than this."

  My words left her without her own. She appeared surprised, and a tear seeped down her cheek.

  We were interrupted by a honk.

  "Oh, that's Casey," I stated. Then I paused, "Do you want me to stay?"

  "No," my mother smiled, smoothing her damp cheek with a shake of her head. "Go. Have fun. Besides, he should be here any minute."

  Jonathan was on the walkway as I headed to Casey's car.

  “Party?” he confirmed.

  “I guess,” I shrugged. “See you later. Oh, and be good to her,” I said lowly as he passed me. I turned away before he could answer.

  When I opened the door to Casey’s Mini, electronic beats were released into the quiet neighborhood.

  “Hi,” she yelled, not making an effort to turn down the music that reverberated through my chest. I just nodded in return.

  Casey wasn’t a non-stop talk
er and messenger of all things gossip like Jill. She usually got the stories mixed up or completely wrong, so she’d listen and repeat what she didn’t understand―which was most of it. She was genuinely a good person, but carrying on a conversation would take patience I didn’t possess at the moment―so I just let the music do the talking.

  We zipped through the winding dark roads of Weslyn, venturing into the neighborhood lined with iron gates. The houses hidden were set within the hills, displaying all their grandeur while overlooking the rest of us below. I knew this was going to be quite the party.

  Casey turned the music down as we entered a long drive. The electronic gates slid open when we pulled in front of them. She eyed me in expectation.

  “Are you mad?” she asked, biting her lip―preparing for my reaction.

  “Uh, no,” I replied, eyeing her suspiciously. “Why would I be mad?”

  “You’ve never been here?” she questioned in surprise.

  I watched the stone castle emerge before us as we crept up the wide circular drive filled with cars. It even had a tower in the center, with wings upon wings spread out on either side. The flawless structure was built with large round stones. It was impressive, but emitted a cold, façade.

  “I would remember this place,” I gawked. “Who lives here?”

  Casey stopped the car for the valet and put it in park. “Drew.”

  Before I could react, she was out of the car and taking a number from the guy in the black

  jacket.

  Now I was mad.

  “Why are we at Drew’s? What made you think this was a good idea? And why would you invite me to come with you?” I barraged, shoving my car door open.

  “Geez,” Casey sulked. “He never has parties, and I really wanted to see the inside of his place. We’ll leave in an hour, okay?” She looked like a pathetic puppy who got scolded for chewing on the furniture, her blue eyes big and her brows tilted down―I released an annoyed sigh.

  “Fine, an hour,” I grumbled. “But don’t lose me, okay?”

  “I promise,” she chirped, all perked up again. I almost expected her to jump up in the air and clap.

  I followed her through a large wooden door with a cast iron knocker as large as my head. We entered the open-ceiling foyer, where a large table displaying an enormous floralscape centered the space.