Who Needs Air

by Cassie Graham

  I’ll move on.

  I’ll find a way to get better.

  I’ll be one hundred percent one day. I know I will.

  As long as I have my unbelievable friends.

  “Is Jennings in bed?” I ask Whitley as I pull my hair into a bun on the top of my head. The steam from the shower clouds in the doorway of the bathroom and I swat at it.

  “Yeah,” she says around a mouthful of leftover guacamole and chips. She’s sitting at the table, her leg propped up on the chair, sipping some wine.

  I make myself comfortable next to her and steal a chip from the bowl, popping it into my mouth. “Today was so much fun.”

  We randomly decided to take a couple’s dance class at a local studio with Mama and I don’t think I’ve laughed that much in months.

  “Your mom is an absolute riot.”

  I grab at the side of my head. “I know. I can’t believe her. I think she might be in love with Jennings, though.”

  Whitley shovels a heap of guac into her mouth. “I think you’re right.”

  “Sorry,” I say, my cough turning into a laugh and she looks at me through her peripheral.

  I pull over one of the books sitting in the middle of the table and open it to the first page. I’ve only just recently been able to read. For a long time, any book I picked up reminded me of Somewhere Only We Know. Thankfully, the stronger I get, the more I push my boundaries, and I decided yesterday I’d go buy a few new books.

  I missed them. They were essential to my everyday life. Like a limb – an arm or a big toe – and without them, I felt the phantom sensations but never endured physical therapy to regain my strength.

  “Is that a Colleen Hoover book?” Whitley asks, plucking the book from my grasp. She brings the book close to her nose and inhales the aroma of the pages.

  “Yeah, book sniffer.” I giggle.

  “I freaking love her. And ugh, Ugly Love.” She strokes the blue book with her hand. “This one broke my heart and put it back together. It’s so good.”

  I laugh, snatching the book back, hugging it to my chest. “I’ve only read one of hers.”

  “What?” she asks in a sharp, judgey tone. “Only one? For shame.”

  I slide my glasses farther up my nose. “I know. I’m sorry. I finished November Nine last night.”

  “Oh my God, Ben.” She fans herself.

  My body relaxes and a slow smile settles on my lips. “He was so dreamy. I wanted to throw the book so many times, though.”

  “It’s the Hoover Effect.”

  I laugh out loud. “It totally is.” I discreetly move my nose to the pages and take a whiff.

  “Book sniffer!”

  She caught me. Damn.

  Whitley screams, giggling as she falls.

  “You did it!”

  It feels nice to laugh, to have an actual good time. I’m happy to finally be in the right headspace to genuinely laugh without feeling guilt or sadness. I loved August. I loved him with everything inside me. It was okay to still love him and it was okay to miss him, too.

  Shaking her head, her smile falters and she looks at me with somber eyes.

  Uncertainty settles over my body and I gulp the moisture in my mouth. I’ve been pacing myself all weekend but the opening to ask overcomes me. “Have you heard from August?”

  Whitley tilts her head. “Do you really want to know?”

  Pressing my lips in a hard line, my eyes blink rapidly.

  “We talk sometimes,” she says, putting me out of my misery. “Not nearly as much as we used to.”

  I pick up my glass of water, taking a long gulp, wishing it was bourbon. “Is he…is he okay?”

  “He doesn’t seem great, but what can he do?”

  I try to smile, but it’s etched with sorrow. It’s been nearly four months and I still feel the weight of the loss of him. “You know he told me he never once had sex with someone without a condom?” My tone is sadistic and I grit my teeth. “Obviously that was a lie.”

  Whitley shrugs. “He still claims that’s true. Jennings went full-on angry brother on him when the news broke and he found out August left you.”

  “Then how is it even possible?”

  Whitley tugs on her bottom lip, not saying a word but giving so much away in her silence.

  “What is it?”

  She contemplates her options, but gives up quickly. “August seems to think maybe she tampered with the condoms.”

  I feel my face morph into disgust. “Who would do that?”

  “Tomi, apparently.”

  “Gross. That makes me really sad for August.” Even more so now that I know she could have possibly trapped him.

  “Honestly, and I’m not just saying this to make you feel better, August is just as confused as we all are. I don’t want to talk for him, but from what I gather, I’m not sure if he even believes Tomi.”

  I rub my lips together.

  Both of us remain silent, the destruction of the situation settling around us like the explosion of a bomb. The dust relaxes but we both know the restoration is far into the future.

  “Can’t they check to see if he’s the biological father?”

  Whitley breathes out of her nose. “It’s apparently painful for her and the baby, so I guess they’re waiting? I don’t know.”

  I wouldn’t want the baby to be in any pain.

  “He’s already acting like the father,” I say, my chin trembling. Why would he if he wasn’t sure?

  Her jaw twitches. “I’d bet all of my money that Andy has a hand in that.”

  My body sizzles with the rage that’s always gurgled under the surface. I’ve pushed it down for months because I didn’t want to go there.

  “Of course she’s involved. She told me Tomi wasn’t done with him. Maybe she knew about the pregnancy that day on set.”

  “God, I hope not. I hate her.”

  I lift my glass, clinking hers. “Amen.”

  “So, what are you going to do?” Whitley asks. She sets her leg down on the ground, moving her body toward me in her seat.

  I frown with a slight headshake. “I’m not going to do anything.”

  “You’re not going to fight?”

  “There’s no fight left in me. Andy is far more powerful than I am.”

  “She changed his number, you know?” Whitley says, dropping the information in my lap. It scorches my skin. “I think she was worried you’d call and August couldn’t resist answering.”

  I’m not surprised. I thought maybe he’d at least try to call me but I never heard from him. I figured it was Andy’s doing but I never knew for sure. At least that makes me feel somewhat better.

  “I’m going to bide my time and hopefully it works out.”

  “It’s not over,” she offers. I want to believe her, but I don’t know if it’s worth my effort.

  “He loves you, and Tomi and Andy are snakes. Their true colors will come out.”

  I sigh. “I hope so, but until then, I’m going to find a way to live.”

  Because existing for someone else – waiting for them to write your story – isn’t living at all.

  It’s time for me to grab that pen, put it to paper and write a story for myself.

  Whitley smiles and places her hand on my arm. “I’m proud of you.”

  Jennings and Whitley left late this afternoon, the day a dismal gray, matching my mood. I didn’t realize how much I missed them until they came back into my life. I’d gone a couple months without seeing them, but now my wounds are fresh and I sort of wish they’d just come back.

  Wrapping my body in my down comforter, I perch myself on the couch, opening Ugly Love.

  It’s almost three hours by the time I pull my eyes away, the rain pelting down on the window outside. I hadn’t noticed it until now but it seems like it’s been coming down for a while.

  Splashes of moisture pound relentlessly, making small ting sounds and I settle back into my seat.

  Just as I’m about to end a chapt
er, something moves on my balcony and I tear my eyes away from the heart wrenching words, the Hoover Effect in full force.

  Night has fallen now and I have to squint to get a good look at what’s outside. A bird, maybe? I shake my head and focus on my book again. Another odd rumble resonates outside and I look up, getting sort of annoyed because I don’t want to stop reading.

  A shadowy figure moves outside my window and I stand up in a flash, whipping my blanket off. Grabbing the closest sharp object – a pair of scissors – ready to defend myself.

  Inching slowly toward the window, my feet squish the fibers of the rug underneath me and I’m thankful for my quiet steps.

  Spinning the scissors in my hand so the sharp edge juts out of my hand, I pull the curtains back farther and scream when I see a face staring at me through the fogged glass.

  I clutch my chest and reach for my phone on the coffee table, but the voice outside stops me. It stuns me in place.

  “Belle, it’s me,” the voice says, though it’s gurgled through the window and water assaulting his mouth.

  My heart shudders to a halt and I blink. Falling open, my mouth goes dry, my tongue sandpaper. A heavy feeling settles in my stomach and I shiver, my body tingling all over. A flush of adrenaline spikes through my body.

  August.

  Egg Suckin’ Dawg

  He was my favorite song on repeat. I’d listen to it every day, loving the melody, dancing to the rhythmic beat. The months without him, the speakers screamed silence. I’d turn on the radio and hear that maddening buzzing of white noise. I wished, each night before I closed my eyes, that I could play it, just one more time.

  August takes deep breaths and I clutch my chest, staring at him through the rain splattered window. His glasses are speckled with water and he wipes at them with his finger.

  I can’t stop staring at him, my limbs refusing to move. He places the palm of his hand flush with the window and I mimic his movements. The heat from his skin warms up my side.

  “Belle,” he pleads and even in the darkness I can see the creases in his forehead and longing of his stare.

  I slowly move my hand to my lap, trying to recall a time in my life when everything made sense. A time when I was in love with a man who didn’t have to be with another woman. A time when my heart was fully intact.

  Chewing on the inside of my lip, I unlatch the lock and push out the window.

  The Adam’s apple in August’s throat bobs and he takes a tentative step toward me. The tightness in my chest expands and the pit in my stomach opens wider.

  He lifts his legs, one after the other, over the ledge and then scoots his body onto the sill. Taking a deep breath, his hands on his sides, he looks down at his lap.

  I take the tiniest step back, forcing my brain and eyes to take in the sight of him. How has it been months since I’ve seen his face? Breathed the same air as him?

  He stands, his face flushed from the rain.

  My gaze becomes fuzzy and I blink. I want to stare at him and catalogue every movement. Every heave of his chest. Every wrinkle near his eyes. Every twitch of his mouth.

  “Belle,” he says again. It’s been the only word from his mouth since he got here. “Please, Belle.”

  My feet move without hesitation and I lurch my body into his, wrapping my arms around his neck, squeezing as tight as I can without cutting off his air supply.

  His strong arms encircle my body and he nuzzles his nose into my neck – the same way he used to do when we were together. His hands grip my skin so hard I’m sure he’s leaving bruises.

  Breathing in and out, he refuses to let me loose and I hold him back with fervor. We stay in place for what seems like hours. Both of us thinking the same thing: if we let go, the severity of our situation will smother us.

  Right now, the only thing that matters is us. His arms locked around my entire soul as I silently plead for him to never let me go.

  We exist between the breaths we intake through our lungs. We will the seconds to slow. Drag. We find solace in the warmth of each other’s bodies. We survive through the unspoken words.

  He still feels like home. I don’t think that’ll ever change and I’m almost positive I don’t want it to.

  The rain has made its way into my window now, puddling at our feet. It sloshes as we rock in place.

  “What are you doing here?” I finally ask, my head on his shoulder.

  “I had to see you.”

  I let go of him, stepping back. He was a scar left on my life that wouldn’t heal, and with every passing second with August wrapped around me I could feel the wound opening again. It hurts and it feels wonderful. I want to scream and I want to laugh.

  He scratches at his neck and then pulls off his glasses, wiping them with the bottom of his soaked shirt.

  I huff, snatching them from his hands.

  Quickly closing the window, I make my way to the kitchen and grab a hand towel from the handle on the oven to wipe the lenses clean. Aiming them at the light, I make sure they’re dry and set them on the counter where August is standing.

  He gulps and I fist my hands in front of my body. Chewing on the inside of my lip, I reach for two glasses above my head in the cabinet.

  If we’re going to have any sort of conversation, I’m going to need my reliable friend.

  I grab the half-empty bottle of bourbon from the other side of the kitchen and fill up our glasses. Pushing a cup toward August, he quickly takes hold of it and brings it to his mouth, guzzling down the contents.

  I do the same, my tongue savoring the oaky, almond smack of flavors. The pine aftertaste hangs onto the back of my taste buds and I empty the glass, setting it down on the counter with a whack.

  Taking off my own glasses, I blow out my cheeks and then release them, begging for time to stop or at least slow down a little. I silently pray to whomever is listening. God, Buddha, Walt Disney…anyone. By the look on his face, August is only here for his long overdue let down.

  I don’t know if I’m ready to hear it yet.

  I swipe my glasses, shoving them onto my face and shuffle to the couch. Taking a seat against the arm, my hands fidget, my nerves sparring out of control.

  “Why didn’t you come to the door?”

  “Reg wouldn’t let me in.”

  My body sways. I’m sure Reg and Mama had words and she told him not to let August past the front door. I’m betting she didn’t think he’d climb up the fire escape, though.

  “What are you really doing here, August?” The front of my shirt clings to my body and I pull it away.

  He doesn’t answer and I look up at him through my lashes. He shrugs with a menacing smile on his face and grabs at the back of his hair. “I just…I miss you, dammit.”

  I scoff.

  His head tilts. “What?”

  “Don’t do that. You’ve been gone for months.” I feel the anger simmer in my blood. “I haven’t heard from you since you walked out on me at the movie theater.” Yeah, the exhilaration of seeing him has fizzled out and now the rage I never got to feel when he left is bursting out of me. I felt the sadness. Boy, did I feel that devastating, choking, I-hate-my-life sadness. Now, I’m kind of thankful for the fury.

  August looks down at his shoes, and his chin trembles. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “You think, August?” I glare, setting my legs on the ground. “Then not a word. Not one damn sound from you until five minutes ago?” This hurts. It physically hurts to say the words but it’s also liberating. I’ve needed to say them for so long and never had the opportunity. “I missed you. I missed you so damn much, and you didn’t even have the decency to call me.”

  Redness spreads up his neck to his ears, all the way to his face. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he clears his throat but doesn’t say anything.

  So I continue, “You broke me, August. You shattered me into a million pieces and I’m still trying to find the remains. You can’t just come back here and expect something. What?”
I gesture at him with my hands. “What in the hell do you think is going to happen?”

  “I don’t know, okay?” he says in a sharp tone and even sharper eyes. Trails of wetness streak down his face, over his cheeks and down his jaw. It’s not the remnants of rain, or droplets from his hair. Tears freely fall from his eyes and he swipes at them. “I’m a selfish asshole. I was overwhelmed with the news. Devastated. I headed straight to Tomi. It just…it snowballed, Belle. I couldn’t stop the avalanche. The snow fenced me in. I just got…I got stuck.”

  Hearing her name makes my stomach fall to my feet. “Does she know you’re here?”

  His chest lurches and I already know the answer. I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m sure if she knew, the entire city would be drowning in flames right now.

  “Are you planning on staying?”

  His hand cups his mouth and his body shakes. “I want to.”

  “But you won’t.” Not can’t. Because he could, but his world would implode and he’s already built so much.

  He takes a seat next to me, the dark circles under his eyes deep and foreboding. He reaches for my hand but then pulls back. “I just…I need to be around you. Hopefully it’ll be…” he trails off.

  “Hopefully it’ll be enough to hold you over until you can’t take it anymore?” My vision blurs and I feel the pang of rejection hit me hard again. “I’m not here for you to get your fill and then go back to your girlfriend.”

  His shoulders curl over his chest. “Fiancé.”

  A heavy feeling settles in my stomach and my heart races. “F…fiancé?”

  He flinches and the scowl on his face deepens.

  My nostrils flare and the muscles in my body tense. They ache the second the realization dawns on me. “You’re here to tell me you’re engaged?” She’s going to be his wife? Oh, God. I’m up and out of my seat, on my feet in a flash. “Jesus Christ, August. You couldn’t have just waited for the local gossip show to drop the bomb? At least I could have dealt with it alone. You had to come to my house and tell me?”