Breathe

by Amber Lacie

  “Your painting then. It was you. I was right.” His last few words are softly spoken, as though he is talking to himself. I think they are more of a statement than a question. “What happened?”

  Swallowing, I try to hold back the screams I so badly want to release. “He, um…he…Holden left me. He was hit by a car and he…he didn’t make it.” Waterfalls cascade down my cheeks. No amount of tissues would be able to stop my tears from falling.

  “Jesus. I don’t know what to say.” Owen paces back and forth, trying to process the exploding bomb I just dropped on him. I can’t stay here anymore. No one should have to withstand the hurricane of damage that will follow me. I have had more than enough emotional meltdowns over the last twenty-four hours to last a lifetime. Pushing back my chair, I grab my jacket and my shoes, and step out of the room. I don’t think he even notices me leaving.

  Sometimes, we do things we cannot explain, and yet we do them anyway. I don’t know what possesses me not to run out the door, but I stop in the kitchen to leave him a ‘thank you’ note for saving me last night, on a pad of paper next to his refrigerator. I slide my arms into my jacket and then slip my boots on. My hand is resting on the knob of the front door. I turn it, just as Owen races into the room, crashing into me. I almost fall over, but the door catches me. Turning around, I see him on the floor complaining about waxed floors and clean socks.

  Standing, he folds his hands behind his head and takes a deep breath. “I just…sorry. I thought I wasn’t going to catch you.”

  “Owen, it’s fine. I get it. I’m a mess. I’m really tired and I just want to go home.”

  “But that’s just it. You are a mess. It’s okay to be a mess. There is nothing I can say or do to ever make this okay. You’re hurt because you’re here and he’s not…You are here, Carsten. Despite how much you want to be with him, it can’t happen and I’m so sorry. I can’t fix it or change it, but on Friday night I made you laugh. No one else was there. It was just you and me. I did that and I can do it again…I promise to make you laugh every day.”

  Why did I laugh Friday night? I try to remember what he said exactly, but I just remember the sarcastic banter we had. It was simplistic and fun. Maybe I just need something simple. Maybe I need a little bit of fun. “Owen, I—”

  He cuts me off with a wave of his hand. “You misunderstand me. This isn’t open for discussion. I’m going to make you laugh again. Now, are you sure you still want to leave?”

  “Yes. I’m emotionally exhausted and I just want to curl up in my bed.”

  “Okay. Give me just a second. I have to make a quick call.” He heads back into his office and I wait patiently by the door, wondering if I am in over my head. Owen clears his throat, as he walks back down the hall. He slips on his shoes and grabs a set of keys from a basket on the kitchen counter. He holds the door open for me and we take the elevator down to the lobby. Apparently, there was a memo about the cool kids having the same color car. There are three black town cars pulled up in front of the building.

  *****

  The ride back to my apartment isn’t too congested with traffic. We take two detours, due to construction. It seems like they are always fixing something. Owen has his driver, James, drop us both off in front of my building. Despite my objections, Owen follows me in, just in case there are mass murderers lurking around. Using my key, I unlock my door and barely have it opened, before Rebecca comes hurtling towards me, screaming while waving her hands in the air.

  I stand frozen in shock, as her fiery red hair turns into flames. She is extremely pissed off. “Becca, what are you doing here?”

  “Don’t you Becca me. Where the fuck have you been? Mark tells me you went home with Owen. I know I told you to have fun, but one-night stands weren’t what I meant. It’s not like you, so I called you this morning to see how things were. Do you know what happened? Your phone rang and rang. The answer machine finally picked up, but it wouldn’t let me leave a message.”

  “I was—”

  Her nostrils flare, as her arms fly up and down. “No. I’m talking. You, are listening. I decide to come check on you to make sure everything is okay. I get here and you’re not even here. I didn’t know if you were murdered, or mutilated and left in some gutter.” Where the hell does everyone think I live? Was there a memo about mass murders, too? “Oh, and your answering machine. It’s fucking full of messages. Most of them were from Heather. I can’t understand them. They make absolutely no sense. The last message is from Mr. Dorsey, wondering if you were okay. He said you ran off crying during your showing last night and then they couldn’t find you. What the fuck is going on?”

  I step into my apartment far enough to let Owen in behind me. It takes a moment for Rebecca to see him, but when she does, she flies towards him. “You! You did all of this. I thought you were one of the good guys. I introduce you to my friend and you break her?”

  Owen’s eyes go wide, watching Rebecca circle around my studio apartment, ranting on and on about how he has broken me, even though he didn’t. I was already broken. Tugging on his shirt, I nod towards the small table in the corner by the window. I pull a couple of glasses out of the cabinet and pour us some orange juice. I hand Owen a glass, and take a seat across from him at the table.

  “Wow. I have never seen Rebecca like this.”

  “Neither have I. She has completely lost it.”

  “If I would have known your mom was going to be here, I think I would have said goodbye at the door.”

  My eyes close at the mention of my mom. “Rebecca is probably the closest thing I have to a mom, anymore. My mom passed away a few years ago.”

  “Shit.” He rubs his hand across his neatly trimmed beard. I notice how long his eyelashes are, as he glances out the window and back at me. They fan across his cheek when he looks down. He catches me staring and gives me a soft smile. I easily return it.

  “It’s not a big deal. You didn’t know.”

  “It just seems like I keep inserting my foot in my mouth.”

  “How does it taste?” Sipping my orange juice, I wait for his reply, as he bites his bottom lip, thinking of a response.

  “Bitter, kind of salty, with an odd cheese flavor.”

  My hand covers my mouth, as orange juice sprays across the small table. I laugh, as he rushes to the sink and grabs me some paper towels to clean up my mess.

  “And she laughs.”

  “She does. What made you think of that? Have you tasted your foot before?”

  “No. I’m not that gross. It’s the best way I could describe a dirty sock.”

  Rebecca walks over to us. Her hands are still by her side, and her chest is heaving from all of the yelling. “How is it that you are both sitting here like nothing happened?”

  “Becca, nothing happened. Heather put up some pictures Holden took of me and I couldn’t handle it. Owen didn’t break me. If you want to accuse him of something, it would be saving me.” I smile across the table towards Owen. He gives me a wink, along with his incredibly bright smile. “I’m fine. You can see me. Clearly, I wasn’t murdered or mutilated. Last night, was the first night I have cried since I said goodbye. It was cathartic. It was a release that I have needed for a while now.”

  Standing, I set my cup in the sink and walk across the apartment to my dresser. I grab one of Holden’s t-shirts and a pair of his shorts. Without paying attention to the people in the room, I hold them against my face, breathing him in. His scent is fading, so I pull open the drawer a little farther and spray his cologne on them. I am spent and I no longer care who sees me. I strip my clothes, leaving on my underwear, and slip into Holden’s clothes.

  I don’t bother to fold down my futon. Instead, I lie across it, grab my pillow, and make sure his picture is still there. Once my fingertips feel it, I pull the blanket over my shoulder, while turning my back towards them.

  “I know you are both still in here and I don’t care. Leave or don’t leave. I’m exhausted and I desperately need my dre
ams.” Closing my eyes, I focus on my breathing, until I am lost somewhere in my dreams with a brown-eyed boy. He makes everything so much better.

  Chapter 26

  Rain slips slowly down the windowpane. I watch, as two small drops seem to race each other. I haven’t spoken to Owen in five days. The last time that I saw him, was when I woke up to him and Rebecca yelling at each other in my apartment on Sunday. He stormed off and I haven’t heard from him since. I don’t blame him, either. For some reason, the red headed devil decided to divulge my life story to him, including the parts when I was with Michael.

  According to her, it was for the best. Her excuses keep playing over and over in my mind. “I had to. There’s so much that has happened to you. He can’t fix you with tape and it’s exactly what he wanted to do. He was acting like you were broken.”

  What she didn’t know is that I am broken. I may not look like it, but it is exactly how I feel. It doesn’t matter now. I am sticking with my routine of work, home, work, and then home again.

  Heather ordered some watercolor paints a few weeks ago and they came in this morning. It is just after five o’clock and the unopened box is still sitting on my desk. I normally prefer oil paints, but this color pallet caught my eyes. Using a pair of scissors, I cut into the box and pull out all of the bubble wrap first. The pallet of brilliant shades of blues and grays are laid perfectly on top of some white tissue paper. The rain outside has finally given me some inspiration. Today, I want to paint something new.

  A blank canvas is waiting for me on my easel. The brushes have all been chosen and two cups of clean water are within reach. I set the pallet beside me and wet my first brush. The rain rolls down the windowpane and I smile, as I paint the scene before me. The ends of the brushes rest in my mouth, as I squint at the canvas trying to see where it is taking me.

  An hour has passed, when Heather knocks on my door and gives me a wave goodbye. I wave back at her and continue with my work. I haven’t felt this creative, this alive in a long time. This isn’t from memory. This painting is new. Leaning back on my barstool, I tilt my head, as I admire the blues fading to gray, with slips of silver accenting the drips of rain rolling down my canvas. It’s simple, but I find it refreshing. I never thought I would capture rain on a windowpane, but I have, and it is beautiful.

  I close the pallet and rinse out my brushes, making sure to lay them right so they will dry properly. My fingers gently flick the lights off. My arms slip into my jacket, I grab my purse, and lock the main door behind me, making sure the alarm is set. I turn around to hail a cab, but to my surprise, a black car is waiting in front of me with an incredibly stupid man leaning against it.

  “You do realize it’s raining?”

  “A little rain never hurt anyone. I don’t see you with an umbrella.” Owen slicks his wet hair back out of his face, while flashing me his perfect white smile.

  Pulling my umbrella, I open it and step out from underneath the eve of the building. “You were saying?”

  “A little rain never hurt anyone. However, it can make you incredibly cold. Get in. I’m taking you home.” Opening the rear passenger door, he motions for me to sit. I take my time, as I slide onto the leather seat. Owen rolls his eyes, as I hold out my umbrella, giving it a little shake before closing it up and laying it at my feet. He slides in next to me and shuts the door.

  “I know I said rain couldn’t hurt you, but you could’ve moved a little faster.” He runs his hands over his face and flicks some water at me.

  “Hey.” I half laugh, half yell. “You were the stupid one standing in the rain.”

  “So, I’m stupid now?”

  “Given what I just saw? Yes.”

  His fingers run along his neatly trimmed jaw, as he sucks a few raindrops off his top lip. I watch as his Adam’s apple moves up and down, as he swallows. My eyes follow one lone raindrop down his throat to the open collar of his white dress shirt, where a small part of hair is slicked against his chest.

  “Behave, or I won’t be able to give you your present.”

  A blush creeps into my cheeks, as I meet his gaze. “I don’t know what you mean. I always behave.”

  Laughing, he tosses his head back, as James starts the car. “Little girl, I have a feeling you are a lot of trouble. Do you want your present, or not?”

  “I don’t know. Why are you here, Owen? I haven’t seen you or talked to you in a week, and now you just randomly show up at my work.”

  “I told you, I’m taking you home. Now, put your seatbelt on.” I do as I am asked and he gives me his approval with a smile. The drive to my apartment is quick. We only stopped at one light. I am sure we were supposed to stop at two, but he swears one of the lights was orange. I fully believe James sped through it, only because a very bossy back seat driver was yelling at him.

  *****

  We are both standing in front of my apartment door. He is soaking wet, where I am mostly dry. Owen is trying to hide a small shoebox in his hands behind his back, but I have already seen it. I put my key in the door, but decide not to open it. Instead, I turn around and lean against the door. “What’s in the box?”

  “Your present. Are you going to open the door?”

  “I don’t know. It depends on what’s in the box. Maybe it’s dangerous. How can I be sure it’s not?”

  Leaning towards me, he turns the key with his left hand. The lock clicks. His deep blue eyes are just mere inches from mine. My heart is slamming against my rib cage. His mouth moves closer. I close my eyes, only to feel the door open behind me. Owen clears his throat, and my eyes open. “I was just opening the door.”

  I meekly whisper, “Okay.” Then I turn around, walk into my apartment, and throw my purse on the small table in the corner, by the window. I grab a glass from the cabinet, fill it up with cold water, and consume it in two large gulps. I cannot believe out of all the words in the English language, all I could come up with was ‘okay’. Why did I think he was going to kiss me? Why did I want him to kiss me? Thoughts of Holden bounce around in my head, making my heart fill with guilt. No. I love Holden and that is the way it will always be.

  Paying no attention to Owen or his box, I take a couple of deep breaths and run some cold water over my neck. I turn around, when I hear a sudden banging sound. To my surprise, Owen is nailing something up on my wall. “What are you doing? You do realize I rent this place.”

  “Don’t judge my master plan, until you can see it in all of its glory.” Somehow, I doubt that I am going to see any glory, but as I step closer, I realize that he has nailed a black felt dartboard to my wall. “Owen, I don’t play darts.”

  “You’re judging.”

  “I am, because you are putting holes in my walls and for some reason, not explaining why you have nailed a dartboard to my wall.”

  “Oh, ye have little faith.”

  I giggle at his words, and he turns, flashing me his dazzling smile. “Was that a laugh?”

  “No.”

  “I could have sworn it was a laugh.”

  “You are mistaken.”

  Owen stares at me for a second. Batting my eyelashes, I look everywhere else, but at him. I notice him unrolling a sheet of paper and taping it to the dartboard. What is he doing? “Do you…”

  “Judging.” He cuts me off, before I can even finish my thought. “These are for you.” Ten black darts with blue plastic feathers on their ends, rest on the palm of his hand. I am hesitant to take them, but my curiosity wins, despite the danger.

  “Okay. I have the darts. Now what?”

  “Look at the picture.” My eyes flash towards the paper he taped to the board. It’s Michael. The pit of my stomach falls out and I feel all of the air leave my lungs. Owen catches me, as I stumble backwards. “Hey. Hey. It’s alright. I got you.”

  Three words leave his lips and my eyes turn towards him with astonishment. That is twice that he has said exactly what I needed to hear. He is just not the person that I want to say it. My fingers dig into hi
s forearm, as he helps gain my balance. I still don’t understand why he would choose to be here with me. “How? I just…he…I. Hate. Him.”

  “I know. I also know how he treated you. None of it was okay. Nothing he said was true. He filled your head with lies and used them against you. I can’t even talk about what he did to your body. If I ever meet him…I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  “I still don’t get why you are here. You avoided me for a week. Now, you show up with a picture of my ex taped to a dartboard. Who does that?”

  “I’m sorry that I went missing for a couple of days. I knew I had to help you, but until Rebecca told me everything that has happened to you, I didn’t know where to start. It took me a couple of days to come up with something. I practically had to beg Rebecca for this picture. She copied it out of a yearbook and faxed it to me. I blew it up a couple of times on the copier at work, so that’s why it looks all distorted.” He nervously shifts his feet, pulling at the hem of shirt. I like when he is nervous. I am not sure why. Maybe it is because it means he is vulnerable, too.

  “And the dartboard is what you came up with?” My brows furrow, questioning not only his motives, but his sanity.

  “Isn’t it great? I have made two pictures, so you can throw as many darts as you like. All you have to do is throw a dart and yell at him.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yep.”

  The thought of being able to hurt Michael without being near him, does have its benefits. I pinch one of the black and blue darts in between my forefingers. Rolling it back and forth, I think of a million reasons to hate him. But nothing is worse than what he took from me.