Breathing Black

by Piper Payne

  Her bleak childhood became much darker when at the age of thirteen she was raped by her uncle, Robert Ellis. There were few worse things to fear as a child than the manipulation of an adult with a perverted sexual inclination. He stained her mind along with her body. Robert was a regularly occurring visitor in their home because he was her father’s brother and business partner. The threats of retribution for telling their “secret” was a punishment far worse than what she already endured, but June spoke out anyway, only to be told to keep quiet again. No police involvement and no criminal charges were ever made. June’s mom blamed her for “tempting him,” and June’s father called her a liar. Robert finally stopped ten months later when June started menstruating.

  Desensitized or normalized to the painful, traumatic things that happen to people, I was an old soul—if I even had one—and felt like I’d heard and seen it all. Like if there was a horrible car crash right in front of me with no survivors, I would just stand there staring at the carnage, eating an ice cream cone. That was why June and I clicked. She didn’t pity or feel sorry for me, and I didn’t pity or feel sorry for her. Shit happened, so we just tried to make the best out of our miserable existence together.

  We got into a lot of trouble at first. It wasn’t that we liked getting into trouble; we just had a common fascination for testing out how damaged we were and how far we could push things until someone actually cared or we cared. June found ways to numb the pain, and I found ways to actually feel something.

  “Hurry up, it’s freezing!” June exaggerated, making her words come out choppy as she huddled against me shivering.

  The seasons were changing and it was the first time in months it’d really been cold out and she forgot a coat. I rolled my eyes as I worked the pick and tension wrench into the lock of the press box door at our high school football stadium.

  “This coat is like a luxurious emerald cocoon,” she moaned, nestling her face into my back, making me laugh and almost drop the flashlight I held in my mouth. “It goes really nice with your cut off jeans, white T-shirt, and black combat boots.” She continued to ramble while doing a crappy job of keeping lookout. “How come you get all of the cool lost-and-founds at the hotel anyway? Tell your man-whore of a boss, Marcus, to snag me one of these from one of his slutty hotel mistresses before fall really gets here.”

  The lock clicked open and I pulled the flashlight out of my mouth smiling widely. “Time?”

  “Oh, sorry … let’s see …” She pushed up her sleeve and clicked her watch. “Fifteen seconds! Your best time yet, you juvenile delinquent you.”

  We hurried and slipped inside locking the door behind us. We had a serious case of senioritis and had been hiding away up here more frequently, even though our senior year had only just begun.

  Aspen Hills High School was built at the base of the city’s mountainside, with a road that wrapped alongside it making it a perfect place to hide the Cadillac so we could ditch class or come here as an escape. Finding this hideout was a happy accident. I broke in here one day to avoid public humiliation after I had a panic attack in the cafeteria. Eventually we found ourselves sneaking up here to eat lunch, do homework, and even at night sometimes when neither one of us wanted to face the reality of our homelife. Tonight happened to be one of those nights. It was especially convenient since it had an additional back entrance and stairs, so we always had a second escape route when we heard someone marching up the bleachers toward us. And best of all, it had all the amenities we needed: a space heater and a radio.

  “I actually think I’m going to miss this place when we graduate,” June said, looking out the window, deep in thought while twisting the pearl of her necklace.

  The bleachers stretched the entire length of the football field with the press box at the very top. The view at sunset was what we loved most because past the football field you could see the mountains, and past the mountains was our freedom.

  “You’re going to miss Aspen?”

  “Oh goodness, no,” she said revolted. “This…” she held her arms out wide and turned toward me “…I am going to miss this stupid box that smells like the regret of middle-aged men reliving their glorious footballs days.”

  I laughed then flipped on the radio scrolling to our favorite station until I heard “Landslide” from Stevie Knicks playing over the small speakers.

  “Here.” I handed her a plastic water bottle from my backpack that was filled with vodka.

  She greedily took a sip and chased it down with a mouth full of Skittles. “Ugh.” She chewed and stuck her rainbow colored tongue out in disgust. “I just wish this homecoming and football season bullshit wasn’t putting a cramp in us being able to sneak up here.” She flopped down in the chair next to me and started hogging the space heater.

  “Well, at least it’ll all be over in a couple weeks. Then we can have this place to ourselves for the rest of the school year.” We both kicked up our feet—combat boots and cork-bottom wedges—and passed the water bottle back and forth, watching the remaining orange tint of sun vanish behind the mountain leaving us completely in the dark.

  “Did Nancy turn into Lady Meth tonight?”

  “Worse. She ran out.” I took a swig and passed the bottle back. “Has Robert showed up yet?”

  “Earlier today. I was able to sneak out without running into him. He should be gone by tomorrow night.”

  Silence fell upon us and I hated the eerie feeling that came along with saying Robert’s name. “One day I’ll make him pay for what he did to you, June.”

  “Yeah,” she said weakly, staring out the window. I meant every word; saying it out loud made me feel like I’d be held accountable if I didn’t keep that promise to her.

  “Let’s not think of this depressing shit.” I gave her knee a squeeze, smiling mischievously as I danced over to the radio turning it up so we could sing along.

  Her eyes softened with her smile. “You’re completely insane.” She drank the rest of the bottle in one gulp and then got up to join me.

  It was freeing. The alcohol, the music, the dancing. The moonlight shone through the windows so I closed my eyes, tilted my head back, and raised my arms to the stars. There was beauty in letting go. We swayed and laughed and bumped into each other, and for a few moments we forgot all about life. We forgot about how broken we were.

  “Shit!” June said alarmed, grabbing my arm and yanking me to the ground.

  “What? What’s going on?” I crouched beside her and yanked the radio cord from the wall to shut off the music.

  “Shhh …” She put her finger up to her lips as we both sat there in the dark listening for whatever it was she heard.

  Mumbled male voices made their way onto the field. We slowly got up off the floor to peek out of the press box window. June clasped her hand over my mouth right when I was about to curse.

  “Of course they have to come and ruin our night,” she grumbled.

  We watched as Landon, Dylan, and a few other seniors on the football team made their way onto the field. I peeled June’s hand off of my mouth wanting to reach for the vodka but remembered the water bottle was empty.

  The guys started to toss the football around, timing each other with Landon’s watch as they did football drills on the field. They eventually got tired grabbing the warm beer they’d stashed in their gym bags and sat down to talk strategy for Friday night’s game. Landon politely declined a drink as usual. Rules state any player caught drinking would be kicked off the team, and Landon was a rule follower.

  Their voices echoed off the enclosed bleachers, and we could hear almost every word that was said, which was especially nauseating when Dylan decided to plan out who he was going to fuck between now and the night of the homecoming dance while other players egged him on. It was like we had a front-row seat to the boys’ locker room.

  Luckily they didn’t stay long because it was a school night. One by one, they started to leave, all running home to the family dinners that awaited them. I
wrapped my arm around June, her eyes filling up with angry tears, as she watched Dylan grab his bag and walk off the field toward his car. That wound was still deep.

  “Let’s get out of here. This is ruining my buzz,” I complained, acting bitter and angry to make her feel better.

  “Whatever,” June mocked. “I know you’re loving every single second of this, especially since Landon hasn’t mentioned Ashley once.” I pulled a face at her, tongue out and eyes rolled. She could be so bitchy when she knew she was right. Unashamed, I shrugged and continued to watch him from our hiding spot.

  My fascination with Landon was an anomaly that helped repair the functioning of my teenage heart. He gave my life an escape from reality. It wasn’t healthy, but at least I could admit it. Daydreaming about him was better than the poisonous thoughts usually consuming my mind. And the pathetic part about it was, it was enough for me. I wasn’t sure what I’d do if I really did have him. No one had ever loved me in return, and I had a feeling I would ruin it, or ruin him. So it was better to hang on to daydreams than broken ones.

  “You’re overthinking again,” June said as she gathered up her stuff to walk home. I’d offer her a ride, but she always used walking as an excuse to clear her head and prolong the inevitable of walking through her front door.

  “I know.” I sighed, leaning against the edge of the window while twisting a strand of hair around my finger. June knew I wasn’t going to leave until Landon did.

  Landon stood alone on the 40-yard line tossing the football in the air. His workout clothes were still on, but he was shirtless underneath his half-zipped hoodie. He seemed unhappy, his posture weighed down, and I could tell he had a lot on his mind. I twisted my lips, wondering what he could possibly be sad about.

  “I’ve had about enough of your twisted, masochistic obsession with that guy. Your self-inflicted heartache is nauseating. You can thank me later for this …”

  Before I could even blink, June put both hands on the panel of light switches and in one quick movement flipped every single one of them on. I flinched, squinting at the brightness, barely even comprehending her next move.

  “I’m betting on Summit Christian High School for the win on Friday.” An ear piercing shrill of the microphone, along with her playful voice, began to echo over the announcement speakers.

  I was frozen.

  I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t move. The only things that seemed to be working at the moment were my sweat glands and anxiety. I looked down onto the field to see that Landon had turned to look up at me just as June jumped out of sight.

  “Is that so?” he yelled back grinning. At least I think he grinned. June had flipped on the stadium lights so I could see him better, but the distance between us made it hard to decipher his handsome features.

  “Don’t fuck this up,” I heard her say as the backdoor clicked shut and the sound of her fleeing footsteps resonated down the metal stairs. Holy shit, I was going to murder my best friend.

  I stood there like a deer in headlights until my brain finally decided to function. I was about to run over to the wall to turn off all the lights but was stopped with a question.

  “What makes you think they’ll win?” he asked.

  I looked down at him again; he’d walked a little closer, this time leaning against the fence that bordered the field, arms folded and resting on the chain link still holding the football in his hand.

  Shit! Shit! Shit! What do I do? Run. Run was my answer. It was the safest answer. It was the one thing that always made the most sense. But instead I found myself walking over to the microphone, pressing the ON button and saying, “Because Dylan will never pass you the ball.”

  He laughed at my comment, taking a step back to throw the football back up in the air and catching it again playfully. He knew what I had just said was true.

  “Any other predictions I should know about?” He hummed in amusement.

  I stood leaning over the microphone that was mounted to the desk, looking down at him through the window. I was grateful that from up here he couldn’t see my trembling hands. “We are a slave to our circumstances and choices. What good would any of my predictions give you?”

  “Maybe it’s nice to hear someone else’s thoughts and point of view?” he said a little louder, making sure I could hear him.

  I took a deep breath and then pushed the microphone button again. “In that case, I foresee you living a long and perfect life. Full of ignorant bliss, rule following, playing it safe, and predictability.”

  “You think you know me?” He laughed arrogantly like I hit a nerve. I knew I would. My tongue couldn’t help itself, since I’d bit it for far too long.

  “What’s your name?” Curiosity and skepticism took over his voice.

  “Does it matter?” I replied.

  “Do you go to school here?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Do I know you?”

  “No, and I’m predicting you never will.”

  He smiled. It was a genuine smile that I could see even this far away. “And why is that?”

  “Because I’m not perfect, I don’t follow the rules, and I’m completely unpredictable.” I clicked off the microphone and took a step back, smiling wickedly into my hand. What would his response be to that?

  “Maybe I like unpredictable,” he said, walking around the fence and taking a few steps toward the bleachers. “Maybe I’m sick of playing it safe.”

  The tone of his voice made me feel like I was playing with fire. He had no idea what he was talking about. Landon Black didn’t do careless. I could guarantee he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he truly just let go.

  I clicked on the microphone and teasingly laughed. “In that case, put down the football, turn around, and close your eyes.”

  “What?” he asked, confused, surprised at my boldness, and quite frankly I was surprised myself.

  I walked over and shut off all the lights leaving us completely in the dark. You could hear the electricity power down and if he was listening closely, he could probably hear my heart ricocheting around in my chest. Convinced that what I was doing was sane, I walked back to the microphone again and said, “You heard me. Put down the football, turn around, and close your eyes.”

  He laughed and played along. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was the fact I knew this moment with him would never happen again before I graduated and left Aspen. Either way I didn’t care. If he never saw my face or found out my name, what could it hurt? I grabbed my backpack, buttoned up my coat, and shut the press box door locking it with shaking hands.

  He stood there waiting for me by the edge of the field; the moonlight shadowed him creating a silhouette of his body. I paused for a second, wanting to take it all in. I was scared that if I blinked he would disappear. My desire tamed the rush of my apprehension, and I became unexpectedly calm as I slowly walked toward him.

  “Promise me you won’t move. Promise me you won’t look back.” I was still far enough away that I could turn and run if he did.

  “I promise.”

  His word was all I had as I continued to walk closer, but I knew he’d do as I asked because he was trying to prove me wrong. He was too trusting. I’d never let a stranger do this.

  “Blindfold yourself.” I stood directly behind him and reaching around, placed my coat’s matching emerald scarf in his hands.

  He bit down on his teeth, trying to decide if he should do it or not. He only hesitated for a moment before lifting it up, wrapping it around his eyes, and tying it tightly around his head. He inhaled deeply into the fabric and hummed. “You smell like cinnamon.” I laughed as he unconsciously licked his lips. “You know this means I get to blindfold you sometime, right?” he flirted, trying to come off like an experienced man.

  “Promise?” I provoked, causing him to tense, which made me laugh again. “Okay, Mr. Unpredictable, give me your hand,” I said, walking in front of him.

  “How is it fair that I’
m blindfolded, yet you can see me?”

  “Because.”

  “That’s not a good enough answer,” he replied, folding his arms defiantly, tilting his head when he heard the clicking of my pen.

  “Because the normal and predictable Landon would never do this.” He scoffed at my words. Even behind the scarf I could tell he rolled his eyes.

  He cautiously held out his hand. I smiled and took a deep breath, encouraging myself to do what I’d been wishing I could do for over two years—touch him. Slowly smoothing my fingertips over his hand, I found his wrist and wrapped them around it to lift his palm so it was in front of me. I could feel his pulse racing along with mine. He finally released the breath he’d been holding when I pressed the cold tip of my pen onto his skin. The black ink slowly bled into the lines of his palm marking him.

  “There is beauty in our flaws because they are uniquely our own. They tell a story of what we’ve survived. They are designed as a reminder that perfection is an illusion, because without the black, there cannot be light.” I spoke softly as I continued to draw.

  He stood there quietly, letting me touch and trace his skin as he thought over what I said. “Beautifully flawed?” He sighed, unconvinced, and shook his head. “I wish it was that easy to believe. There’s no other option than perfection. Not when you have a father like mine.” I paused, shocked by his words. Landon was opening up to me and what he said made me question my judgment. “I feel like nothing is good enough. He doesn’t care about me; all he cares about is money and a spotless reputation. I don’t even know what it’s like to screw up. He won’t let me.” You could almost feel the pressure that weighed down on his shoulders.

  His height overpowered me, but in this moment he was completely vulnerable to his admissions. The moment I first saw him I found him attractive, but it wasn’t in a normal way. Whatever he had hidden beneath the surface was what drew me in. I found that trying to figure him out was my foreplay. Yes, he was attractive, but I stubbornly tried not to be superficial. I liked his hair because when he was frustrated he raked his hands through it and messed it up. I liked his blue eyes because even though they were intense and beautiful, he only saw what he wanted to see—people and life filtered through his world. It was like he’d never truly seen the hurt life could bring, and it was endearing to me. I’d seen too many things that I’d never be able to erase.