Just Remember to Breathe

by Charles Sheehan-Miles

  Sherman burst into loud laughter, then she did, and then, the earth shifted in front of me, because she and Sherman high-fived each other.

  “Okay,” I said. “My world just got really weird.”

  Dylan chuckled. “You know, I always thought Sherman was an alien, like from Mars, he’s so freakishly tall. But he looks good next to her. It’s like they’re a couple of ostriches.”

  I giggled, and we put our arms around each other and walked after them. It would be funny if Sherman and Carrie ended up hooking up, though very strange, considering her history. But the two of them were chattering as they walked along as if they’d known each other for years.

  At Broadway we flagged down a cab. Kelly and Joel were planning to meet us at the party, and I couldn’t wait to introduce them to Sherman and Carrie. It was strange: as if I had all these segmented, altogether different parts of my life. Me and Dylan. My family. Me and Kelly. And for the first time ever, they were all coming together in the same place. It felt strangely exhilarating.

  It was close to midnight before we reached Robert Meyer’s apartment on the Upper West Side. Robert is, to put it mildly, obscenely rich. His father and mine are friends, and I’d received more than one obnoxiously heavy handed hint from my parents that I should throw myself at him. I liked Robert, sort of, as a friend. But to date? Oh, hell no. Probably riddled with STDs, Robert knew exactly how his money effected girls, and had used to it to lay an impressive trail of crying women across the city of New York. At twenty-seven, he had shown no signs at all of improving, either in his disposition or level of responsibility.

  But you could be sure I’d hear more about how marvelous he was when I returned home for Thanksgiving. Sometimes my parents were so clueless.

  That said, his apartment was fantastic. A penthouse apartment with a large rooftop deck on West 73rd Street, I’d never seen anything quite like it. Even with thirty something people attending, it didn’t feel crowded. When the four of us arrived, we were welcomed. Robert hugged my sister, a huge smile on his face, while Sherman glowered.

  “It’s so good to see you again, Carrie. It’s been a long time. How is the studying going for you?”

  “I’m at Rice now,” she said, “Working on my PhD.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “I did hear something like that. Good for you. And this must be your sister.”

  I nodded. “Alex,” I said. “And this is my boyfriend Dylan Paris.”

  Robert gave Dylan an insincere smile and said, “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Paris. You’re a lucky man, indeed.”

  “Thanks,” Dylan muttered. It was obvious he was extremely uncomfortable.

  “Come join the party,” Robert said. Behind him, past the entryway, was a large living room. Several small groups of people were standing or sitting around, all of them in various states of inebriation. The crowd spilled out onto the roof, looking out at the skyline. Loud music was blasting from a stereo in the corner, and I could see more people down the hall.

  “Make yourselves at home!” shouted Robert as we entered the living area.

  I saw a few people I knew from school, as well as friends of both my family and Robert’s. This was going to be a extraordinarily strange night.

  I leaned closed to Dylan, put my lips to his ear, and said, “You okay?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Just… this place takes some getting used to. What the hell does a rooftop apartment in Manhattan cost?”

  I shrugged. “No idea!”

  “I guess if you ask to ask, you can’t afford it, right?”

  “Pretty much.”

  I heard Carrie let out an exclamation, and then she was hugging someone, I suppose an old friend from school. She started doing introductions, taking Sherman around the room and introducing him to people. They stood out, taller than anyone else in the room, both of them looking like rock stars.

  We mingled, and talked with a lot of people, the two of us holding hands all night. At one point, he said, “I’ve got to sit down, my leg is killing me.”

  He sat, and wiped his forehead, and I could tell he was uncomfortable, both with the crowding and the loud music. I was going to get him out of here soon, Carrie or not. She was staying at a hotel on 108th Street, and we could always meet up for breakfast.

  “Let me get you a glass of water,” I said.

  He nodded gratefully, and I made my way to the kitchen.

  Sherman was there.

  “Hey,” I said. “You and Carrie sure hit it off.”

  He grinned. “Yeah, I like her. A lot.”

  I returned the grin. “I’m so glad.”

  “Paris doing okay?” he asked.

  “His head’s hurting, I was going to get him a drink of water.”

  He nodded, his face suddenly looking serious.

  “Can I ask you a question, Alex?”

  “Of course,” I said, grabbing a glass and running the faucet to fill it up.

  “Are you serious about him?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, turning toward him.

  He looked around the room, at pretty much everything but me, and then said, “Look. He’s my friend. And … I don’t know if you know how much into you he really is. I don’t know if you know everything that happened over in Afghanistan, either. But… look, I’m worried about him, okay? He’s been through the shit. And it wouldn’t take much to knock him over the edge permanently. Guy needs some time to heal.”

  I nodded, seriously, then said, “I love him, Sherman.”

  He closed his eyes and nodded. “That’s all I wanted to hear, Alex. I just… If you were just playing with him… I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

  I put my hand on his arm, and said, “You’re saying that you’re a good friend, and you’re looking out for him.”

  “Yeah,” he said, shrugging.

  “I won’t ever do anything to hurt him if I can avoid it. Fair enough? I’d rather gouge my eyes out than cause him any more pain.”

  He looked relieved.

  “Okay. We’re good,” he said. “Back to chasing your hot sister.”

  I giggled, embarrassed and amused at the same time. He stepped out of the kitchen, and I stood there for a moment, just thinking. The last two weeks had changed so much. For the first time in my life, I saw a real chance to carve out my own life. A life I wanted, not the one my father had planned out for me. And that life would include Dylan, no matter what. Right then and there, I repeated the promise I’d just made to Ray Sherman, but I made it to myself. I’d never, ever do anything to hurt Dylan.

  I was so spaced out, my thoughts so far away, that I didn’t even notice when Randy Brewer stepped into the kitchen. But when I heard his voice, my back nearly spasmed.

  “You look so thoughtful, beautiful. Have you changed your mind about me?”

  I spun around, my eyes widening when I saw him, my heart rate suddenly increasing rapidly.

  “Get away from me,” I said.

  “What’s wrong, Alex? You used to like me.”

  “We went out exactly twice. And then you tried to rape me.”

  “Jesus, will you just get over it already? I was drunk. It was bad judgment, and I apologize. Besides, you would have liked it. You know that.”

  I started to back out of the kitchen through the other door, away from him. But also away from Dylan and my friends. I didn’t know what was down this hall, but I needed some distance from Randy right now.

  “You’re kidding yourself,” I said. “Just leave me alone.”

  “Give me what I want and I’ll be happy to.”

  A flash of fear ran through my mind. If he tried to grab me, would they even hear me out there? The music was so damned loud. As I backed away, into a darkened hallway, he stopped closer, matching my steps.

  “It won’t be so bad,” he said. “You could learn to love me, as much as I love you.”

  What the hell was wrong with him? I’d known Randy for years. His family ran in the same circles as mine
. He’d always been arrogant, but this was something different entirely. My heart was pounding as I tried to keep my distance from him.

  “Just leave me alone, Randy. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

  I took one more step backwards, and my foot tangled in something on the floor. As I lost my footing, I started to fall backwards. I let out a scream when he reached out and grabbed my arms.

  Where did she go anyway? (Dylan)

  “So yeah,” Joel was saying. “I thought he was going to kill me, to be honest. His eyes were pretty damn cold. But it was all a misunderstanding, and I’m glad they sorted it out. Not just because they’re so happy… but my own safety.”

  Joel chuckled, but I didn’t think he was terribly funny. I felt Sherman’s eyes on me, briefly, as he put Joel’s story together with what he knew. That I’d lost it in Afghanistan because of seeing Joel on the Skype feed from Alex’s room. That my overreaction had ended up costing Roberts his life.

  Sherman knew it all now, and I didn’t want to look at him, because if I did I might fucking break down.

  I’d told him most of the story anyway. We’d emailed back and forth several times while I was in the hospital, and he was still out there in Afghanistan. He’d said several times that none of the guys blamed me for what happened. But I knew that was bullshit. It was my fault. Of course they blamed me, I blamed myself.

  Carrie was sitting next to Sherman, close. She leaned forward and said to me, “You know, I don’t have to say this. But I want you to be careful with my sister. She’s… she’s fallen really hard for you.”

  “I wouldn’t hurt her for the world,” I said. Speaking of which, where was she? She’d left to go get water like five or ten minutes before, and hadn’t come back. “Where did she go, anyway?”

  “She was in the kitchen a few minutes ago,” Sherman said.

  Kelly suddenly went stiff, her eyes wide. “I thought I saw Randy Brewer headed that way.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “That’s the guy who….” She cut herself off before she finished, I guess not knowing if either I or Carrie knew. But I knew. Randy Brewer was the son of a bitch who’d tried to rape her last spring.

  That’s when I heard the cry, clear across the building, barely heard over the music. It her voice, and she was screaming, “Let go of me! Help! Dylan!”

  I was on my feet running before the scream finished.

  He was protecting me (Alex)

  “Woah,” Randy said as he grabbed my arms. “Be careful!”

  I’d lost my balance, and when he grabbed my arms I still didn’t have my feet under me. He shoved me against a wall, hard, then pressed himself against me.

  “God I want you so bad,” he said, putting his lips against the side of my face. I tried to push him away, but he was a lot stronger than I was. As I squirmed, I screamed, as loud as I could, “Let go of me! Help! Dylan!”

  “Oh, shut up,” he said. He pushed his right hand against my mouth, and with his left he stuck his hand under my skirt, his disgusting hand reaching between my legs. I fought, as hard as I could, struggling against him, against the need to vomit and scream and cry out at the same time.

  Suddenly there was a huge muscled arm around his neck. He was yanked off of me, and I heard a guttural shout, “Get your hands off of her!”

  I fell to the floor. Dylan was there, dragging Randy away from me, his face murder.

  Randy struggled against him, pulled away, and then Dylan grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him against the wall.

  “I’ll kill you, you motherfucker!” Dylan screamed. Then he reached out, and with his right fist, still encased in the cast, he punched Randy in the face. I heard bone crunch, and Randy’s face just collapsed, blood spurting out of his nose. It was a nightmare.

  Randy fell backwards to the floor, and Dylan rushed forward, straddling him. He was like nothing I’d ever seen. Savage, his face twisted in rage, the muscles in his shoulders and arms bunched up and tense. He threw a punch, then another, screaming in Randy’s face the entire time. Then he grabbed Randy by the shoulders and lifted his upper body and slammed it on the floor, twice, hard. Randy’s head bounced off the floor with a loud cracking sound.

  The music had stopped, and there were screams as some of the other guests saw what was happening. Dylan raised his fist to punch Randy again, and suddenly Sherman was behind him, grabbing Dylan behind the elbows.

  “He’s down,” Sherman shouted in Dylan’s ear. “That’s enough!”

  Dylan struggled in his rage, trying to get away, to get back to Randy and his murderous rage.

  Sherman shouted, “It’s enough! Go check on Alex!”

  At my name, Dylan stopped struggling. He turned, suddenly, toward me. I could see spatters of Randy’s blood on his face.

  I burst into tears as someone called out, “Somebody call 911!”

  The next moment, Dylan’s arms were around me, and I was sobbing. I was sobbing because of the attempted rape, because of my fear, because of Randy’s attempt to attack me a second time. But I was also sobbing for Dylan, for the man I loved, who had been in such a murderous rage. I was sobbing for what might happen to him, because Randy was unconscious and looked as if Dylan had hit him hard enough to kill.

  I was sobbing because I was terrified that I was going to lose him.

  The next twenty minutes were a blur, as the paramedics and police arrived. The paramedics went to work on Randy, and soon carried him out on a gurney, a brace around his neck, bandages on the back of his head. Then the police went to work, questioning people.

  Then they came to us. They had to pull us apart, because I wouldn’t let go of him. His arms were calm, down by his side, but I kept mine around his waist as they pulled us apart and placed the handcuffs on him. I sank to the floor as they took him away.

  As they hauled him away, one officer on each side, hands gripping his upper arms, he turned his head and looked back at me, his eyes wide. I couldn’t tell what he was trying to say.

  A female police officer approached me, and said, “You’re Alex? I’m Officer Perez. You can call me Christina.”

  I nodded, unable to stop the tears; sobbing uncontrollably.

  “I need to take your statement now, while it’s fresh, okay?”

  I tried to control myself, and it just got worse. “Is he going to be okay?”

  “Well, it’s too soon to tell. They’re taking him to the hospital now, there may be a head injury.”

  “I don’t mean him! He’s a rapist! I want to know about Dylan.”

  Her eyes widened, then she said, “Wait. Let’s back up, and please tell me the whole story.”

  And so I did. Starting with the first date I had with Randy last spring, then when he tried to rape me and his roommates intervened. About how I was too ashamed to report it. And how he had cornered me in the kitchen, backed me into that dark hallway, and then stuck his hand up my skirt while holding me against the wall.

  “He was going to rape me,” I whispered. “Dylan stopped him. He was protecting me.”

  All the time I was telling the story, Carrie and Sherman were standing at the other end of the kitchen. Carrie’s eyes were huge and sad. When the questioning was over, without a word, she walked over and put her arms around me. I began sobbing again, breaking down this time completely. I cried like I was never going to be able to stop. I cried for the boy I loved, who had grown not just into a man, but a man filled with rage.

  A man who might be capable of murder.

  A man who had just been led away, his arms locked behind his back in handcuffs.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Right where I belonged (Dylan)

  Oh fuck, I thought, as the police started to lead me out of the apartment. I looked back over my shoulder, saw her still standing there against the wall, a cop next to her. She was sobbing, and met my eyes with a look of longing mixed with fear. I would have done anything to erase the fear. But there was no going back. She’d seen what I was
capable of. I’d seen what I was capable of.

  Randy, or whatever the hell is name was, had already been carried out by the paramedics before they arrested me. But I couldn’t clear my head of the vision of him, slamming her up against a wall, one hand over her mouth and the other up her skirt as she struggled.

  I didn’t care if I went to prison. I hoped the son of a bitch was dead.

  As they shoved me into the back of a patrol car, a wave of exhaustion and nausea swept over me. Was it really only three hours ago that she whispered the words in my ear, I’m losing my virginity tonight. God, I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to kick my way out of the back of the car, run back to her and throw my arms around her, protect her, love her, take care of her forever.

  But, I’d screwed that up to.

  So, instead of doing any of those thing, any of that exciting, dramatic, capable stuff that I’d like to do, I sat there in the back of the car, for what seemed an eternity, while the police continued to do whatever it is that police do. Onlookers on the street walked by, glancing in the back of the car, where I was exhibit A for the guy you do not want your daughter to fall in love with.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  I was there for maybe thirty minutes before the police car finally pulled out. Two officers drove, a male and a female, and neither of them said a word to me at first, until we got stuck in traffic. Finally, the male officer, sitting behind the wheel, said, “If you care, dispatcher says it looks like the guy you beat up is going to live.”

  My hands, still wrapped behind my back, were hurting like hell, especially the one in the cast. I suspected I’d done more damage to my hand. Worth it.

  I shrugged in response to the officer’s comment.

  “Why’d you do it?” he asked.

  I looked up at him. I guess conventional wisdom says I should stay quiet until I saw a lawyer. But what difference did it really make? I wasn’t going to fucking lie to anyone. Yes, I’d gone way too far. But the fact was, I was protecting her. If I had to go to jail for that, so be it.

  I finally answered. “He sexually assaulted my girlfriend. I intervened.”