With Every Breath

by Everhart, Allie

  "Any reason why?"

  "Probably because I wasn't around. I took last year off."

  "After the accident."

  "Yeah." She looks out the side window.

  "You lived with your aunt and uncle all that time?"

  "Unfortunately," she says.

  "Didn't go well?"

  "It was okay. I mainly just stayed in my room."

  So she's been depressed since it happened. Hasn't been able to move on. I'm not sure I would've been able to either if I hadn't been forced to by having to take over the garage and care for my dad. And having Shana give me that final push I needed to get on with my life.

  Skye needs that push. Something that can get her past this. Honestly, getting past it is a myth. A loss like that is something that always stays with you. You just have to learn to live with it. To keep going and not let it stop you from living life.

  Skye isn't there yet. She's not even close.

  7

  Skye

  "Last summer I got a job," I say, not wanting Travis to think I stayed in my room all year. "My aunt made me. I think she was sick of having me in the house all the time and she was probably tired of having to pay for everything. I hate asking my aunt and uncle for money, even for stupid stuff like shampoo. At least with the job I could buy that stuff myself."

  "I'm sure they don't mind. It's not that much money."

  "Trust me, they mind. Well, not my uncle but my aunt. She doesn't even want me around so I know she doesn't like buying me stuff."

  "Are your aunt and uncle paying for college?"

  "Not my classes. Just living expenses, but I'm going to pay them back. I don't want my aunt holding that over me the rest of my life."

  "How do you pay for school? Taking out loans or what?"

  "I got a scholarship. Pays for all four years."

  "No shit?" he asks, sounding impressed. "So you're a genius," he says with a smile.

  "Not even close. But apparently I'm a good artist. Good enough to get a scholarship. I'm not really that good. I think they just didn't have many options to choose from the year I got the scholarship."

  He glances at me. "Don't say shit like that."

  "Like what?"

  "Don't put yourself down. They gave you the scholarship because you kick ass at art. It means you're better than anyone else."

  I shrug. "I guess."

  "Can I see some of your work?"

  "I don't have any, at least not at school. I keep it back home in my room."

  "You must have something here. Could you show me something you're working on for class?"

  "Maybe, although I don't know when we'll see each other again after tomorrow."

  "You'll have to pick up your car when it's done. Bring it by then. Or maybe we'll go out sometime."

  "Go out?" I ask, turning to look at him. "Like on a date?"

  He laughs. "Why are you saying it like that?"

  "Like what?"

  "Like the very idea of it repulses you."

  "Sorry. I didn't mean it to sound like that. I was just surprised."

  "Why?"

  "Because I didn't think you dated. I thought you just...slept around."

  "Have I had a few one-nighters? Sure. But most of the time I date, as in go out more than once or twice. I have nothing against having a girlfriend. I just haven't found the right girl."

  "What about that social worker?"

  "Shana? She was great but it didn't work out."

  "Do you know why?"

  "She became more of a counselor than my girlfriend. She couldn't take herself out of work mode. We were always either talking about my dad or my dead brother. We couldn't just go out and have fun."

  "Do you still talk to her?"

  "We talk all the time. She's usually there when I go visit my dad." He chuckles. "He still thinks she's my wife. I've given up correcting him." I point to the radio. "Feel free to pick a station."

  I reach over to the dash and turn on the heavy metal station. When I played it in my room back home my aunt would always yell at me to turn it down. She said it wasn't real music. She said it was yelling, not singing, which is another reason we don't get along. She doesn't understand me or anything I like.

  "You really like this?" Travis asks, raising his voice to be heard above the music.

  "Yeah. Why?"

  "It's just screaming. It's not even music."

  I turn it down. "You sound like my aunt. She says the same thing."

  "Makes sense though."

  "What makes sense?"

  "You and this music. It fits with the goth image you're going for." He smiles slightly so I know he's kidding but this whole goth thing is getting annoying.

  "Goths don't listen to this. They listen to gothic rock, which is a form of punk."

  "Something only a goth would know," he says, still with that slight smile.

  I roll my eyes. "I give up. Call me a goth if you want. I don't care."

  "Have you always liked this music?"

  "Probably since junior high. Or maybe before that. I can't remember."

  "Is this what your mom listened to?"

  "Uh, no. Pretty much the complete opposite. She likes hippie music about flowers and trees. You know the kind that makes you feel high even when you're not? I hate that music."

  "So you chose to like the opposite."

  "Yeah, I guess."

  If he's implying I'm trying to be nothing like my mom, it's not true. I'm not purposely choosing not to be like her. I'm just nothing like her. I never have been, which is probably why she didn't want me anymore. We were too different. I'm different than my aunt too, which is why we don't get along. No one seems to understand me. Amy was the only one who did.

  "My brother liked this shit," Travis says.

  "This music?"

  "Yeah, but he also liked country. Thank God, or we might've killed each other trying to pick a station. Dad let us pick the music when we'd help him at work."

  "So you like country."

  "Yeah. I like rock too but it depends on the artist."

  "Amy liked sad girly music." I smile, thinking back. "She thought it was romantic. I thought it was depressing. She said metal bands are depressing, and that it sounded like they were killing someone." I laugh.

  "I'd have to agree," Travis says as the guy on the radio screams the song lyrics.

  "Here." I change the channel to the country station. "Better?"

  "Much." He stops at a light. "So what else did she like?"

  "Who?"

  "Amy."

  An image of her pops in my head. She's in my room, dancing around as she tells me one of her many stories. She was full of life. Always moving around. Dancing. Talking with her hands. Just watching her made me tired.

  "She liked to dance. She wasn't very good but she didn't care. When we were younger, she'd make up all these routines and try to make me do them with her."

  "And did you?" he asks.

  "Yeah, but I'd never do that for anyone else. I only did it because I love her and because she's my best friend. Or was." I swallow past the lump forming in my throat. I never talk about Amy. Not anymore. Last summer I decided to take Aunt Nora's approach and stop talking about Amy or the accident, hoping it'd give me some relief from the excruciating pain of losing her. It didn't help but I still don't talk about her. Even when Uncle Ray brings her up, I change the subject. So I'm not sure why I was talking about her just now with Travis, who's basically a stranger.

  "Seth thought he could sing." Travis smiles as he turns down the road. "When he was twelve my mom got him a karaoke machine and he sang along with damn thing nonstop."

  "Was he any good?"

  "No, but none of us wanted to tell him. He figured it out when he wrote a song for a girl and she laughed when he sang it."

  "She laughed at him? That's so mean."

  "He got over it pretty quick. And the girl still went out with him. He never had any issues getting girls."

  "You
don't seem to either," I say, thinking of the girls at the bar. I can't believe he ran into not just one, but two girls he'd slept with. He's hot, easy to talk to, and has loads of confidence, so it makes sense he gets girls. I just didn't expect to run into two of them in the short hour we were there.

  "You're really hung up on that," he says.

  "What?"

  "My history with women."

  "I'm not hung up on it. I don't care who you date."

  "You never did answer my question."

  "Which one?"

  "The one about going out with me. What do you say? Want to have dinner sometime?"

  "I don't think so. I'm not really dating right now."

  Although if I was, I'd definitely want to go out with him. I've never been out with a guy as hot as him.

  "Why aren't you dating?"

  "I just don't feel like it." I point to the street up ahead. "Turn right at the light. My apartment is a block down."

  "Brown brick with a flag out front?"

  "Yeah. You've been there?"

  "A few times."

  I sigh. "You slept with a girl who lives there. Who was it? I probably know her."

  "That's not why I was there. The thing at the bar was not the norm. I don't usually run into girls I've slept with, except for Ann but that's only because she works there."

  "So why were you here?" I ask as he pulls into the parking lot of my apartment.

  "I knew a guy who lived here. He helped out at the garage a few days a week."

  "Does he go to the college?"

  "He did. Graduated last spring. Moved to Texas for a job. He was friends with Seth. That's how I met him. He helped me when I took over the garage after Seth died. Really great guy. Wish he'd stuck around."

  "You still talk to him?"

  "Not much. He met a girl and he works a lot. He calls when he can but it's not very often." He parks and shuts the truck off.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Walking you to the door."

  "Thanks, but I don't need you to."

  "I always walk a lady to the door." He gets out and meets up with me on the sidewalk.

  "I feel like I'm on a date," I say with a laugh. "Except even my dates don't walk me to the door."

  "Then you're dating the wrong guys."

  We get to the entrance and stop. "Well, thanks for helping me out."

  "Good thing I found you on that bridge. Driving with that break fluid leak would've been dangerous."

  "Yeah," I say, looking down.

  Maybe if I'd chickened out at the bridge, my brakes would've gone out while I was driving and I would've died that way instead. But neither of those things happened. Because of Travis. Because he stopped what was supposed to happen tonight.

  I'm not supposed to be standing here right now. I'm supposed to be gone.

  "You okay?" he asks, and I feel his hand wrap around mine.

  "I'm fine," I say, lifting my head to look at him. I see concern in his eyes, and on his face. He's one of those people who wears his emotions. Maybe that's why I trust him. Because I can see what he's feeling. The same was true for Amy. She couldn't hide her emotions. I always knew when she was happy or sad. She knew the same about me, even though I hide how I'm feeling. My face doesn't show it but she still always knew. She knew me so well. More than anyone ever will.

  "You're not," Travis says.

  "Not what?"

  "Fine." He gives my hand a squeeze and for a moment I think maybe he's able to somehow read me like Amy did. But that wouldn't make sense. He doesn't know me.

  "Why do you think I'm not?" I ask.

  "Because today is the anniversary. For both of us. So I know you're not fine because I'm not either." He keeps hold of my hand, rubbing his thumb over it. "It's okay to feel like shit today. It's okay to cry. It's okay to scream or hit shit or do whatever you need to do to feel better."

  I nod. "Okay, well, goodnight." I try to pull my hand from his but he holds on.

  "Call me. You have my card."

  "Why would I call you? It's late. I'm going to bed."

  "To bed but not to sleep. And if you don't feel like lying there all alone, staring up at the celling, replaying memories of her and begging God to give her back, then call me."

  How did he know that? How did he know that's what I do at night? Every damn night I think of her, remember her, replay memories of her and beg to have her back. How did he know that?

  He lets go of my hand and opens the door. "Goodnight, Skye."

  "Goodnight." I look at him once more before going inside.

  Why did he say that just now? Did he tell me to call him because it's what HE wants? Or was it for me? He seems to be over his grief but maybe he's not. Maybe the emotions I see on his face are really hiding what he feels inside.

  When I go in my apartment it's quiet and only the tiny light above the stove is on. Heidi must be staying with her boyfriend tonight.

  I go in my room and see something on the floor by the door. It's a note from Heidi. I can tell from the big swirly handwriting.

  The note reads, ‘Skye, I'm thinking about you. And about her. I know today was hard. If you need to talk, call me. I'm at Brad's tonight but I'm here for you if you need me. Heidi.’

  Heidi and I aren't close friends but we probably would be if I let her. Instead I avoid her because being around her reminds me of Amy. Heidi and Amy had the same major and were in the same classes. That's how they became friends. They have similar personalities which is another reason I find it hard to be around her. She's really nice and called me a lot after the accident, asking if I wanted to go out and do something. She was trying to help but I turned her down. I didn't want to be around her, or anyone, who reminded me of Amy.

  My aunt set us up as roommates without even telling me. She said she thought it'd be good for me to have a roommate I knew versus a stranger but it's only made things harder. I feel bad for Heidi. I'm sure she thinks I don't like her but that's not it at all. It's the fact she's so much like Amy that keeps me from being her friend.

  Setting her note down, I reach in my pocket and take out Travis' card. I'm not calling him. I don't need to. I don't even know what I'd say.

  Ten minutes later, I've changed clothes, washed my face, and brushed my teeth just like any other night. I get into bed, feeling like it’s the night before. Because it can't be tonight. I was supposed to be gone tonight. My body in the river. My soul with Amy.

  Wow, that's messed up. When I think about it now, it sounds crazy. I was going to kill myself tonight. I thought it'd bring me back to Amy. But it wouldn't. I'd just be dead. Or I think that's how it works. I don't really know. I'm not religious. Never been to church. I've just heard people say you're reunited with your family in heaven. But what if that's wrong? Or what if you don't get there if you kill yourself? Or what if there's nothing? What if I died and that was it?

  My heart's thumping harder the more I think about this. I almost ended my life. I'd planned it for months. I thought it was the right thing to do. My only option.

  Now I don't feel that way at all. What happened? What changed?

  I take a deep breath, and as I close my eyes my mind is flooded with memories. All of Amy. She's all I can see. All I can hear. I can't get her out of my head.

  Nights are always the worst. It's like Travis said, I just lie here thinking about her, begging God or the universe or whoever the hell is listening, to give her back. Begging her to forgive me for not saving her.

  That's why I wanted to jump tonight. To make it end. I just want it to end. And yet I don't know how. Jumping doesn't seem like an option anymore. I'm not sure why. I just know I can't do it.

  Shoving the covers back, I get out of bed and go to my desk. I flip on the light and see Travis' card. I pick it up, my heart pounding as I consider calling him. He told me to but maybe he was just saying that to be nice. Maybe he didn't mean it.

  Taking the card back to my bed, I pick up my phone and punch in the number
. My thumb hovers over the send button. I hit it, then anxiously wait as I hear it ring.

  Why am I doing this? It's completely crazy! I barely know this guy.

  "Hello?" he answers, his voice deep and steady. It instantly calms me.

  "Hey," I say, taking a breath.

  "Skye?"

  "Yeah. Sorry to bother you. I just—"

  "You're not bothering me. I told you to call."

  "I know, but sometimes people say that and don't really mean it."

  "I meant it." He pauses. "Tell me what's going on."

  "I...I don't know. I'm not even sure why I called."

  "Because you're alone. Because you can't make the memories go away. Because you can see her face. You can hear her voice. You want it to stop but if it does, she'll go away and you don't want that either."

  "How?" I swallow. "How do you know all this?"

  "Because it happens to me. It doesn't happen every night. Not anymore. But it's happened every night this week. Every night leading up to the anniversary."

  "And you...you see him?"

  "Only when I close my eyes. I see him. I hear him. I thought it was over but I guess it's too soon for that. Or there's something in me that's not letting him go. It's only been a year. Maybe I'm just not ready yet."

  I don't respond. I'm too shocked knowing someone else is going through this too. I know everyone grieves but I thought I was the only one being haunted at night by these memories that won't go away.

  "Talk to me, Skye."

  "I'm not sure if I can," I say as a tear runs down my face.

  "Then I'll just stay here with you. We don't have to talk. You good with that?"

  I nod, then realize he can't see me and say, "Yes."

  "You're not alone, Skye. You're never alone. There's always someone. Always someone out there who cares. Remember that, okay?"

  "Yeah," I say, more tears falling down my cheeks.

  But I haven't believed that since Amy died. She was the only one who truly cared about me. Understood me. Without her, I feel like I have no one.

  8

  Travis

  "Still with me?" I ask, because the phone's been quiet for the last ten minutes and it doesn't sound like she's sleeping.