Breathing Lies: (The Breathing Undead Series, Book 1)

by Jessica Sorensen

  His eyes darken in delight, and then he cocks a brow at Kingsley. “Okay, maybe I do get it now.”

  Kingsley gives him a dirty look then cautiously glances at me. “Does my brother know where you’re going tonight?”

  “Sure,” I lie. “Why?”

  His gaze bores into me. “Does he know who you’re with?”

  “He knows I’m with Star,” I lie again.

  “Are you going to tell him you’re with Porter and me?” he asks, his gaze relentless.

  “I don’t know, probably.” Another lie leaves my tongue.

  Man, I’m on a roll today, aren’t I?

  “Maybe you should tell him now,” Porter suggests, watching me from the rearview mirror. “You know, just in case you want to leave the party early.”

  “She’ll be fine.” Star scoots forward and rests her arms on the console. “You two need to chill out. You’re scaring off a potential friend.”

  Kingsley’s gaze glides to her. They stare each other down for a few seconds before he sighs and looks forward again.

  “Fine,” he mutters. “But she’s your responsibility.”

  My jaw ticks. “I’m not a child. I don’t need anyone to be responsible for me.”

  “The fact that you can say that means you do,” Kingsley mumbles, hunkering down in the seat and putting his knees against the dashboard.

  As anger simmers underneath my skin, I reach over the seat and flick him in the back of the head. “Quit being an asshole.”

  He snaps his hand back to where I flicked him, lowers his feet to the floor, and then rotates in the seat toward me. “Did you just flick me on the head?” He gapes at me.

  I lift a shoulder, but my heart is racing in my chest. “Yeah, so what if I did?”

  His lips part, but he hurriedly presses them together then turns back around in the seat, remaining silent for the rest of the drive. When we reach the party, he bails out of the car before Porter even comes to a full stop.

  “Man, he’s moody tonight,” Star says as she unfastens her seatbelt.

  Porter glances at her with his brow arched. “I wonder why.”

  It doesn’t go unnoticed that his gaze briefly strays in my direction. Then he silences the engine and hops out of the car.

  “He doesn’t want me here, does he?” I mutter as I flip the seat forward. “Kingsley, I mean.”

  Star wavers. “It’s not that. I think he’s just nervous.”

  Kingsley nervous? That doesn’t even seem like a thing? “Why is he nervous?”

  She shrugs then puts on a smile. “You know what? Let’s have some fun.” She pulls out a bottle of vodka and doesn’t say anything further about Kingsley. But she doesn’t have to.

  It’s pretty damn clear he doesn’t want me here.

  Eleven

  Harlynn

  I wake up feeling groggy and lightheaded. Chatter is buzzing in the air, along with the beeping of the heart monitor.

  “I’m so glad she woke up,” Janie Avertonson says, the relief in her tone evident.

  “Me, too. For a second …” My mom chokes up.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Janie reassures her. “Come on; let’s take a walk and get some fresh air.”

  It grows quiet after that, so I open my eyes and glance around, expecting to be alone. But Foster is sitting in a chair beside my bed. He has his phone out, his gaze is fixed on the screen, and his brows are creased. He has a bandage on the back of his hand, a healing cut on his forehead, and a bruise is splattered across his cheek. Wounds he got from the accident, I’m guessing.

  Sighing, he shakes his head and puts his phone away, lifting his gaze. His eyes briefly widen then a smile breaks across his face. “Hey, you’re awake.” He stands up and hurries to my bedside. “God, I’ve missed those pretty eyes.”

  “That was pretty cheesy,” I attempt to tease, but my voice sounds hoarse and scratchy. “Can you get me some water?”

  “Of course.” He pours me some, hands me the cup, then smiles. “How’re you feeling? Your mom said you were okay, but she also said your memory of what happened is hazy.”

  I take a sip of water. “Yeah, I can’t remember much of what happened after your truck was hit. But word on the street is you’re the reason I’m here.”

  He sinks down on the edge of the bed and smooths my hair from my eyes. “It’s not a big deal.”

  I search his face, seeking answers, longing for a memory to surface of what happened that night, but … nothing.

  “What happened? All I remember is being in the truck with you and … that’s about it. Well, other than waking up in a hospital bed.”

  He places a hand on each side of my head. “Do you remember us kissing in my truck?”

  I nod, expecting my heart to flutter at the memory, but it remains quiet. “Yeah, a little bit of it anyway.”

  “Do you remember how we said I love you to each other?” he asks, and I nod again. “Good, then let’s leave it at that.” He tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. “It’s better if you don’t remember what happened after that. It was … awful.”

  I nod, but the movement feels robotic. I want to know—need to know—so I can place his face to the faint memories I have of being saved, place his face to that begging voice, the one that pleaded with me to come back, to not die, that they’d do anything if I didn’t.

  Warm lips on mine …

  Breathing air into me …

  I died for an instant. Stopped breathing.

  Air left my lungs, and my heart stood motionless inside my chest, just like I feel now.

  Panic trickles through me, and the heart monitor’s beeping accelerates.

  Worry creases Foster’s face as he glances at the screen then back at me. “Har, relax.” He strokes his fingers across my cheek. “Everything’s going to be okay. You’re fine. I’m fine. Everyone is fine.”

  I nod, but the panic stays. I feel so different, as if I’m not myself anymore. A few days ago, the sight of him would’ve made my stomach flutter and my heart dance to life, but now I feel nothing but confusion.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s just weird having blank spots in my memories.”

  “That’s understandable. But, like I said, it’s probably better if you don’t remember. I wish I couldn’t … Wish that I couldn’t remember seeing you that way … I’m just really glad you’re okay.” He kisses my cheek. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. I can’t ever lose you.”

  I wait for his kiss to bring me warmth, but coldness drapes over me.

  “I can’t ever lose you either.” I pretend I’m telling the truth, that I can’t feel a hint of doubt swimming inside me. Doubt. So much doubt. That’s all I am right now. Is this because of the memory loss? If so, I need to remember so I can feel like my normal self again. “It’s going to suck when you leave for school.”

  He kisses my cheek again then leans back. “I know.” He traces a path down my hairline. “I’ve talked to our parents, and they think it’ll be good for us if you come and visit me on the weekends.”

  Us, like we’re a couple.

  I feel as though I should be giddy, but confusion webs through me. Are we dating now? We never discussed this. Not that I don’t want to date him.

  I think …

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  “I’d like that. But I have to make sure I can get work off.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Your boss is pretty chill, right?”

  “Yeah.” The truth is that I need the money from my job for school, and I don’t want to drive twelve hours every weekend. It just seems so far. And so … Well, I’m not really sure. “But you said you’d come up here on the weekends.”

  He scrunches his nose. “I’d rather you come and visit me. I mean, think about it.” He holds his hands up to the side of him. “We can hang out here, in one of our parents’ houses, and spend our time hanging out with the same people we’ve seen every single day of our lives.” He lowers one
of his hands slightly and lifts the other. “Or you can come to my place, and we can go to parties unsupervised and meet new people.”

  Meet new people? It’s like he doesn’t know me at all. And he’s being so pushy.

  Has he always been like this?

  “I guess I’ll see if I can get the time off.” I force a smile. But he doesn’t seem to notice. Or doesn’t care.

  “Awesome.” Smiling, he leans over and places a soft kiss to my lips.

  Warm lips on mine …

  Breathing air into my lungs …

  So soft …

  So full …

  So different from the lips that are touching mine right now.

  I jerk back, my heart rate quickening for a split-second before settling right back down.

  Foster sits back, his gaze darting from the monitor to me. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” I stare at him. And I mean, really stare at him.

  I stare at him for so long that he starts to look at me like I’m losing it.

  “You gave me mouth-to-mouth that night, right?” I ask.

  “I did, and it was one of the worst moments of my life … For a second, I thought …” He swallows hard. “Can we please not talk about this? I still have nightmares over seeing you like that.”

  Warm lips on mine.

  Not Foster’s lips…

  I’m pretty sure Foster didn’t give me mouth-to-mouth.

  I’m pretty sure he’s lying.

  But then, who saved me?

  My mind spins with dizziness as I struggle to piece together what happened.

  Maybe I’m just being weird. Maybe the crash left me insane. Maybe some of my sanity got lost with my memories.

  Maybe I’m really dead and this is my hell.

  “Har …” Foster starts but trails off as our parents enter the room.

  I feel relieved by the interruption.

  Relieved that I can avoid the truth for a little bit.

  And the truth is that I’m fairly sure Foster just lied to me.

  Twelve

  Harlynn

  A few days later, after the doctor has run a couple of tests and they all come back okay, I’m released from the hospital. My memories of the accident, though, remain hazy at best. According to the doctor, they may eventually return to me, but maybe not. Only time will tell.

  A couple of days after I go home, my mom takes me to get a new phone since mine is probably somewhere at the bottom of the lake. Then we go to the police station so I can fill out a form on what I can remember about the night of the accident. Needless to say, I’m not much help.

  “If you can remember anything else at all, don’t hesitate to call me,” the officer working on the case says to me as she hands me her card.

  She’s in her late thirties, has chin-length black hair, and seems nice enough, especially considering how unhelpful I’ve been.

  I stuff the card into my pocket. “Okay, I will.”

  She smiles then turns to my mom. “Can I speak to you alone for a second? There’s some things I’d like to discuss.”

  “Oh, um, sure.” My mom turns to me. “Can you wait for me by the chairs near the entrance. The car is locked.”

  I could point out that she could just give me the key, but she’s been acting really weird about me being alone ever since the accident. So I nod and wander out into the main part of the station. The air buzzes with energy, phones are ringing, and an officer is hauling some guy in. All the noise starts to make my head ache so I walk to the front section of the station where it’s a bit quieter and start to sit down in a chair.

  But then I hear a whisper.

  “Look at the back wall.”

  My gaze darts over my shoulder. I expect someone to be behind me, but no one other than the woman sitting at the front counter is around, and she’s on the phone.

  So weird.

  Still, I find myself looking at the back wall. It’s covered with missing person’s flyers. I inch toward it, my gaze landing on one flyer in particular.

  Paige Meriforter.

  I knew Paige from school. She was a year older than me, and I sometimes talked to her during art class. She was the kind of girl who hardly anyone noticed until she vanished. Then she was all anyone could talk about, her absence giving her the popularity she once told me she craved.

  Since her parents were drug addicts, her home life was shit, and she took a bunch of cash and her mom’s car with her when she disappeared, almost everyone assumed she just ran away.

  Maybe she did. Perhaps she’s living somewhere in some big city, happy to be away from Sunnyvale and her shitty life. But I don’t know, looking at this flyer, I get the strangest feeling that Paige is still in town. And close.

  “Are you ready to go?” my mom asks from behind me.

  I blink from the flyer and twist around to face her. “Sure.”

  We walk out of the station and get into the car, my mind filled with the weird thought I had about Paige.

  “What did the detective want to talk to you about?” I ask my mom in an attempt to distract myself from thoughts of Paige.

  She forces a small smile. “She just wanted to make sure that if you do remember anything else about the accident, that we’ll let her know.” She clutches the steering wheel as she lets out an unsteady exhale. “I knew you couldn’t remember much, but I didn’t realize you couldn’t even remember stuff about before the truck went off the cliff.” She glances over at me. “You weren’t drinking that night, were you?”

  “No.” It’s the first truth I’ve told in a while and go figure, she doesn’t appear to fully believe me. But she doesn’t say anything else.

  I internally sigh, wishing I could remember. Maybe then, everyone would stop acting so careful around me, like I’m cracked glass about to break apart.

  But that’s not the only reason I want to remember. No, I’m still not convinced Foster was the one who gave me mouth-to-mouth. But it doesn’t make sense why Foster would lie about saving me. He was there that night, though, in the truck with me. That much I remember. How we kissed. How we declared our love to each other. Yet, those memories are cloudy, like I was fading in and out of time.

  Honestly, I still feel like I am.

  Thirteen

  Harlynn

  A couple of days later, I’m stretched out on my bed and writing in my journal, trying to write the truth from my mind. Music is blasting from the stereo, the song the type of music Foster and my parents give me crap about for listening to.

  What happened to me when I went into the water?

  When darkness swam around me, stabbing at my limbs and mind?

  When my lungs singed with death, and my heart drowned in the agony of stillness?

  Why do I still feel so confused, like I’m walking around in a fog?

  I drop my pen and massage my temples with my fingertips as my head begins to throb, something that’s been happening a lot lately. I continue massaging until the dull ache goes away. Then I lower my hands from my head, push up, and scoot to the edge of the bed, trying to figure out what to do next.

  I’ve been home for three days now and haven’t done much of anything except lie around in bed, streaming movies, writing in my journal, and sleeping. Dirty clothes cover my floor, along with books and shoes. I’m not a neat freak or anything, but this place is a mess compared to how it usually is.

  Everyone said I should take it easy, and I’ve been doing what I’ve been told, despite this restlessness stirring inside me, telling me to go figure out what in the hell happened to me the night of the accident. The problem is I have no idea how to do that other than to get the details from Foster, but so far, he’s been no help at all.

  Plus, I haven’t seen much of him since I returned home. In the past, I’d be bummed about that and would’ve gone over to help him pack like he’s asked me to a few times. But I haven’t had much desire to see him other than the brief moments where I’ve considered going over there to demand he t
ell me the truth, so I can finally see through this constant fog haunting my mind.

  Haunted. I feel so haunted by something I can’t even begin to describe.

  Lowering my hands from my temples, I reach for my laptop and open up the webpage I’ve been reading. It’s an article about near-death experiences and what happens to people after they’re brought back to life. I’ve been reading in an attempt to figure out if maybe my memory loss and confusion is a side effect of that. A lot of weird stuff has pulled up, from people believing they can see the future to some even believing they can now travel to the afterlife once they’ve died and returned to life. Some speak of memory loss and feel differently, almost like they came back a different person, the person they were always supposed to be. That their near-death experience was like someone had pulled a veil off their eyes.

  Is that what’s happening to me? Is this who I was always supposed to be? I sure as hell hope not, otherwise I’m going to be stuck being Confused Girl.

  “Harlynn!” My mom bangs on the door, startling me. “Can I come in?”

  I close my laptop and tuck my journal underneath my pillow. “Yeah.” I reach over to turn the music down as she opens the door and enters my room.

  Her gaze immediately drops to the clothes on the floor and the plates of half-eaten food on the dresser. “You want me to clean up for you?” she asks, glancing up at me.

  She’s been hovering a lot since the accident and hasn’t gone back to work yet, insisting she needs to stay here and take care of me. I appreciate her concern, but I kind of just want things to go back to normal. Not that normal even exists anymore.

  Maybe it never did.

  Can a life return to normal after it momentarily faded into nothing?

  I’m not even sure I should be here or if I was supposed to die. But someone brought me back to life.

  Who are you…