Inhale, Exhale
CL Matthews
Table of Contents
Title Page
Inhale, Exhale
Inhale
prologue
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
chapter six
chapter seven
chapter eight
chapter nine
chapter ten
chapter eleven
chapter twelve
Exhale
chapter thirteen
chapter fourteen
chapter fifteen
chapter sixteen
chapter seventeen
chapter eighteen
chapter nineteen
chapter twenty
chapter twenty-one
chapter twenty-two
chapter twenty-three
chapter twenty-four
chapter twenty-five
chapter twenty-six
chapter twenty-seven
chapter twenty-eight
chapter twenty-nine
chapter thirty
chapter thirty-one
chapter thirty-two
chapter thirty-three
chapter thirty-four
chapter thirty-five
chapter thirty-six
chapter thirty-seven
chapter thirty-eight
chapter thirty-nine
chapter forty
chapter forty-one
chapter forty-two
chapter forty-three
chapter forty-four
chapter forty-five
chapter forty-six
chapter forty-seven
chapter forty-eight
epilogue
Prologue
© 2019 C.L. Matthews
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced, copied or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system without written expressed permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is purely coincidental.
Cover Design: Opulent Designs
Editor: Nicole Zoltack
Proofread: Rumi Khan
Format: Inkstain Design Studio
The use of actors, artists, movies, TV shows, and song titles/lyrics throughout this book are done so for storytelling purposes and should in no way be seen as advertisement. Trademark names are used in an editorial fashion with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.
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All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior express, written consent of the author
For you, Grandma.
For their pain is mine.
Their loss is mine.
Their battle is mine.
And you’ll live on through them and through me forever.
This isn’t “goodbye.” It’s “see you later.”
I love you.
Rest in paradise.
Special thanks to NF.
You don’t know me.
You may never.
Without your music, this book wouldn’t exist.
So, thank you.
To all those who suffer through pain without the ability to stay present, this is to you.
We all have stories. We all have experience in the void. We all feel differently.
Don’t give up.
I had my own notion of grief.
I thought it was a sad time
That followed the death of someone you love.
And you had to push through it
To get to the other side.
But I am learning there is no other side.
There is no pushing through.
But rather,
There is
Absorption.
Adjustment.
Acceptance.
And that grief is not something you complete
But rather you endure.
Grief is not a task to finish
And move on
But an element of yourself,
An alteration of your being,
A new way of seeing,
A new definition of self.
- Gwen Flowers
author’s note
Hello there.
I’m writing this for a very important reason. I know, I know. Me being serious doesn’t come often, but this is necessary for you to read this story.
Lo and Jase have a really hard story, it’s not something that’s dark but rather deep. It strikes chords that you never knew you had. It has triggers you might not be aware of having. It’s raw and meaningful, but it’s also not sugar-coated or handled with kid’s gloves.
This story will make you cry, or at least everyone I’ve spoken with has cried over it. It shows you the battles of loss, depression, drug abuse, cheating, and other adult themes. It’s hard to stomach at times, mostly because it’s painful.
You watch the life of two people, and you see every little thing that caused what has happened, and it’s not the easiest pill to swallow.
I’m giving this warning in hopes you know your triggers, but also so you’re aware you’re not battling this alone.
We are here for you.
If you need someone to talk you through the pain, we’re here.
And if you ever feel desolate, needing more than we can offer, I’m attaching the suicide hotline number. Because everyone has a voice, and if you need someone to listen, please call. They’re available twenty-four hours a day.
1-800-273-8255
playlist
Fallout - Marianas Trench
Duele El Corazón - Enrique Iglesias
1-800-273-8255 - Logic
Iridescent - Linkin Park
Heavy - Linkin Park
Never Stop (Wedding Version) - SafetySuit
Paralyzed - NF
How Could You Leave Us - NF
I Miss You - Clean Bandit
Say You Won’t Let Go - James Arthur
I Won’t Give Up - Jason Mraz
Me Niego - Reik
Let You Down - NF
Let You Go - Machine Gun Kelly
No Place Like Home - Marianas Trench
No Peace - Sam Smith
You Are The Reason - Calum Scott
Us - James Bay
Real - NF
I R L - DYSN
Therapy Session - NF
Good To You - Marianas Trench
Can You Hold Me - NF
Mansion - NF
Oh Lord - NF
If You Want Love - NF
WHY - NF
Lost In The Moment - NF
Intro III - NF
Outro - NF
Remember This – NF
All I Have – NF
Breathe - NF
Breath - Breaking Benjamin
Falling Like The Stars - James Arthur
Part I
Inhale
Sometimes, life is harder than anyone can picture. Sometimes, it’s the biggest disappointment. Sometimes, it takes and takes and takes. Life isn’t meant to be simple. It isn’t meant to be easy, without heartbreak, without sadness, without pain. It’s meant to teach, to show growth—to give. Even if what’s offered isn’t wanted, it’s there for the taking. We only have to rise and accept it or fall while running away from it.
- Lo
prologue
Lo
It’s December and more bitter than usual. There’s a bite to the air that usually isn’t present in Hollow Ridge, our small town in SoCal. There’s a flurry of snow outside, whirling with the wind, reminding us that life is swift, brutal, and cold. It rarely snows here, but it’s almost a sign of the misery we’re yet to endure. Like the world knows my world is about to end before I do.
My phone jingles, ringing in the dark of night and vibrating on top of my night stand, effectively waking me up. The buzzing is stronger than I remember, but it’s probably from lack of sleep rather than a sudden increase in the high-pitched tone.
When a loved one is in the hospital for long periods of time, you can’t seem to sleep properly, and when you do, it feels like you didn’t sleep for long. It’s the awareness of being a zombie yet not being able to control the lack of life.
Checking the nightstand for my clock, I realize I’ve only been asleep for three hours. I left the hospital earlier, after spending the last five days there with my mom and dad, wondering where my heroin-addict brother is while our mother deteriorates.
Jase and I visit her every day, not missing a moment. It’s times like these that we remember what’s important and what no longer matters.
Every second counts.
I’ve already missed so much time with the kids. Ace, my son, constantly asks where I am. Mom needs me now more than they do, but they’re too young to understand.
Mom begged me not to bring Ace and Jaz. Not that either will remember her current state when they get older. They have developing minds, and Jaz is barely two.
Ellie and Toby, my two best friends, take turns watching them instead. They’re lifesavers. They haven’t missed a beat when Jase and I visit Mom, making sure she’s never alone.
Mom seems to be doing better lately. She’s breathing on her own but sleeping a lot too. The doctors say it’s normal, that she needs her rest. They also say she’s made improvement—that her lungs are working on their own.
After sitting up, I walk to the front room, not wanting to wake up Jase and the kids.
“Sweetheart.” Dad’s hoarse and somber greeting buries itself deep within my body. His normal honeyed tone, the one he offers me each time we speak, is gone. It’s hollow—barren of that warmth I’ve grown up with.
Something’s wrong. I can hear it in the timbre of his voice, feel it ricocheting inside my chest. No no no no no. Not yet. She was doing better.
They say you can feel life-changing moments as they take place, a sense of impending doom. They’re right. My mind’s on autopilot, an out-of-body experience looking in on the scene in front of me. Things echo around me, but the blur of the words and unfocused sound of it all is lost to me. I’m experiencing a vehement amount of tunnel vision.
“Dad?”
My throat hurts to get out the word. It’s an ache we become accustomed to when your parent lies sick in a hospital bed. The scratchy feeling is thick in the air, smothering me. I’m suffocating. Drowning. An abysmal emotion eats at me, piece by goddamn piece.
“She’s gone, baby girl,” he confirms solemnly, not waiting for me to ask, not allowing me to accept it in my mind before laying it out on me.
On the other end of the phone, I hear his cries, but I can’t focus on them. I can’t even focus on how slow my breathing has become. I’m somehow holding in this very long breath that makes my entire body feel death rising. My only focus is the words uttered in my ear.
Gone.
She’s gone.
Dead.
Never going to hear her say my name again.
No more laughs, chastising, or smiles.
No more holding and spoiling my kids with constant love and affection.
Nothing.
I understand him, but I don’t. How does one breathe? How do I get my lungs to inflate and deflate on their own? How can I accept these words as truth when I’ve only just visited with her hours before?
My body collapses to the laminate in a heap of insensibility while squeezing the phone in my hand as my only tether, my only means of staying present. The coolness of the floor doesn’t quite register in my mind, though my skin prickles. I can feel everything yet nothing at all. An agonized sob bursts through my throat before I can capture it and stuff it deep within me. They’ll wake up. They’ll hear. I can no longer hold in the pain as the memories of my mom flash through my mind, forcing the wails to explode from my mouth. My screams echo throughout my home, my very beautiful home.
My body shakes all the way to my toes.
She’s gone.
My mom, best friend and confidant, is forever lost to me.
“Baby girl, please, you’re breaking my heart.” My father cries on the other end of the phone with me.
His sorrow only multiplies my own. His voice cracks with each word as he attempts to assure me like he did when I was little. It no longer connects with my mind. It’s like I can’t even hear him. It registers as a plea but echoes like a vast cave in the mountains. They were married for twenty-nine years. He should be the sad one. I should be soothing him. He lost the love of his life—not me. But there’s no stopping my pain, no easing my distress, no tampering my heartache.
I’ve never felt pain such as this.
Somehow, my phone lands on the floor, and I screech as if my heart is being carved out of my chest. And it is. It’s being taken to wherever my mom’s soul fled. I’m no longer in control. I don’t want to feel this unsurmountable torment. She wasn’t old enough to pass. She was supposed to live longer, even if that’s not a realistic idealism.
My cries reverberate through the house, waking my children and husband, but nothing stops my heart from being kidnapped. No one stops the pain or alleviates the barren feeling inside. How could they? It’s not like they experience the same devastation I’m facing or sense the absolute torrential downpour of loss like the drought we’ve had all year. They couldn’t know.
We all knew she’d die. I’ve always known, but it doesn’t stop the bereft void in my chest. It doesn’t lessen the blow of her passing.
It hurts to breathe, and I want it all to stop.
I don’t want this pain.
Make it go away.
Please, please stop.
I don’t want to feel!
Blackness comes sooner than later, and the last thought on my mind?
Why’d you have to go?
chapter one
Lo
“Loren!” Mom calls out to me from the bottom of the staircase as she does every morning. I’m sure she’s standing there with her big smile, hands on her hips, and my lunch handy.
She’s more excited about me being in high school than I am. I’m already up and out of bed, the jitters of starting at a new school is giving me anxiety. When you’re in junior high, you get to be free. There aren’t as many responsibilities or stresses about getting everything perfect. That all changes in high school. It has expectations. Or at the very least, the people do.
“I’m up!” I call back, a frown cast over my face. I’m not ready for new people. I already hate most of the losers I knew before. There’s this saying about dicks and them only being good for one thing. They’re not wrong. Even if I’m still virginal, I know things.
It’s only orientation, I remind myself.
Yeah, instead of learning about our sexuality, we’re meeting other people and teachers. So much win.
Sarcasm.
I’ve spent the entire summer running. Sweat d
oesn’t glitter or scream, but it eases my panic whenever it rises too high. I’ll never waste my talents on a track team because being alone is better than dealing with bullshit.
Before I got my class schedule a few weeks back, I went shopping. The beauty of going to the mall with my best friend is that she’s up with all the trends, which, by the way, can suck my ass. What’s better is that I didn’t get a single thing that screamed popular in response to her suggestions. I’m a rebel. Sue me.
Instead, I shopped at Spencer’s and Hot Topic. They were better two years ago. Now, they’ve sold out to pop culture, dropping the band tees and gothic wear that made my blood feel blacker than activated charcoal and instead they went full chic. Somehow, it still makes me feel at home. It’s all I’ve known. It’s like a library to a bookworm, a haunted house to Scooby-Doo, or a coffee shop to any coffee lover. Those three places speak to others. Spencer’s and Hot Topic speak to me, or, at least, they fulfill some of my needs.
Eleanor, on the other hand, shops at stores like Hollister Co. and Aeropostale. We couldn’t be more different if we tried, but that’s why we click. We don’t have to have everything in common to get along. It actually helps being opposites, especially by not pretending to be who we aren’t and accepting each other for who we are. In the scheme of it all, that’s why we can confide in each other. There’s no rivalry. Just friendship.
I study, and she goes and fucks around with jocks. Spoiler alert: she’s a cheerleader. While I’m seeking out scholarships, she’s boozing it up as I lie to our parents. It works. We work.
After changing my outfit ten times, brushing my teeth, and straightening my long, black hair—it took forever if you wanted to know—I make my way to the kitchen. Bacon. My mom loves me, and this greasy meat is proof.
“I love you, Mom,” I say on a satisfied groan, taking a bite of the little piggy strips. My taste buds burst with flavor and I’m savoring each chew.
“Love you too, baby girl.” Her eyes always seem so light. It’s like nothing burdens her, even when I’m a pain in the ass teen. “You ready for today?” She smiles at me, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
“No,” I groan, being overdramatic when it’s unnecessary.
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