Inhale, Exhale

by Matthews, C. L.

  What I need is more booze.

  What I need is an escape.

  As she strokes my leg up and down like she’s pretending it’s a dick, I watch the people around us.

  “So, you’re a junior?” she asks, interrupting my people-watching.

  Nodding, ignoring, and not giving her anything, I watch in the distance, seeing my brother. He’s with a girl. She’s not meek but not outspoken. Hell, she even seems bored, almost like she doesn’t want to be here either.

  The girl stroking my leg makes her way up to my crotch, grabbing gently, trying to bring my attention back to her.

  When she begins kissing my throat, I take a look away from mystery girl, giving this chick a little attention.

  She’s worked hard. Might as well give her an inch. Lifting her, I set her on my lap, her thighs on either side of my hips. And then she grinds down on me as I take her mouth. Her lips aren’t as puffy as I thought, not as welcoming as I’d hoped, and no matter how much she tries stroking her tongue with mine, my attention keeps going back to the girl with my brother. His arm is across her shoulder, almost as if he’s claiming her. She’s beautiful, and I want her. I want to see why she intrigues me, what makes her tick, what fuels her life.

  When the mystery girl sees the girl on me, she shields her face, scrunching her nose in disgust, then she taps on Toby and walks away. Now that she’s gone, I’m bored again. Pushing the broad off my lap, I go to apologize but realize I don’t even know her name.

  “Next time?” she comments.

  I want to roll my eyes but refrain. Attachments aren’t my thing.

  “I’m Ellie, by the way.”

  “Next time,” I mutter, not meaning it.

  Leaving her on the couch, I search for the girl. I only go ten steps in the direction she left when Francis and Toby stop me and hand me another beer.

  Popping the top, I chug, needing to wash the chick with the overactive tongue from my mouth. “Who was that girl?” I ask non-committedly, pretending I don’t care, but I do. I need to know.

  “Who?” Francis questions, looking around.

  Toby’s eyes connect with mine. “My girl?” With those words, it’s as if he’s stamping a do-not-touch brand on her, one I’m sure to ignore.

  “Yeah, her.”

  “That’s Sparkle,” he admits with pride, sticking his chin higher. “She went to the bathroom. What happened to your eye?”

  Instead of answering, I chug my beer. “What’s wrong with yours?” I deflect, noticing he’s sporting a shiner too.

  “I was messing around with Benton. He elbowed me,” he answers but doesn’t meet my eyes.

  He probably expects me to grill him but I don’t, I blow him off and finish off my beer.

  When I turn and walk away, I’m surprised my body allows it and doesn’t stumble. Then, another guy hands me another beer. When I remember—or try to remember—where that girl went, I’m already past tipsy. The numbness sets in, and I’ve already forgotten what I was meaning to do.

  chapter thirty-six

  Present

  Jase

  Her walking away isn’t the hardest part of this.

  Her handing me her ring while crying is.

  These past few days have provided the most emotion my wife has ever given me since before tragedy struck. It’s the most empathy I’ve ever seen yet the most distress and heartbreak, too.

  You can tell she’s finally dealing with things, realizing like me, that it’s time. The only problem is that our marriage is over. I can see it in the way she pushed me away while showing me that it was hard on her. It appeared in the way she kissed me as if she knew it was goodbye yet wasn’t ready to say it. It reflected in the tears in her eyes that matched mine perfectly. She was more transparent with her hatred and bitterness than with the deaths of both her mom and our daughter.

  She’s fighting.

  Like the spitfire girl I met in high school, she’s fighting.

  Not for me. Not for our kids. Just for her.

  It’s beautiful to witness, even if I only got a glimpse.

  It’s time. It was always time, and I should’ve pushed her for it, helped her along the way. I should’ve been the husband I dreamt of being when I was younger. Once upon a time, I promised myself to never be the men who fathered Toby and I, to never be a horrible father and husband like they both were to my mom.

  Yet, here I am, having a pity party while my wife slowly moves on.

  Before she found out, all I wanted was peace, to be loved and to love. What I’m learning now is that it was always here. All along, we could have been happy. It was my responsibility as much as hers to find a way back to each other.

  They say some people fall out of love, a high percentage in fact. Even if you’re the happiest couple in the world, you can fall out of love. The only part of this that matters is what you do.

  Falling out of love happens in an instant and without warning. There isn’t a popup message that beeps, an alarm, or even a smack in the face. But there are signs. They’re telltale. They’ll show the direction this could go, but if you catch it soon enough, you can fight it.

  With the knowledge and realization of the demise of one’s relationship, you can grow, come out stronger, wiser, or even happier.

  Or the knowledge can destroy what little leg you stand on, taking you out along with the barest of breaths you have left.

  The choice is yours. You already know where my choice went.

  The distance that’s placed between two people can cause so much pain. Some you can come back from. Some you can’t. You only have to know where to start.

  Lo created that distance, but I made the gap larger. She ripped a hole through our strong marriage, and I demolished it. I didn’t fight for her, and in turn, she completely gave up on me.

  We made decisions I’m sure we both regret, but I made the biggest mistake. I allowed my insecurity and fear to eat me alive, all while my wife was stuck, needing me to help her.

  I grip the ring in my palm, the tiny one she insisted having—a simple gold band. It matches my own, but hers feels so much heavier than mine now.

  Guilt?

  Shame, maybe?

  Regardless of the culprit, it signifies the end as much as it does the beginning.

  It marks the start of our life together—truly together—but it also depicts the end of us. The end of what I didn’t love enough, didn’t cherish enough, didn’t fight for hard enough. This ring marks the greatest and worst times of my life. It holds more value than money and is more precious than a twig from the oldest tree. It’s more than a symbol of love. It’s love itself. It’s what will always lead us back to one another every single time, and as I look down at my ring finger that’s been bare for some time, I realize that.

  It suddenly dawns on me that Lo’s constant state of depression and mental instability had stopped her from noticing my lack of wedding ring the past year. I refuse to believe it was because she didn’t care.

  As the things I’ve done wrong replay over in my mind on a constant loop, my body feels out of place. I’m pacing our bedroom, seeing every choice I’ve made in the past eighteen years. Not just when her mom died, but before then, before when I knew what it’d lead to...

  My eyes connect with the picture of Lo and I at her senior prom. She stared at me as if I created the universe itself, and at one time, I felt that way about her, too. It got lost, that love. It was hidden with resentment and anger, but it was still there.

  The wreckage she left as she destroyed everything important stares back at me like another betrayal. My own. How can I only see this now?

  It’s my fault she did this.

  I’m the one who fucked Ellie.

  I’m the one who abandoned our marriage.

  I’m the one who abandoned our family.

  Ace. Jazzy. I failed my kids. To fix everything, they’re who I need to start with.

  Past

  MY HEAD POUNDS, WAKING me up from a dreamles
s sleep. Where the hell am I? The pain in my head is next to nothing compared to the throbbing in my head. Slowly, I blink the sleep away, realizing it’s a lot harder to open them than it should be. It’s sunny. My body feels depleted of every ounce of energy it could offer, and my face feels heavy and achy. Rubbing my tired eyes, I notice I’m on the couch from last night at the drive-in movies.

  What the fuck?

  My eyes scan the bodies around me. There are several football players from my team, girls, and a big ass mess. We’re still in the parking area. Why didn’t anyone wake us and make us leave?

  My mouth is dry as I attempt to form words. “Denny,” I croak, realizing he, too, must’ve drank too much.

  He doesn’t budge, and when I go over to shake him, his skin is cold. No.

  “Denny!” I yell, and as soon as his name leaves my lips, everyone is waking up. “Wake the fuck up!”

  Tears stream my eyes as his body shakes from my attempts to move him. His stiff posture and inability to move says so much more than his cold and sheer complexion. People start surrounding me.

  I cry and beg for him to open his eyes. “Please wake up.” The last is a plea—whether for him or myself, I’m not even sure.

  Eventually, the cops come. We’re questioned. The body is removed, and I’m frozen. Shock, maybe, but I know it has more to do with the fact that my friend is no longer here. My safe place from Brant is gone. I’m all alone again.

  It might be selfish that, at this time, the only thing I can think about is how much this will ruin me. Or maybe it’s how I cope, how my mind works, or even the only way to accept this.

  I don’t cry for the next few weeks when he’s gone, not even at his funeral. It’s almost like it didn’t happen. He was a good friend and an awesome one at that, but it’s not like I lost my mom or Toby. It’s just that. Just death.

  But as soon as I seem back to normal to Brant, he starts in on me once again. The more he hits, the more I party. The more bruises he leaves, the more I fuck whoever spreads their legs. The more my mom avoids her responsibilities as a mother, the more I disappear, and the old Jase dies.

  Denny doesn’t cross my mind anymore, but the girl with my brother does. I can’t recall her face or name, but I remember her. She’s a heady distraction, the way she made me feel in the slightest of moments, all before it fully went to shit.

  Tobe doesn’t bring her around. He doesn’t mention her, and with the rage of what his father does to me, I don’t talk to him unless I have to.

  As much as I know it’s not his doing, I can’t resist but blame him. Toby’s the reason Brant stayed. Him and him alone.

  Tobe and I were close once.

  We played football, went to group hangs, and even played video games together. He was my best friend. Although he’s two years younger than me, the kid brother, the troubled child, he had been the brother I always needed.

  Until Brant started hitting me.

  When that happened, I began resenting him for being so perfect in his father’s eyes, hating him for the simple fact that he shared the fucker’s DNA. Yet, the conversation never came up. The more I think and dwell, the more I imagine Toby would change it somehow. He’d help me. He’d be what I needed.

  But I can’t give him that, and that’s going to be my downfall.

  “Yo, Jase! Wait up,” my brother calls out, chasing after me off the football field. He joined the varsity team this fall. He’s second string, but odds are looking fairly good that he’ll see some time. A lot of our players have had accidents already. They’re tough, but no one is invincible.

  I don’t stop walking. If anything, I go from hobbling from exhaustion to practically speed walking.

  “Come on, Jason. Don’t be a dick,” he scolds, then chuckles as I shake my head. Unlike me, Tobe hasn’t stopped trying to be my brother.

  “What do you want?” I practically bark. When he flinches, the pinch in my stomach squeezes. I’m always a dick. Always a fucking dick.

  “Just wanted to catch up. You’re hardly home, and shit, I just miss my brother.”

  At that, the pinch becomes a gut punch, and the guilt gnaws at me some more.

  He’s right. He’s my brother, and I’ve treated him like shit. Hell, he probably feels abandoned.

  “Sorry,” I admit, my voice small, almost empty. “It’s been a rough few weeks.”

  It has, but not from Denny’s death. But he seems to take it that way because he purses his lips and nods apologetically. “I’m sorry, man. I know he was a good friend.”

  Instead of denying it and the fact that I’ve moved on, I just nod sheepishly.

  “Think we can play some football tonight?” His eyes open wider, almost as if he regrets asking. It’s sad, knowing that my brother, the one I would risk my life for, is scared to talk to me.

  “Yeah, that’d be fun,” I agree, but my heart isn’t in it. Nothing ever has my full attention anymore.

  His face lights up, and the guilt comes back again in waves, promising to drag me under if I don’t get my shit together.

  “You’re the best brother I could ever have,” he vows before he runs off to the locker rooms.

  And that’s the first time I cried since finding Denny unresponsive at the movies.

  IT’S SUMMER.

  I’ve been on a six-month bender.

  I’m a goddamn mess.

  Ellie. The girl I made out with or fondled or whatever has been bugging me since the drive-in. Honestly, if she didn’t point it out, I wouldn’t have noticed her anyway. She’s not my type, and she’s too into me, too clingy. Yeah, it’s not exactly a great attribute for me to bag on, but girls who won’t stop asking me to fuck them are a turn off.

  I’m surprised I haven’t caved. It’s not like I have the best morals, let alone the best reputation in that department, but something about her makes me want to stay away.

  Maybe it’s the fact that the night I met her, Denny died.

  Maybe it’s that since then, Brant has been even more merciless.

  Maybe it’s her consistent need for my attention, or the fact that she’s a preppy freshman. Either way, she’s not the one for me, and until I find the girl that was with Tobe, or hell, even remember her or her name, I’m stuck in an endless loop of my own destruction.

  I would ask Tobe about her, but things between us are getting worse, and he’s stopped trying. We played football that one day after school, but things were said, and it’s been stiff between us ever since. He hasn’t reached out. It’s as sad as it is nice. My views haven’t changed. If anything, I’ve become more volatile.

  With school being out and me being at all these stupid parties, I’m in a constant loop of bad decision after bad decision after bad decision. It’s a never-ending cycle, and I don’t think I’ll ever get off the roller coaster of my own making.

  I’m lucky if I get a scholarship to anywhere. The only thing I’ve had going for me is football. If Brant didn’t pour water on me every morning to wake me up, I would have nothing.

  As the coach has us doing letters, my mind goes back to her, to the girl I can’t seem to forget, yet can’t remember either.

  Like so many times before, the memory of her, however small, has me distracted.

  “Collins where’s your fucking head?!” Coach hollers, blowing his whistle. “Get back to work, princess!”

  I chuckle at his stupid game of making us feel less to strengthen us.

  Practice lasts another forty minutes, and after everyone is gone, I continue to run laps to burn off this anxiety, this need to be the best, and this incessant stabbing in my heart, knowing life is never simple.

  “Collins!” Coach barks, stopping me in my tracks. “You’ve ran nearly five miles since practice ended. Time for the showers!”

  I roll my eyes, not realizing how exhausted my body is until I stop its momentum. My muscles scream, my calves are on fire and burning, but I push through and head to the showers. As soon as I’m in the locker room, I hear them
. Moans. Grunts. Gasping.

  Right as I’m about to yell at Chuck for bringing in another chick, my eyes get stuck on our history teacher. Toby thrusts into Mrs. Grimes as her head falls back against the shower wall.

  I’m surprised my brother is fucking anyone, let alone a teacher. He seemed so dedicated to this girl. Yet, here he is, fucking our teacher, and it makes me wonder what the fuck he’s thinking.

  Maybe if he’s leading this girl on, I’ll have a chance. Or better yet, maybe they aren’t actually dating. My head swims with the possibilities of what this means.

  When I look at Mrs. Grimes eyes, she bites her lip, clearly enjoying being caught, but I don’t stay. Instead of showering like normal, I grab my shit and leave, planning how I’m going to win the girl my brother obviously doesn’t care about.

  Now, I have something to look forward to, something to win and conquer and succeed in.

  chapter thirty-seven

  Present

  Jase

  Can I come and see my kids? I text my mom.

  Our relationship has been better since high school, but I’m still bitter. The resentment for her is stronger than ever, especially with how Lo and I are doing. Her and my wife are closer than ever. Since high school, when Lo stood up to Brant before he died, she and my mom solidified this bond. So naturally, their friendship only makes me more resentful.

  If she changed the course of my childhood, would I be different? Or would I still be the selfish prick I’ve become? Even in my journey to get Lo, I was greedy. She didn’t know, but I did. I knew her long before that party when we kissed the first time. It was immature of me to think I had a claim to her because she changed the course of my life forever.

  Stalking her isn’t the expression I’d use, but it’s similar. I watched her from afar. I noticed her, saw her. After seeing Toby with our teacher, it set my mind on a straight path. Toward her. He didn’t deserve her, and I’d found a way to.