Breathe for Me

by Rhonda Helms

  I head to the shelf closest to me. A few new books are crammed in, mostly obscure poetry and classics. Jim has a fondness for history, like me. It’s one of the reasons we bonded so quickly when I first came in the store about four months ago. I asked him to show me religious history books, and he was all too happy to assist. Though he’s old, he’s smart and remembers everything. A good resource and a nice person. Surprisingly, his numbers are still relatively high for his age. He’s going to be an old-timer for sure, living well into his nineties.

  Not that I can tell him the truth behind my research, of course. But still, there’s something comforting and familiar about coming here and breathing in the words, escaping my worries and slipping under the skin of a book character’s life.

  A moment later, Jim finds his way to me. “This is a nice surprise,” he says. “What can I help you with?”

  I shrug. “Just…looking for something interesting.” In addition to research, I’ve been doing a lot of general reading. In my apartment I have stacks upon stacks of books I’ve bought here, devoured nightly as I cuddle up in bed. Every once in a while a striking image or phrase triggers a sense of déjà vu in me. Nothing overly important—just snapshots of places I’ve been, things I’ve done before Sitri dropped me in New Orleans and I was born anew.

  It’s become a bit of a compulsion, seeing if I can tease the darkened memories out of my unconscious, piece together my life word by word, picture by picture. Yes, a small way to reclaim power in a powerless situation but the only thing I can do right now. A secret of my own, something I haven’t told Sitri so he doesn’t try even stronger methods to wipe my memory.

  Jim scratches his chin, considering me for a moment. “I think I know just the thing.” He turns around, shuffles over to another shelf. “Where is it?” His fingers and eyes run across each row as he scours the books. “Ah, here we go.” With a gnarled, shaky hand, he withdraws a book and hands it to me, careful to keep his skin distant from mine.

  I glance at the cover. Jane Eyre. I blink in surprise, then look back at him.

  He shrugs, a light flush covering his cheeks. “I don’t deny that I’m a bit of a romantic. Not sure if you’ve read it or not, but Jane’s strength of character is fascinating. She’s strong and opinionated and doesn’t let anyone else determine her future. I think you’d be surprised how interesting and dark the novel is.” He nods at the book. “It’s an early edition as well. Read the forward to learn more about the Bronte sisters.”

  Jane. Her name has been haunting me all day—maybe this is a sign. And she would have loved a book like this. I exhale a shaky breath and smile, clutching the book to my chest. “I’ll take it.”

  “Do you have notes from English yesterday?” Dominic appears at my side out of nowhere the next morning, as if brought to life by my near-constant musings about him. While reading last night I couldn’t help but remember the striking blue of his irises, wondering how he spends his evenings. Right now he looks relaxed, one thumb loosely hooked in a loop on his jeans while the other arm casually bears a couple of books. But beneath that careless surface I sense intensity. It pours from his eyes into mine.

  I slowly nod in reply to his question, not quite trusting myself to speak. I didn’t expect to see him, and I’m a little off-kilter.

  We move to the fringe of the hallway, and I dig through my notebook, flipping to yesterday’s page where I’d sloppily scrawled my notes. I rip it out and hand it to him, my hand thankfully steady.

  He gives me a small nod of thanks and takes the paper. “I’ll get this back to you in the library during lunch.”

  “Uh, so, did you read that story?” I blurt out, curiosity getting the better of me.

  Eyes wide, he shakes his head in disbelief, a crooked grin on his face. “I did. Read it twice, actually. I can’t believe she dies like that.”

  “I thought it was crazy how sorrow over seeing her husband alive is what made her die,” I say, a thread of interest bubbling into my voice. Stories have an odd way of easing my nerves. I’m not so awkward when I can focus on something outside of myself. “I didn’t see that one coming the first time I read it.”

  “Well, I can’t wait to hear what you recommend next.” He stares into my eyes with that odd intensity; I swallow and look away for a moment, heart thrumming.

  I dare another glance at him. “Okay.”

  Obviously sensing my unease, he glances at the time on his cell and says, “Gotta run. Thanks for the notes, Isabel.” With that, he walks off.

  I press my back to the locker for a long moment and watch him melt into the crowd, the top of his shaggy head visible above the rest as he moves away from me. Focus, I tell myself and re-enter the stream of students, heading into Algebra II. It’s not like he and I are friends or anything. He’s probably just curious about why I’m so different.

  The teacher, Mr. Morris, fills the chalkboard with mathematical formulas just waiting to be answered. I know what’s coming. I bite back a groan and slide into my seat in the back of the room, then open my math notebook. Not my strongest subject, as I am most decidedly right-brained.

  “Class, pop quiz time,” Mr. Morris says, his gruff voice always sounding like he’s on the edge of a sore throat.

  This time, everyone groans.

  I hear loud whispers in front of me as Becky, a redheaded basketball player, grouses to her fellow teammate, Alexis. “This is ridiculous,” she says. “He knows we all hate math and no one understands it. Why torture us?”

  Alexis snorts in reply. “What else can he do but come up with stupid quizzes? It’s not like he’s spending his evenings dating or anything. I mean, look at what he’s wearing. I didn’t know they made clothes like that past 1980.”

  Mr. Morris, who must have overheard Alexis, shoots the two of them an angry look. “Zip it!” he says, adjusting the knot of his brown tie and pulling it tighter into the collar of his dress shirt. His cheeks turn a mottled shade of red, and his chest rises and falls rapidly as he glares.

  I tear my eyes away from the numbers above his head as their descent gains speed, rolling forward with jagged determination to speed him closer to zero. The way it’s been since I started in his class.

  “Answer the questions on the board, class,” he chokes out, interrupting my train of thought. “You have half an hour to complete the quiz. I suggest you start now, before you lose more time.”

  The room grows quiet in a flash as everyone begins to work. In the silence, I chew the end of my pencil and turn my attention to my paper for several minutes. But my thoughts dawdle away from math and return to Dominic. He’s coming to the library again, this time to see me, specifically. Is this what a date feels like?

  I scoff at myself. Ridiculous. What am I even thinking? I can’t date anyway. And even if I could, exchanging notes for class wouldn’t classify as one.

  The half hour ends just moments after I finish the last problem. I pass the paper in front of me and try not to notice that Becky appears hesitant to accept it from my outstretched hand. To her credit, she says nothing, merely shuffling our papers forward.

  Mr. Morris spends the rest of the class period alternating between grousing about how little we understand the nuances of algebra and writing sample problems on the board for us to solve. I remain still in my quiet space, not talking, not drawing attention to myself.

  When the bell rings, I resist the urge to glance at the clock on my way out of the room. A futile gesture—my body knows how long it is until lunchtime. Every second is measured in my nervous intake of air. Students around me in the hallway mark time as well, their breaths flowing en masse, their numbers floating, counting down in a sort of syncopated rhythm. Tick-tick. Tick-tick. Tick-tick.

  My chest tightens, and I start to pant. Panic tingles my lips, the tips of my fingers. I can’t focus, can’t think. The edges of my vision start to blacken, narrow. I press my hand against my chest, drawing in ragged breaths.

  Stop. Can’t do this. Not right now.
I dart into the closest bathroom and swerve around two freshmen fixing their lipstick in the mirror, then lock myself in a stall and plop down on the toilet seat, dropping my books onto the floor in front of me.

  I rest my elbows on my thighs, press my head into my hands. It’s been a while since I’ve had an attack this bad. Just breathe. I almost laugh at the irony of my self-soothing words. No shortage of breaths for me. No numbers above my own head. But a constant reminder of mortality all around me.

  This is the crux of my life every few months—moving from place to place to place, only brief episodes of déjà vu to remind me of where I’ve been, what I’ve done. During my time in each new city I visit, I can either be alone and live without the constant reminder of death, or be with others and know every second of my life that I’m different.

  I’m not one of them anymore.

  I wait until the bell rings and the girls exit the bathroom before I leave the sanctity of the stall. My tennis shoes pad lightly across the tiled floor as I make my way to psychology, grateful for the emptiness of the hallways. I’m rarely late to any classes, so I’m sure Mrs. Burdell will understand. She’s one of the only teachers I actually enjoy communicating with.

  “Sweetheart,” a low voice says from a few feet behind me. The pet name invades my space, slithers under the edges of my clothes, slides across my skin.

  I give an involuntary shudder. Slowly, I turn around and press my books against my chest. A flimsy protection from him.

  “I’m late for class,” I say, staring at the black-and-white checkered pattern on the floor. “You know, if someone catches me talking to you, it’s going to be hard to explain who you are and how you snuck into our school.”

  Moving in a slow, confident stride, Sitri comes close to me. Just inches away, he grasps my chin with long, icy fingers, forcing my head up, up, up to look into frost-grey eyes framed by thick lashes. His lips curve into a smile, demonic yet strangely beautiful.

  “What do we care about what others think?” His voice caresses me in a soft, almost loving tone. “All we need is us.” He raises a dark eyebrow, releases my chin from his grasp.

  I draw slow breaths, force myself not to move from this spot. I won’t give in to my feelings, and instead back away from him, like every part of my body is screaming for me to do. I won’t show weakness. It’s a constant power struggle between the two of us and I refuse to come out on the losing end today.

  “Well, I see school’s teaching you lots of important knowledge,” he says sardonically. “Like better communication skills. Why do you bother with this?” He sweeps an arm around, disdain etched on his face. “There are much better ways to spend your time.”

  “You wouldn’t understand.” Nor do I want to explain it to him.

  He rakes a hand through his black hair, leaving messy spikes all over the top. “I don’t need or want to understand. I’m just counting down the time—the same as you, I’m sure.” He leans into me, presses his nose into my hair and draws a deep gulp of air. When he exhales, his cold breath bites into the side of my face, frosts the shell of my ear. “So close now, my love.”

  He vanishes, leaving me shaking all over.

  Maybe Dominic’s not coming.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to ignore the nervous twitch in my belly, the one that hasn’t left since Sitri visited me earlier. I pled off lunch with Samantha and ran straight to the library. No way could I hold any food down right now, anyway.

  This is ridiculous. Why am I waiting for him? I need to get out of here. I stand and gather my books.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Dominic says, approaching my table out of nowhere. “My last teacher wouldn’t stop talking to me after class.” He offers me a crooked smile. “Guess I’m just irresistible that way.”

  I slowly sink back down into my seat, unable to stop the edges of a smile that spread across my face. “I was about to leave.”

  “I’m glad I caught you in time, then.” Dominic opens a notebook and hands me my paper. “Thanks again for letting me borrow these.”

  I nod as I tuck them into my folder. “Sorry about my sloppy handwriting. I’m sure that was fun to decode.”

  “It’s fine.” He chuckles. “It just made my note-taking more adventurous.”

  Languid warmth spreads from my belly to my limbs. My breath hitches in my throat, and I stiffen at my body’s reaction to him. Is he flirting with me?

  As if sensing my nervousness, Dominic clears his throat and stands. “Anyway, I’m sure you’re busy right now.”

  “It’s fine.” The words blurt out of my mouth before I can stop them. I press my shaking hands against my thighs and draw in a slow breath. “What I mean is, you can stay if you like. Lunch break only lasts a few more minutes, anyway.” Surely there’s no harm in talking with him for a short while. Sitri’s gone, and I can’t resist this chance to get to know Dominic a little better.

  I turn my attention to the surface of the table, studying the wood grain for a good couple of minutes. Anything to keep from looking at his face. The intensity behind his eyes is almost palpable, and I’m unsure of how to respond.

  “Do I make you nervous?” he finally asks.

  I blink, startled by his bluntness, and look up at him. “Yes.” Amazing how much emotion can be packed into one small word.

  “Not trying to freak you out.” He purses his lips, a deep line etched between his brows. “I just—”

  The bell rings, cutting him off mid-sentence. We remain in our seats, staring at each other.

  He exhales slowly. From the edge of my vision, I see the number above his head decrease by one as the breath escapes.

  I stand, grabbing my belongings with shaky hands. I can’t cope with this right now. “I’ll see you later.”

  That evening, I slip my gloves off, relishing the feel of my bare skin, and toss them onto my bed. Next go the long-sleeved shirt and jeans. I stretch my arms above my head for one luxurious moment, slip on a white tank top and comfy black shorts, and step out onto the balcony.

  The sun is setting, lighting the sky ablaze with fiery streaks of yellow, orange, red, pink and purple. This is my time to unwind. I can let go of the tension in my shoulders. I don’t have to worry about my bare skin accidentally burning someone. I can just stand here in the stillness and stare at the vast sky. Jane would have loved this view—she always made me climb to the tops of hills with her so she could absorb the skyline at its widest.

  A warm breeze wafts toward me, and I close my eyes, breathing deeply. I have the same thought I have every night—if only I could live like this for good. But one desperate mistake I can’t escape stands between me and a life of happiness. Of freedom.

  I stare down at the street, watching groups of people pass by. Families. Friends. Creole music from nearby bars and restaurants floats through the air, caresses me. I can smell the thick spices of gumbo and jambalaya as doors open into the main street. This city is amazing—so much life and history that it virtually seeps from the buildings themselves. How can I leave this behind when my time’s up?

  The ache in my heart thickens, solidifies, until I feel so heavy I need to sit down. I don’t know how much time I have left to absorb everything I can about New Orleans and its people, but every time I see Sitri, the hints about leaving become stronger and more frequent. If I can’t find a way out of this cycle, it’ll all be erased when he takes me, and I’ll have nothing again.

  Crossing my arms over my chest, a surprising swell of stubborn resolution fills me. I don’t want to start all over. I want to stay in this city, this quirky and hot and passionate place. There’s still so much to explore. And just as important, I don’t feel like a total freak walking among people here. I feel like I could belong, if only I had a fair, fighting chance.

  The sun sinks below the horizon, tugging a blanket of night in its wake. I head back into the apartment. At least Sitri makes sure I’m taken care of, I think wryly. I never want for anything. If I didn’t know bett
er, I might even think he cares about me.

  My cell rings. I dart back into the apartment, dig the phone out of my jeans pocket and check the caller ID. It’s Samantha.

  “What’s up?” I ask her, glad to have the distraction.

  “I’m going to choke my brother.” The irritation in her voice is easy to hear.

  I bite back a chuckle, happy for the distraction from my depressing thoughts. “Oh no. What did he do this time?” I head toward the chair and plop down, stretching my legs over the side.

  She sighs. “I found out he told Rick at band practice that I’m in love with him. Can you believe it? It’s just a stupid crush. But now I’m horrified to go to school tomorrow. I just know Rick’s going to laugh at me. What should I do?”

  I bite my lower lip. I’m the last person who can give sage advice on love, but she needs someone right now. “Well…you have a couple of options. You could deny it and ignore him until this all goes away.”

  “I guess,” she says with a grumble. “If it ever will.”

  I put myself in her shoes. How would I feel if a guy I liked found out about it?

  Blue eyes and disheveled hair flash in my mind. My cheeks burst into flames. Luckily, Samantha can’t see me right now or she’d tease me mercilessly. “Or, what if you admit it and take the wind out of your brother’s sails? Don’t make it a big deal, so there’s nothing for anyone to tease you about. Besides, maybe Rick likes you, too. I have a feeling he would appreciate your honesty.”

  Dominic’s honest words echo in my head. Do I make you nervous?

  “I don’t know. That seems…” she hedges. “That’s pretty forward.”

  “Just think it over. Take the night to sleep on it. I’m sure an answer will come to you.”

  She blows me air kisses. “I’d better get off the phone. I need to finish homework before my mom grounds me. Again. Later!”

  We hang up. I make my way back over to the open doorway of the balcony, leaning my head against the inner doorjamb. A strong gust of wind whips into the apartment and swirls my curly hair around my head. The sky slips deeper into darkness as I watch, suddenly chilled to the bone.