Breathe for Me

by Rhonda Helms

  “I can’t let you go,” he whispers, his voice strangely tight. He reaches out, brushes a curl away from my face.

  “I—” love you “—can’t let you go, either.”

  “Well, well, well. What’s going on here?” A guy’s teasing voice behind me interrupts our conversation. I turn onto my back to see who it is. I don’t know him, but I’ve seen him around school. His thick blond hair is spiked on top, and he’s wearing a super-tight red T-shirt and low-slung jeans.

  Dominic nods, sits up. “Hey, Paul. What’s going on?”

  “You have to come hang at the pool,” Paul says. He waves his hand around, which sloshes the drink from his cup into small splatters on the grass. “They’re doing cannonballs. I’m about to jump in.”

  “Nah, go ahead,” Dominic says. “I’m gonna hang with Isabel for a while.”

  “It’s okay if you want to go,” I tell him. It’s selfish of me to monopolize his time. We are at a party, after all. He probably wants to mingle.

  Dominic shakes his head. “I’m good, thanks.”

  Paul salutes us. “Have fun, you two.”

  When he leaves, I ask, “Are you sure? I don’t mind, you know. You can go hang out with other people. I bet that pool is nice and refreshing,” I tease.

  “There isn’t anywhere else I want to be right now, other than here with you.” His smile draws me in, warms my heart. “Isabel, I know you’re scared. But I promise you, we’re going to beat this curse.”

  I reach out, squeeze his hand.

  He pulls me against him and lies back, carefully arranging me to rest on his chest so I don’t touch his skin. With a gentle touch, he strokes the back of my curls. “I love your hair,” he says. “It’s wild.”

  “I can’t get it to behave,” I say. “These curls are determined to do what they want.” His heart is a steady thump-thump under his chest. I draw him into my senses, trace nonsensical patterns across his chest and stomach with the tips of my fingers.

  “What’s your favorite food?” Dominic asks, getting us back to our original topic. “Mine’s crawfish etouffee. My grandpa’s was out of this world.”

  “Mine’s simple—lasagna.” I pause and twist my face to look up at him. “How’s he doing, anyway?”

  Dominic sighs. “Not well. He’s on a lot of pain meds. The cancer’s eating away at him. It’s hard seeing him like this. He was so strong when I was a kid. Would pick me up and sling me over his shoulder like I was a stuffed animal. I thought he was invincible.” His heart rate increases beneath my ear. “I think he’s going to die soon.”

  Even in the dim light, I can see the pain and sorrow etched on his face. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I can’t imagine how badly you must be hurting right now.”

  He nods. “Ever lose someone close to you?”

  I shake my head. While I did technically “lose” my parents and sister due to Sitri whisking me away, I wasn’t actually there when they passed.

  I hope Dominic gets his farewell.

  “What else do you remember?” he asks me. “I mean, about your past.”

  “Occasionally I’ll get these small flashes of what feels like déjà vu. I think when that happens I’m getting some kind of…sign that I’ve done that action before. I get it in class at times. Or when looking at pictures of certain cities. It’s part of the reason why I have so many books in my place. I’m reading a lot to see what memories I can trigger. You know that massive Jesus statue in Brazil—the one called Christ the Redeemer?”

  His face scrunches up as he thinks. Then he snaps. “That large one with the arms spread wide, right?”

  I nod. “Every time I see that, I get this weird feeling. That I’ve been there before. So Sitri must have taken me at some point in my past.”

  Now that I think about it, when I asked Sitri to free me, I didn’t get that unusual sensation in my gut, that brain hiccup. Could this really have been my first time? How did I make it this long without aching to be liberated?

  I drop my head back onto his chest. “It’s so weird. Weird and awful.”

  He resumes stroking my hair and shifts lightly under me to carefully drape his other arm across my back. “I can’t believe you don’t have any family. You should come over and have dinner with us.”

  I sigh. “I’d like to, but…”

  “My mom won’t judge you, you know,” he says. I hear his heart rate pick up again—is he nervous? “She’s so happy I’m seeing someone that she’ll be thrilled to have you around. We’ll keep up the pretense about you being sick.”

  “You told her about me?” Now my heart’s the one pounding fast.

  “She wants to meet you. When she last saw Grandpa, he gushed about how beautiful and sweet you are.”

  I swallow. “He…said that? He thinks I’m beautiful?”

  His chuckle rumbles against the side of my face. “Like anyone could think otherwise. But it’s not just looks. You have this… deeply caring soul. It makes people want to be around you.” He pauses, shoots me a crooked grin. “What do you think about walking around a little? We can keep a safe distance. But I want people to start seeing you the way I do.”

  I stare up at Dominic again, his eyes piercing straight into mine, to my soul. “And how is that? How do you see me?”

  He remains silent so long I start to feel awkward. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. Then he says, “As the girl I’m falling for.”

  The rest of the night, I can’t stop smiling.

  chapter thirteen

  I END UP SPENDING the remainder of the weekend alone. Dominic’s family has been pretty much staying at his grandfather’s side around the clock since something happened to Amos early Saturday morning, and I don’t want to intrude on these last moments. He texts me as often as he can, keeping me updated on the status of things. But it’s not looking good—Amos is getting weaker and weaker.

  Samantha texts me, too. Her dinner with Rick went perfectly, and her family loves him. Her messages overflow with exclamation points and hearts, so I’m assuming she’s thrilled. I want to ask her to come over so I can tell her the truth about me, but she’s so happy right now. I don’t want to ruin that for her.

  Monday. I’ll tell her then.

  I turn my attention to homework late Saturday morning, finishing it all except the English poem. I’m still stumped; the words aren’t flowing. Destiny. What can I possibly say on that? I can’t venture a guess as to what my destiny is. I feel scared. It paralyzes me.

  I nudge it aside and turn my computer on. It’s been a week since I’ve done curse research—all this stuff with Dominic has kept me occupied. I dig into my saved folder to open a page I’d flagged for future reading.

  Scanning the first few sentences to make sure it’s the one I want—an interview with a woman who broke her own curse—I slow down and soak in the text. Apparently, the housewife was cursed a number of years ago. She’d been afraid her husband was cheating on her, so she turned to a demon in hopes of being more beautiful and appealing to him. He made her so, but the twins she had during their “reunion” ended up being sick and weak, growing more so each day.

  The woman then found out why—the demon was going to take the babies as payment for what he gave her.

  I pause in my reading, shivering with the realization of how that must have impacted her. Everything comes with a cost. At least my curse doesn’t directly injure or hurt anyone else, so long as no one touches me. I can’t imagine the guilt she felt, realizing her desperation to hold on to her husband’s attention was going to claim the lives of her kids.

  The woman first tried praying for the curse to be broken. No such luck—the demon actually laughed at her. My stomach turns at this. Sitri would laugh at that, too. Her next step was to visit a voodoo shop and talk to a practitioner, who told her she’d need to make a sacrifice.

  My skin tingles with sudden awareness when I hit that word, and I stop, frozen for a long minute. Aggie said the same thing to me. This must be what she m
eant.

  So the woman did as the priest ordered. She went out, slaughtered a live chicken and said the appropriate words. The demon left her alone after that—but as soon as he went out of her life, all her beauty and appeal went with her. Her husband left her shortly thereafter.

  At the end of the article, the woman warns that the priest told her that, with some curses, a small animal might not be enough. Some curses call for large animals, like cows. Some even call for human sacrifices.

  I let the words sink in and try not to emotionally react to the sinking sensation in my stomach. How could I possibly sacrifice an animal so my curse will break, much less a person? There’s no way. I couldn’t let something or someone take the brunt for me. That’s murder, plain and simple, and I’d never be able to forgive myself.

  There has to be another way. I just need to find something Sitri wants badly enough that he’ll take it in exchange for breaking the curse. But what does he want? What can I give him that would entice him to let me go?

  My mind is coming up with no answers, and I need a break from the intensity to let this roll around in the back of my head. Surely the answers are in there—I just need to give them space to cultivate. So I open Jane Eyre at the spot I left off and dig in, forcing my attention to the storyline.

  After a while, I feel the tension easing from my shoulders; the worries slip from my mind as I escape into the past. Mr. Rochester is a fascinating man, if not a little mean. But I like how Jane doesn’t take any flack from him. Her outspokenness and insistence on being treated fairly is encouraging. And while Rochester is still maintaining his cool distance, I can see him being drawn to Jane, bit by bit.

  With a smile, I press the book against my chest and breathe in the scent of old pages. My sister would have loved this story. A die-hard romantic, she would see that spark of good in Rochester that made him worth pursuing.

  That spark isn’t so hard to find in Dominic. My cheeks burn hot as I think of him, and I press the back of my hand to my bare skin. In fact, it’s not so much a spark as a roaring fire. The goodness pours out of him like no one I’ve ever seen before. How is it possible? How is someone like him possible? He’s never played games with me like Rochester does with Jane, leaving her unsure as to his affections.

  No, Dominic’s been honest from the start. Unlike me, who was forced to weave such a thick net of lies from which I now struggle to free myself.

  And yet he stays, a boulder of strength in my quicksand world.

  Sunday afternoon, I’m down in the courtyard with my notebook, still struggling for inspiration for my poem—the measly progress I made before didn’t feel right, so I scrapped it. Birds are chirping as they flutter around the heady scents of flowers. It’s been kind of nice to have a little bit of time to myself, if only to clear my mind of my current stresses and focus on homework.

  Spending time with Dominic on Friday night, learning more about him and sharing more about myself, was intoxicating. He’s seen all of me. He knows my truths and he’s not backing off. It’s more than I ever expected. Ever dreamed. I refuse to let it go.

  My cell rings. It’s Dominic.

  “I wasn’t expecting you to call,” I say with a smile, then instantly sit up straight in my chair. “Wait, is everything okay? How’s Amos?”

  “He’s hanging in there,” he says. Tiredness bleeds into his voice, breaking my heart. Poor guy.

  “Have you slept at all?”

  “Not much. I can’t…can’t just leave him alone in there for long periods of time.”

  “I understand.” I shift the phone to my other hand and close my notebook, moving back to my apartment. “Anything I can do?”

  “Come by the nursing home?” His voice is quiet, yet I feel the need pouring from it.

  “Of course. I’ll get a cab.” I burst through my front door, then scan the room for my purse.

  “No, I’ll come get you. I just wanted to…I wanted to spend some time with you. And for us to spend more time with him.”

  “Of course.” I’m touched. The backs of my eyes burn. Impulsively, I head to my side table and grab the Christina Rossetti book. Maybe Amos would like for us to read him some of her poems. I flagged my favorites. “I’m ready when you are.”

  We hang up. After I change into public-appropriate clothing, I pace the room back and forth, back and forth, stopping to check my reflection every few laps to make sure I still look okay. Poor Dominic. I wish I could help him feel better.

  Finally, I get a text: Out front. Meet me?

  I dash out the door, down the stairs to the front of the building. Dominic’s standing outside his car, his back to the driver’s door. His smile is tired, his skin pale with the faintest hint of bruising underneath his eyes. I bite my lower lip and offer him a careful hug, which he accepts. I hear him sigh against the top of my hair, his body relaxing in my embrace.

  “How are you?” I ask.

  “Better now,” he says, and I smile.

  After a long moment, I pull away from him. “Okay, let’s get going.” I move toward the front of the car to pass around it, but he grabs my upper arm.

  “Here you go,” he says, thrusting the keys into my hand.

  “Um…what?” I stare at him, confused.

  “You’re driving.”

  “I don’t know how.” I thought I explained that to him before, but maybe I didn’t. Or maybe he forgot. He must be more exhausted than I realized.

  “I know. I’m going to teach you.” Dominic finally smiles as he takes the book out of my hand. “You should learn.”

  “Isn’t this illegal?”

  He shrugs. “Probably. But it’s only a few minutes away, and we’re taking side roads. It’ll be fine, I promise. And it would be a good break for me, too.”

  I suck in a deep breath, trying to maintain my sense of calm. But I’m nervous. Beyond nervous, actually. And yet, a small part of me is excited—driving. One of the staples of true independence… freedom. I slip into the driver’s seat, and Dominic makes his way to the passenger’s side, folding himself into the car.

  This feels strange. I’ve seen people drive before, of course, but the steering wheel and all its levers and knobs are intimidating.

  Dominic points out and explains the functions of the different gears and pedals, making me practice finding and using them before I even put the key in the ignition. After a few minutes, I finally start to feel a little less skittish.

  “Okay, put the key in and crank it forward.”

  I do as he asks. The auto whirs to life, its steady hum vibrating through my seat.

  “Now, put your foot on the brake, and pull the car into drive. Just take it nice and slow. You have all the time in the world.”

  My heart jumps in my throat.

  “Breathe, Isabel,” he says in a calm tone. He must be able to sense my skittishness. “I won’t let you get hurt, okay? I’m right here, ready to take over if needed.”

  I nod. “Okay.” I pull into drive and slowly move my foot from the brake to the gas.

  The car lurches forward, and he chuckles. “It’s okay. You’ll get the hang of it. Promise. You’re doing a good job so far.” He turns around to look behind us. “Traffic’s completely clear. Pull out into the street.”

  We spend several more minutes with him teaching me how to navigate the car as we circle the block a few times. I finally start to get the hang of it and even ease up on my fingers digging into the steering wheel. So this is what it’s like, driving. It still feels awkward, but I’m less scared now.

  Dominic patiently guides me, encourages me as I take the path to his grandfather’s nursing home. “You’re doing great,” he says, warmth pouring into his voice and bathing over me.

  I bask in the glow of his steady reassurance and manage to get us there without any major incidents. I do run over the curb in the parking lot, but we park as far away from the building as possible so he can help me practice that skill without any cars around.

  After I n
avigate the car into a spot, I sit for a moment, revel in the feeling of control. Driving—something so simple makes me feel so empowered. I look over at Dominic, tears burning the backs of my eyes. “Thank you,” I manage to choke out. I’m not sure he knows what a gift he’s given me. Has continued to give me ever since I met him, actually. The book, the massage, driving lessons, his time.

  He smiles. “Glad to help.” Then his eyes get hooded, heavy, and the smile slides off his face as his expression grows serious. More intense. He stares into my eyes. “I want to kiss you.”

  My skin vibrates at his words. I bite my lower lip. “I want to kiss you, too. I wish I could.” God, I wish I could.

  He reaches into the back of the car and pulls out a long stretch of silky dark purple material. It’s a scarf. A bright flush bursts onto his cheeks. “I…I bought this. I was thinking…well…that we could use it to…”

  He’s nervous. The realization that Dominic wants to kiss me, to use this fabric to aid that endeavor, makes me smile and gives me a strange sort of courage. I take it from his hands, lean over and drape it across his face. “Close your eyes,” I say.

  Then, with my own eyes wide open, I lean toward his mouth and brush my lips against his. The scarf is soft against my bare skin, sensual, and the heat pouring from his opening mouth explodes a longing inside me. I press closer, opening my mouth too, our lips moving with just the thinnest of barriers.

  He reaches a hand up and caresses the back of my head. My lower belly throbs in response to his touch. I nudge myself further out of the driver’s seat and arch toward him. The heat between us, the emotion ricochets through my limbs, my core.

  After a moment I reluctantly pull away. Control. I can’t lose focus right now, as badly as I want to.

  His eyes flutter open, and the pupils are so big and black they leave only a thin crescent of blue iris.