Breathe for Me

by Rhonda Helms

  We stare in silence, eyes locked.

  My heart races. I suck in a slow, shaky breath. “Wow.”

  Dominic’s responding smile is crooked, slightly cocky. “I knew it would work. Glad I went with silk.”

  An indescribable emotion wells up in me at his words, at the realization that he’s been thinking about this. He wants to kiss me, to be with me.

  We can make this work.

  And I realize what I’m experiencing right now. Real hope. Belief—in me, in him, in us. We’re going to do this.

  I reach out, stroke the top of his hands, squeeze his long, lean fingers. “I love you,” I whisper. How could I not feel that way? And how could I not express those feelings after sharing such a powerful moment with him?

  My first real kiss. My first love. My first…everything.

  “I love you, too,” Dominic whispers back, and I can see it plain as day written across his face. All his emotions are there. Have been there the whole time for me to see, if only I had been brave enough to open my eyes.

  I can’t stop smiling. But I make myself focus on why we’re here—Amos. “Ready to go inside?”

  He nods. “Lead the way.”

  Amos’s room is quiet and empty, save Amos himself. Dominic’s family must be out for a while. I’m a little disappointed. I was hoping to meet them, but it’ll have to happen later, at a better time. Amos is sound asleep on his bed, looking even more fragile than before. His numbers are much lower, too.

  My stomach twists—he’s gotten worse. A lot worse. Something happened to him since the last time I was here, something that ate away at a big chunk of his time left.

  “I slipped out while he was napping to get you,” Dominic whispers. “He asked several times to see you again.”

  “Really?” I shove aside my concerns about Amos and sit down in the chair farthest from his bed, so as not to wake him. “Why?”

  “Because he really likes you.” Dominic moves to the seat beside me, then casts a sideways glance in my direction. I see him swallow hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I have a confession to make. I told him. About…you. And your curse.”

  I stare at him, silent. Horrified.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know who else to talk to. He won’t tell a soul.” He reaches over and grabs my hand, squeezes it. “I trust him completely. You can, too.”

  I look at Amos, lying still in bed. “I don’t want him to think I’m a freak,” I whisper, my throat suddenly choked up with a multitude of emotions. I’m a little angry, a little afraid. “I wish you’d told me first that you wanted to talk to him.” The fewer people who know about my curse, the better.

  “I know. It was wrong. But he could tell something was upsetting me and asked. It just…spilled out. I meant to tell you before, but I felt guilty. And I was afraid you’d be mad.” He looks away and stares at the beeping equipment beside Amos.

  The anger fades. Wouldn’t I have done the same in his case? Unloaded my worries on someone I loved and trusted? In fact, isn’t that exactly what I did to Dominic? And I can tell he’s upset about hurting me.

  I reach over and stroke his upper arm. “It’s okay. I dumped a huge thing on you. I’m glad you didn’t reject me over it. And I’m glad he didn’t either.”

  We sit in companionable silence for a few minutes, listening to the steady beeps of the equipment around us.

  Then Amos stirs, blinking his hollowed eyes open. “You’re here,” he says as he gives Dominic and me a pained smile. He waves me over. “Come closer. I want to say hi.”

  I get up and move my chair to his side. “You got it. How are you?” I force a big smile on my face, but on the inside my heart is breaking. His skin is so thin, so impossibly translucent. I can almost see the blood pumping through his thick veins. His face is etched with lines of fatigue, and he looks like a shell of a person.

  Amos chuckles. “I’ve been better.”

  I dig the Christina Rossetti book out of my purse, where I stuffed it while focusing on my driving lesson. “I brought something to read to you.” I glance at Dominic, who smiles and moves his chair beside mine, and ask, “Do you like poetry?”

  Amos’s face brightens. “I do. Dominic and I have shared the works of various poets together for a long, long time. Who do you have there?” He squints, tries to sit up a bit but groans.

  Dominic rushes to his side and gently nudges Amos back. “You have to relax, Grandpa, okay?”

  “It’s Christina Rossetti,” I say. “Do you like her?”

  Amos settles back against his pillows, reaching over to grasp Dominic’s hand, his fingers shaking and gnarled from arthritis. “I do. Introduced Dominic to her, as a matter of fact.” He looks over at his grandson, love shining through his eyes so nakedly that I glance away to give them this private moment together. I wish I had a relationship like that for myself.

  Then Amos says, “Dominic, will you grab a cup of coffee? Get three, actually. And take your time—I want to talk to your girl here.”

  Dominic hedges. “I don’t want to—”

  “It’s fine, boy. Besides, I think you need a break. Please, go.” He squeezes, then releases, Dominic’s hand. “Come back in fifteen minutes, okay?”

  Dominic looks unhappy, but he does as asked.

  I swallow, alone now with Amos. What do I say? I turn my attention back to the book. “Um—”

  He interrupts me, speaking in a gravelly but clear voice, “When I am dead, my dearest / Sing no sad songs for me.”

  I look up in shock, speechless.

  “It’s Christina Rossetti,” he says with a chuckle. “She’s one of my favorites. When Dominic told me he was interested in you, I suggested he should give you a gift that would soften your heart and make you see what a wonderful person he is. Poetry speaks words the heart can understand, even if the eyes are too afraid to see the truth.”

  “Dominic’s amazing.” I pause, his poetic words finally triggering a memory of reading them in her book. “Oh, I think I remember that poem now.” I take careful hold of Amos’s bony hand, wrapping my fingers around his. “I’m glad you don’t view me differently now because of…well, you know. And I’m glad you asked me to come back. I was worried about you.”

  “Me too.” He laughs, then coughs, a wet, sputtering sound.

  I reach for the tissue box and hand it to him.

  He gives me a smile of thanks, and I glance away as he clears his throat several times. “Sorry. I’m fine now.”

  I look back, taking his hand once again. It’s suddenly shaky, and I try to handle it gingerly. I swallow.

  “How long do I have?” he asks, his words blunt.

  I blink. “What?”

  “I know you can tell when I’m going to die. How much longer is it? I feel death creeping in my bones. I just want to know.” He sounds so matter-of-fact that I almost believe he’s not worried. But his bravery is belied by the unsteady hand I’m grasping.

  I don’t want to. God, I want to pretend like I don’t have a clue what he’s talking about. But he knows the truth about me.

  Still, I can’t make myself return his bluntness. “It’s…not long,” I say, not wanting, not ready to be direct.

  He rolls his eyes. “Come on. Give a dying man the truth. I can handle it. I’m ready to go.” He whispers these last words.

  A tear slips down the side of my face. I hadn’t realized I was crying until then. “A few weeks at most,” I make myself say past a tight throat. My heart aches for him, for his family. It’s so unfair.

  He nods slowly at my words, remains silent.

  I cling to his hand and tighten my grip. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m ready to go,” he repeats; his gaze drifts away as he stares blindly at the empty doorway. “I’ve been in pain such a long time now. I’m tired of hurting.”

  I stay silent, though my heart squeezes in empathy for him. What can I possibly say to make things better, easier? This poor, brave man has been fighting off death’s grasp
for so long now. I’ve never been around anyone this close to dying before. I feel lost and powerless.

  “I’ve said my goodbyes.” Giving a soft exhale, Amos turns his face to look at me and, before I realize what’s happening, he leans toward me, presses a small kiss on my cheek.

  I jerk away and stand up, horror flooding my body. “Oh, my God!”

  But it’s too late.

  The numbers descend rapidly over his head as his skin becomes pale, waxen. He gasps for air, sputters, coughs wracking his body again. His face softens, and with a smile, he breathes, “I’m…sorry, Isabel. But thank you…for this gift.”

  And then, the light in his eyes is gone.

  I shake his shoulders. “No, no, no, no.” This can’t be happening. I buzz the nurse. “Come in now! Amos is—”

  Dead. He’s dead, but I can’t say the word out loud.

  Tremors take over my body and I can’t stop twitching. My stomach roils. I find the garbage can and throw up until there’s nothing left. But my gut pinches in pain, and I dry heave again. Again.

  The nurse runs in, immediately assesses the situation and checks Amos’s vitals. Of course, there’s nothing. She sighs heavily, closes his eyes. “We’ve been waiting for this. Bless his heart.”

  “Save him!” I find myself screaming. I can’t have killed him. “Use the paddles or something, but don’t just give up!”

  She moves to takes my upper arms in her grasp, but I jerk out of her reach. She doesn’t seem offended by my action. Instead, she speaks slowly, calmly. “We’ve all been waiting for this. He has a DNR on his chart—we can’t resuscitate. It was against his wishes.” She scrutinizes my face, her brow creasing. “I’m so sorry this happened while you were here. We thought he had more time.” Her voice is soothing, but it doesn’t ease my horror. “I need to find the doctor now, and I need to contact Amos’s family. Are you okay? Do you want to come with me?”

  I move farther out of her reach and shake my head. My stomach is still sick. I don’t know what to do.

  “What’s going on?” Dominic asks from the doorway. He moves inside, puts the coffee cups down on the bedside table. “What—” When he sees Amos’s face, peaceful in death, his gaze turns right to me, his eyes wide with alarm. “What did you do? What happened? What happened?”

  I just stand there, dumb for what feels like ages, guilt washing over me in a fresh wave. “I…I’m so…” There are no words. There are no excuses. I let myself relax, let people in. And now Amos is dead. I can’t forgive myself, and I know Dominic will never forgive me.

  Tears slide down Dominic’s face, and he nearly crumples.

  “Shh,” the nurse says, rushing over and hugging him, holding him up. He slumps against her, taking her comfort, wrapping his arms around her torso. “It was his time. I need to call your family. Come with me, okay?” She guides him out of the room.

  I follow closely behind, but as they turn to the nurse’s station, I keep walking, my guilt guiding me right out the front doors.

  chapter fourteen

  IT TAKES ME A long time to get home. My feet are sore—I wore the wrong shoes today, not expecting to walk, and I have a large blister on the back of my right heel.

  I don’t care.

  I killed a man. I made him lose his soul. The hurt and sorrow in me is so encompassing, I can barely see anything beyond my shame. How can I go back to school again? How can I see Dominic, knowing Amos would still be alive right now if it weren’t for me? How can I be a part of this city anymore? I’m a ticking time bomb just waiting for another victim.

  And yet, a small part of me screams at Amos, too. How could he do this? He knew the danger, at least the part about how I can kill people—Dominic told him about me and my curse. Why would he use me as a form of euthanasia?

  He was in pain. His body was being eaten by cancer. If I were him, wouldn’t I have wanted to escape that, too? Not if I’d known the ultimate cost would be my soul. Where is Amos’s right now?

  The sun beats down on me, making sweat dribble down my back. I grow lightheaded, fatigue slowing my limbs, my pace. I turn the corner and head down the block toward my apartment. I pray, with every last bit of energy in me, that if God favors me at all, Sitri will stay away. I just want to crawl into bed and sleep. Forever.

  Dominic will never forgive me for this. And I can’t blame him.

  I get inside and strip naked, then toss my clothes onto the floor into a messy pile. My chest aches so painfully, I want to cry to relieve the pressure. But there are no tears, no moisture left in my body. I’m hot and drained and not even sweating anymore.

  A cold shower stings my skin but provides a welcome distraction. I scrub every inch of flesh until my entire surface gleams dark pink. Shivering, I get out, towel off and don fresh underclothes, shorts and a tank top.

  With a sigh, I sit down on the couch and grab my notebook. I need to write my stanza of the homework poem. I’ll go to school tomorrow, hand it to him and tell him good luck with the project and with his life, though it will break every last piece of my heart. I can’t let him suffer more because of me.

  I grab my notebook and sit in silence for several long minutes, rolling the concept of destiny around in my head, trying to focus. The words form, pour out of me:

  Destiny—one small word, with infinite and endless dreams.

  Unites saints and sinners, martyrs and murderers.

  It is the breathless fevered promise of purpose.

  It is the greatest of all lies.

  I sigh, frustrated with the situation, with my feelings of hopelessness. How could I have been so stupid, to even let myself be seduced by Sitri’s words and promises? Yeah, he can poof me money and an apartment and take me to these cool places. But the cost is so very, very high—more than I’m willing to pay. I’m not in control of my life.

  And Amos paid the price for my curse with his soul, which is now resting in some sort of dark, unattainable place. Sitri’s prize.

  My phone buzzes. It’s a text…from Dominic: You there?

  I wasn’t expecting to hear from him. With shaky hands, I fumble several times and have to delete letters but manage to write, Yes. Everything ok?

  Minutes pass.

  Finally: Staying home tmrw. I’ll call tmrw night. We need to talk.

  I text, ok, and lie back on the couch, remembering the heated glide of Dominic’s gloved hands on my bare skin when he massaged me. If only I could bring him comfort right now.

  But he’s with his family. They need him, and he needs them. I don’t fit into that picture. Not anymore.

  Life goes on as usual for everyone around me as I make my way through the halls. Hustle and bustle getting to classes, gossip and screeching voices and loud laughing.

  I tighten the hoodie around my head, trying not to get sick from overheating. Only for a little while longer—I just need to slip the poem into Dominic’s locker, and then I can head home. Even so, guilt twists my stomach. I haven’t talked to Samantha; I’ve ignored her texts. My innocent, breezy promise to tell her my secret died with Amos the minute he kissed my cheek.

  I can’t let her in. And I can’t face her, knowing she’ll see right through me. My emotions are running rampant right now, barely suppressed beneath my skin. I know everything I’m feeling is written across my face. She’ll ply me with question after question and I’ll either spill the truth or leave her hurt and shut out. And neither of those is a satisfactory option for me right now.

  I manage to get to Dominic’s locker and slide the piece of paper in between the slats. I hear it flutter to the bottom.

  The bell rings, and the hallway empties as students make a mad dash to class. I shuffle my way out of the building, careful to avoid teachers and other administrators so I don’t get caught cutting.

  Once out of range, I take my hoodie off and shake my hair free.

  “You have the most gorgeous curls I’ve ever seen,” a low voice says from right behind me. “But shouldn’t you be in class r
ight now, pretending to learn something?”

  The words make me shudder. I keep walking forward, not responding. I don’t have the time or patience for his games today.

  Sitri grabs my upper arm and pulls me to a stop, spinning me to face him. He scours my face, noting the puffy eyes I couldn’t cover up. One eyebrow lifts. “Someone’s not in a good mood.”

  I jerk out of his grasp. “No, someone is not. Just leave me alone.” I turn back around and continue walking toward home.

  He slides into place beside me. “I’m going to let that go because I can tell you’re having a bad day. But you shouldn’t forget—”

  “Forget what?” I let all of my anger and frustration pour into my voice. What can he possibly do to me that could hurt any worse than what I’m suffering right now? “Forget how powerful and almighty you are? Forget how much I’m supposed to grovel and bow to your mastery? You’re pathetic.”

  He grips my jaw. I freeze in place, eyes locked on his pupils that are black and round they take up all the whites of his eyes. The frightening sight makes my heart stop in my chest.

  “I could crush your skull right now.” He pauses, a sly smile creasing his face. “Or better yet, your little boyfriend’s. I bet he’s not as strong as he looks.”

  I can’t move. Can’t breathe. He’s figured out how important Dominic is to me.

  He lets me go, scoffing. “Who’s pathetic now?”

  I rub my jaw, a flash of fear dancing with my anger.

  “Isabel,” he says with a heavy sigh. He moves closer but doesn’t touch me. “I don’t want to hurt you. But you have to stop making me angry, stop blaming me for this. Fighting isn’t going to get us anywhere. We have a long, long time together.”

  “How very sensible of you,” I murmur, forcing my voice to remain even.

  “We’re not like them,” he whispers. “I know you have this little…let’s say, crush. But it can’t go anywhere. You’re only going to hurt him in the end.”

  Tears sting my eyes. I swipe at them. I’ve already hurt Dominic. I’m sure by now Sitri’s realized I killed Amos, and he’ll rub salt in that wound, too. Gloat over how happy he is that I gave him another soul, made his job just a little bit easier. I turn and continue down the sidewalk, refusing to look at Sitri. I know he’s there; he’s going to follow me anyway.