Breathing 02 - Barely Breathing

by Rebecca Donovan

  I pulled into the gas station that had a movie rental machine. There were a few carloads of Weslyn students lingering inside, trying to decide where to go―whose party to crash. I didn’t make eye contact as I waited behind an older man to pick out a movie.

  “Hey, Emma,” one of the girls recognized. I looked over at the soda cooler where she and two other girls were choosing forms of caffeine. I smiled politely, trying to place her. She may have been in my Art class, but I was pretty sure she was a junior.

  “Great game last night,” a guy praised.

  “Thanks,” I returned lowly, stepping up to take my turn at the movie machine.

  “Do you want to go to a party with us?” another girl asked.

  “No, that’s okay,” I replied, trying to make a hasty decision with a movie. “I’m staying in tonight.”

  “See you around.”

  I made my way out of the gas mart and waved with an awkward smile. It was strange being recognized outside of school without Evan or Sara. But at the same time, it felt kinda good. It was like waking up to discover I was my own person and people actually wanted to hang out with me. I grinned as I started my car.

  I returned to the house, prepared for my solo night, with a new found sense of confidence. I was somewhat disappointed to see Jonathan’s truck had returned. It was barely nine o’clock.

  I pushed open the front door and heard the buzz of the TV in the living room. After abandoning my shoes at the door, I brought the pizza into the room. Jonathan was sitting alone, and appeared surprised to see me.

  "You're back early." I set the pizza on the coffee table.

  "Rachel's sick," Jonathan explained.

  I nodded in understanding.

  “I thought you’d be out.”

  “Staying in,” I replied. “Hungry?”

  “Uh, sure.” Jonathan got up from the couch and crossed over to the kitchen. “What do you want to drink?”

  “Diet Coke, please,” I answered, looking around for my mother. I hung up my jacket and Jonathan came back over with drinks, paper plates and napkins. “Is she in bed?”

  “Yeah. She drank a little too much cough medicine,” Jonathan shared, sucking in air through his clenched teeth. He handed me the soda bottle. “And then had a couple glasses of wine on top of it. I wouldn't be surprised if she's out ‘til Tuesday.”

  "Great,” I said with a shake of my head.

  “What movie did you get?” he asked, eyeing the plastic casing.

  “You know what? I have no idea,” I admitted, pulling it open. “I was in a rush and just picked a new release. Do you want to watch it with me?”

  “Sure,” he responded.

  I looked at the title and groaned, “Oh great. It’s a horror flick. Exactly what I don’t need.”

  Jonathan laughed. “We’ll keep the lights on while we watch it.”

  “Did you think for a second I’d let you turn them off?”

  He laughed again, taking the movie and inserting it into the DVD player while I doled out pizza on the paper plates.

  There wasn't really a point to the plot, except maybe to sear my brain with lifelong nightmares―but then again, I already had those. I watched the entire movie with my knees pulled into me and a pillow clutched to my chest. I’d shove my face into the pillow whenever the music chimed in warning. Jonathan would talk me through what was happening and then let me know when it was safe to look again.

  By the time the credits rolled, I wasn’t sure if I was ever going to sleep again. Jonathan changed the channel to ESPN, allowing talk of the Super Bowl to help disperse the disturbing images.

  “What are you doing for the game tomorrow?” Jonathan asked, tucking in the lip of the pizza box and stacking the crust-laden plates on top of it.

  “Oh, uh, nothing. I mean, I’m watching it, but I don’t have plans.”

  “I’m sure there’s a few Super Bowl parties you could go to.”

  “Maybe,” I admitted, not having given it a second thought. “But, I think I’d rather watch the game. You know?”

  “Yes,” he stressed. “We’re going to a party with some of Rachel’s friends, and I have a feeling the game’s going to be background. I’d actually like to watch it too.” He shrugged and carried the box into the kitchen.

  It felt like I hadn’t moved the entire movie. I stretched my legs and stood to go to bed.

  “Are you sure you’ll be able to sleep?” Jonathan asked when he saw me head for the stairs.

  “Probably not,” I admitted, “but that’s not different from any other night.”

  He gave me a questioning look, but didn't say anything.

  “Goodnight."

  “Goodnight, Emma,” Jonathan returned watching me enter my room.

  “Emma,” the dark beckoned. A banging followed. I fought to hold on to the bed, but the sheets were slipping. The room continued to tilt, determined to dump me into the black hole at the end of my bed. Horrific screams cried out from the abyss.

  “Emma,” the dark called out again.

  I kicked my feet to work my way further up the mattress.

  The banging grew louder, and I shot up in bed. My sheets were tangled around me, and I was breathing so fast, I was practically hyperventilating. I turned on the light next to my bed.

  “Emma?” came from the other side of the door. “Are you okay? Will you open the door?”

  It was Jonathan. I inhaled deeply to calm my nerves. “I’m fine,” I answered, sweeping strands of sweat soaked hair from my face with a shaking hand.

  “Please open the door?” he requested again.

  “I’m okay, really,” I responded, unraveling the sheets around my legs.

  “Please,” he pled. “Just open the door, okay?”

  I hesitated and stared at the door. “Fine. Just a minute.”

  I crawled out of the bed and flipped the comforter over the top to hide the mess beneath. I tied my hair back in an elastic and pulled on a hoodie before unlocking the door and slowly opening it.

  “I’m okay, see.” I looked up at him, shoving my shaking hands in the front pocket of my sweatshirt. His eyes softened as he took me in. “It was just a dream. Sorry I woke you.”

  “You shouldn't go back to bed,” he advised calmly.

  “Huh?”

  “When you have a nightmare like that, you need to get out of your bed, to get away from it,” he explained. “Get a glass of water, watch television, something to clear your head. That way, when you go back to sleep, the nightmare’s not still there, waiting for you."

  I remained quiet, taking in his words. His eyes were soft and empathetic. “Come on. Let’s watch TV for awhile, okay?”

  “Sure,” I surrendered. “But you don’t have to stay up.”

  “Don't worry about me,” he responded. “Let’s go see what they’re selling at this hour.”

  I followed him down the stairs and curled up on the couch under a blanket while he sat on the loveseat, flipping through the channels. I glanced over at him as the soft light of the television lit the lines of his strong jaw.

  I would never have predicted that he knew anything about needing to escape nightmares. He seemed impervious to fear, so confident and assured.

  “The infomercials can be addicting,” he noted, glancing over at me. I flipped my eyes to the TV, my cheeks peaking with color, having been caught staring. He continued as if he hadn't noticed. “You need to stay away from them because the next thing you know you’re watching the sun come up, convinced that a six inch cloth can wash your entire car, and still be clean enough to wipe the windows.”

  I nodded, not completely paying attention; a part of me was still trapped in the dark.

  “It gets better,” he promised, noticing my disconnect. He sounded so sure of his words.

  “How would you know?” I peered into his dark brown eyes, trying to look past them for answers, but he wouldn't let me in.

  “Believe me, it does,” Jonathan whispered, looking away. In th
at quick moment, the confidence in his eyes faltered, giving way to something else. I wasn't quite sure what I'd seen, but I inadvertently shivered when I caught a glimpse of it.

  11. All Better

  "How are you feeling?" I asked, when my mother slumped down the stairs the next morning. Her nose was raw and red around the edges; her eyes were watery and puffy. She looked miserable―I shouldn't have even asked.

  "I think I'm dying," she snuffled.

  "You should go back to bed. Tell me what you need and I'll get it for you."

  "Tea," she requested pitifully. "And some flu medicine so my head doesn't feel like it's going to explode anymore."

  "I'll get that," Jonathan offered, appearing at the kitchen entrance, showered and dressed.

  "Thanks," she said in a nasally voice, before sneezing into the balled up tissue in her hand. "I wish you weren't seeing me like this."

  "Don't even go there," Jonathan consoled with a warm smile. "You're sick, and even sick, you're beautiful." He wrapped his arms around her as she flopped onto his chest. He held her and smoothed the damp strands of hair that were stuck to her feverish face. He was braver than I was. I was afraid of going within three feet of her. She was oozing from every orifice.

  "I'll bring the tea up in a minute," I told her as Jonathan escorted her back up the stairs.

  "I'll be right back," Jonathan announced a few minutes later on his way out the door.

  I brought the tea to her room and set it down on the night stand. She had her eyes closed and the blankets pulled up to her nose.

  "Do you like him?" she asked as I was walking toward the door.

  I turned back toward her. She propped herself up on her elbow and carefully sipped the hot tea.

  "Jonathan?" I clarified, not expecting her question.

  Before I could answer, she said, "I really like him, and I hope you do too."

  "Um, yeah, sure. He's nice."

  "Thanks for the tea." She nuzzled back into the blankets, closing her eyes with a grin on her face. Even in her sickness, she was still a love-struck teenager.

  “Looks like you’ll get to watch the game after all,” I noted after Jonathan returned from the pharmacy. “Where are you going?”

  Jonathan hesitated. “Actually, I told Rachel I'd stay here with her."

  "I'm not going anywhere," I offered. "I can take care of her if you want to do something else."

  "I'd rather stay here, if that's okay."

  "Sure," I answered in surprise.

  "Where are Evan and Sara?"

  "Evan's at Cornell with his brother, and... I don't know what Sara's up to."

  Jonathan looked over at me, hearing the change in my tone upon mentioning Sara. He didn't ask; he just nodded.

  I offered to pick up football food while Jonathan tended to my mother. Especially since we were running low on… everything. I’d pretty much assumed the role of grocery shopper in the house. My mother would shop when she wanted to prepare a specific meal, but with our conflicting schedules, that wasn’t very often.

  I didn’t mind too much. She’d leave me a twenty and a small list of things she needed. The list was usually more than twenty dollars, but whatever. I covered the rest with the money that was deposited into my account each month. Money I hadn’t had access to for years, but was now in my total control.

  I’d gotten to know the aisles well enough to get in and out of the store quickly. Except for today―it was insane.

  “I think every person in three towns was at the grocery store today,” I complained to Jonathan, struggling with white plastic bags strung across both arms.

  “Let me help you.” Jonathan rushed from the living room, relieving me of half the bags. “Is that everything?”

  “If it’s not, then too bad. I’m not going back to that zoo.” I slipped off my shoes and followed him to the kitchen.

  “I meant, is there anything else in the car?” He smiled at my dramatic response.

  “No, this is everything,” I answered, embarrassed by my reaction. “How’s Rachel?”

  “Passed out,” Jonathan responded, proceeding to empty the bags and put everything in its place. “I have to go out for a while. Would you mind covering for me until I get back? I’ll be here in time for kick-off. If she wakes up, just tell her I went to buy more tissues or something.”

  “Sure,” I replied. “You shouldn’t need an excuse, you know.” I knew I shouldn’t have said it as soon as I did. “Sorry.”

  “No, you’re right,” he agreed. “I just feel bad leaving when she’s not feeling great. Although, I’m not sure I can do anything to make her feel better. But she keeps saying she wants me to stay.”

  “She always wants you to stay,” I blurted―my filter apparently shut off.

  "Wow," he absorbed my candor with wide eyes. "Am I here too much?”

  “No,” I replied quickly. “That’s not what I meant. Sorry, I’m a complete idiot today.”

  “You’re doing that honesty thing again. Don't worry about it.” He paused and added, “Don’t ever feel like you can’t say what you're thinking, okay?”

  “Are you sure?” I questioned with a smirk. “You'll probably end up hating me.”

  “Unlikely,” he said with a bright smile, putting the milk in the refrigerator. My cheeks warmed with his comment. “Oh, here’s my phone number,” he scribbled on a piece of paper on the kitchen table, “just in case you do need something while I’m out.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” I picked up the number as he walked out the door and decided to program it into my phone, just in case.

  My mother didn’t stir the entire time Jonathan was gone, thankfully. I wasn’t looking forward to telling her he wasn’t there.

  I texted back and forth with Evan most of the afternoon. He and Jared were at an all-day Super Bowl party off-campus. It sounded like quite the spectacle from the details Evan provided. I let him go right before kick-off, wanting him to enjoy the game with his brother and not worry about responding to me.

  I kept checking my phone anyway, still not having heard from Sara. I wanted her to be the first to reach out after the way we left things, and it took everything I had not to text her as I grew more anxious.

  Jonathan returned five minutes into the game.

  “Ah,” he groaned, looking flushed and freshly changed. “I missed kick-off.”

  “Don’t worry,” I consoled. “Nothing’s happened really. You look… different.” It was hard not to notice.

  “I had to tap back into my life for awhile,” he explained, sitting down on the couch next to me with his eyes fixed on the game. “Got a haircut, went to the gym, made sure my place hadn’t burned down.”

  I laughed, not expecting his sense of humor. “Well the hair looks good.”

  “Thanks.” He flashed me a blush-inducing grin. I reached for a handful of chips, to keep from saying something else outlandish about how good he looked. “I bought beer. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Uh, no,” I answered, surprised that he asked. “It’s football. Isn’t that part of the guys’ book of conduct? That a beer must be in your hand while watching?”

  He laughed. “Do you want one? I could overlook the fact that you’re a girl for the night.”

  “No,” I responded emphatically. “Not legal, remember?”

  “Oh, that's right,” he answered, feigning like he’d forgotten. “I’m supposed to be the responsible adult, right?” He shook his head like the thought sounded ridiculous. He got up from the couch and went into the kitchen, coming back with a beer and a Mountain Dew.

  “Perfect, thanks,” I said, taking the bottle from his hand.

  We watched football and ate overly greasy food while making fun of the overpriced commercials that fell flat and laughing at those that were worth the millions. And we'd take turns checking on my mother whenever we'd hear her moan.

  In the middle of the third quarter, the doorbell rang. Jonathan and I peered at each other quizzically, neither expecti
ng a visitor. I shrugged and got up to answer the door.

  “Hey,” Sara said, as soon as the door opened. She had a number nine written in gold on her cheek, with her red hair pulled back into a high ponytail. I let the door go so she could enter. She peered into the living room to find Jonathan.

  “Hi, Jonathan.” She gave a small wave.

  "Hey, Sara," he responded. "Nice look."

  "Thanks," she smiled.

  Sara looked back toward me nervously. “I tried to call you,” she said, pulling on the corner of her shirt.

  “You did? I’m sorry, I didn’t hear my phone.” I groaned inwardly, frustrated that I’d missed it―most likely I was checking on my mother when she’d called.

  “Can we talk?’ she asked lowly, flipping her eyes from the floor up to me. “I mean, if you guys are watching the game, I can come back.”

  “Seriously?” I stared at her incredulously. She pressed her lips into a small smile. “Let’s go upstairs.”

  I closed the door behind us and sat at the end of my bed, expecting her to sit next to me, but she began pacing.

  “Sara, what’s wrong with you?” I demanded. “You know you don’t have to worry about what to say to me. You never have before.”

  “But I’ve never been such a bitch to you before either,” she blurted. She stopped pacing, realizing what she’d just confessed. She looked at me and I started to laugh. I knew the honesty would find its way to the surface eventually. She smiled in return.

  “What happened?” I asked. Sara sat down next to me. “Did I do something wrong?”

  Sara sighed. “No. I just… I’m an idiot really.”

  That didn’t explain anything. “You’re going to need to be more specific.”

  “I think I was a little jealous of you.” She kept her eyes on the floor.

  “Of me?” I questioned in disbelief. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

  Sara took in an audible breath. “I know it’s stupid. And it’s going to sound even more pathetic when I say it, but I’m jealous of the way you and Evan are together. I mean, I want to find that―that guy who looks at me the way he looks at you. You don’t have to even touch; he could seriously be at the other end of the house, but you have that connection―no matter where you are. It’s crazy. And I want it."