Breathing 02 - Barely Breathing

by Rebecca Donovan

  I had my phone in my trembling hand when I sat on the couch in the rec room. I thought about calling Evan, but I knew it would just be another awkward conversation, and I didn't want to go through that twice in one day.

  I clicked on the television and turned down the volume so Sara wouldn't hear it. I started scanning the channels and stopped on an infomercial for a microfiber cloth that claimed to be able to clean a car, computer or boat by just adding water, streak free. I almost laughed out loud. After a minute of being sucked into the enthusiastic sales pitch, I picked up my phone.

  "I saw your infomercial," I said as soon as I heard him pick up.

  "Just needs water," he replied, a smile in his voice. "Been wondering how you've been sleeping. Thought you might be cured after all."

  "Hardly," I responded. "How about you? Been out on any dates lately?"

  "Not yet," he chuckled. "Where are you?"

  "At Sara's."

  "That's good. You're not going back, are you?"

  "No," I replied quietly. "I'm not. Some things aren't fixable."

  "I thought when I didn't hear from you that he may have made you stop talking to me."

  I was puzzled by his assumption. "Evan's away right now. We haven't had a chance to talk yet."

  "Oh," Jonathan replied. "Then, should you be talking to me?"

  "Yeah, why not? We're friends," I returned, bewildered. "Evan has girls who are friends too. You're not the reason things are off between us anyway."

  "Do you want to talk about it?" Jonathan asked hesitantly.

  "No," I whispered.

  After a moment of silence, he asked, “Do you want to hang out again?" Then he added quickly, “No cliffs this time."

  I laughed. "Sure. We could do something tomorrow if you want. I have practice in the afternoon, but maybe after that."

  "Yeah, I should be home from work by six. How about...” he paused for a moment. "How about we get dinner or something? And I kind of have a something to share."

  "Really?" I replied, intrigued. "Sure, just text me where to meet you."

  "Okay. I'll see you tomorrow." When I hung up, I realized my lips were turned up into a smile and my heart was beating a little faster.

  37. Into a Nightmare

  "I thought you said you weren't very good," Jonathan teased as we walked out of the pool hall and into the cool drizzly night.

  "I'm not," I defended, pulling my hood over my head. "You're just worse than I am."

  "Thanks," he shot back with a smirk. "So what next? Do you have to get back to your friend's?"

  I checked my phone. Casey had promised to text me when she was on her way home from the party. In case she forgot, which was definitely possible, I sent her a text asking where she was.

  "I think she's still at the party," I told him. "Do you mind if I hang out for a while longer?"

  "No, you're welcome to stay as long as you'd like," Jonathan assured me. "But I'm not sure what to do that's not a bar."

  "I'd like to check out the band you were talking about, if that's okay."

  "Oh, yeah, sure," Jonathan fumbled.

  "We can do something else if you don't want to go back to your apartment," I offered, his response making me feel a bit awkward.

  "No, it's fine. I've honestly never had anyone at my place before. I'm trying to remember if I left it a mess."

  "Really? You've never had anyone over?" I reiterated in surprise. "Why not?"

  Jonathan shrugged. "Umm, I don't really know. I usually meet people out, I guess. But yeah, let's go there." I followed Jonathan across the intersection and down a side street. The reflection of the water shimmered at the end.

  "So, Rachel's never been here?"

  "No," he stated adamantly. "I needed to take a break every once in a while. But she asked, trust me."

  I nodded, imagining her agitation with not knowing where he lived. But I also remembered him disappearing a few days each week, and she probably wouldn't have let that happen if she knew where to find him.

  We crossed the street at the end of the road and followed the water toward the marina.

  "Why did you stay?" I decided to ask, considering how long he put up with her, and recognizing how often he needed to be away from her.

  "Uh, what?" Jonathan questioned in confusion. "You mean with Rachel?"

  "You had every right to get out way before you did. What made you stay?"

  "I thought we agreed not to talk about her or anything else depressing?" Jonathan avoided, approaching an old white brick building along the wharf.

  "You're right," I conceded. I eyed the worn structure warily as Jonathan slid his key in the black metal door.

  "Don't judge it by the outside," Jonathan advised. "They completely gutted it." When he opened the door, he flipped on the lights, illuminating a metal grated staircase that led to an opening above.

  "I guess they did," I said, admiring the contemporary space at the top of the stairs. White walls stretched about twenty feet to an exposed beam ceiling. An entire wall was lined with brick and mill-sized paned windows that overlooked the water. The floors appeared to be original, but the thick planks were newly varnished. "This place is amazing."

  "I was lucky to find it," Jonathan admitted.

  I walked over to the small black table set in front of a window to view the few boats rocking on the water below. Across the wharf was a boatyard where more boats awaited warmer temperatures before returning to the seas.

  "Want something to drink?" Jonathan offered from the kitchen area of the studio. It was sleek with stainless everything and tall wooden cabinets suspended above a marble countertop.

  "No, I'm fine."

  Jonathan removed a beer from the fridge and flipped it open. He approached the entertainment unit set on a long black table against the wall. I found a seat on the sofa that sat perpendicular to the kitchen and the windows, lending the perfect view of the entire room. The beige sofa was linear and modern in design, but more comfortable than it appeared.

  As I sunk into the cushion, I peered up at an open platform suspended next to the kitchen wall. Metal stairs led to what I assumed to be his bedroom, but it was too high to see at this angle.

  His studio was so... clean. I didn't know why he was worried. It was almost too clean. That's when it struck me that there wasn't anything in it other than the furniture. No artwork or decor of any kind. Nothing... personal.

  "How long have you lived here?" I asked, thinking that maybe he was still working on it.

  "Since I graduated," Jonathan revealed, scrolling through his downloads to find the band he’d told me about while we played pool.

  "Two years?" I confirmed, scanning the room again.

  "Just about," he agreed. Acoustic guitar strums echoed through the room followed by a woman's smooth voice. "I know. It's pretty... minimal. I wouldn't even know how to begin decorating it."

  "Don't you have any girl friends who can help you out?"

  "I've discovered that having girls as friends just leads to complications. So, no, I don't."

  "Complications?" I questioned curiously.

  "Yeah. Someone eventually wants more, and it gets... complicated," he explained with a shrug before taking a sip of beer.

  "Oh," I nodded in contemplation. "Yes, that is true."

  "So, you've experienced this?" Jonathan sounded interested as he sat in the chair next to the sofa.

  "First hand?" I considered for moment, then continued, "Well, yeah. That's what happened with Evan. We started out as friends, but that didn't take." My cheeks warmed reflecting upon our "friendship".

  "I have a feeling you weren't really friends, even at the beginning," he noted at the sight of my flushed face.

  My cheeks became hotter. "No, probably not. But I do know what you mean. He has a girl right now who's supposed to be a friend, and she definitely has a thing for him. It's, as you said, complicated."

  "You don't care that he's friends with other girls, right? I mean, you have me
," Jonathan countered.

  "No, I don't mind. But you and I are different," I argued. "We're not complicated."

  Jonathan challenged my words with a raise of his eyebrows. "Right. We're just messed up."

  I laughed and nodded. I pushed off my shoes and curled my legs next to me on the couch. My phone beeped, and I pulled it from my pocket.

  Still at party. Wanna come? Its a good one.

  I grinned at Casey's message and texted back, No thanks.

  "That your friend?" Jonathan confirmed. "Do you have to go?"

  "No. She's still at the party."

  "Good," he replied, making me look up from my phone. He tipped back the bottle to avoid my curious expression.

  "I like this," I said, commenting on the band and letting the comment slide. "They have a nice sound."

  "Yeah, it's just a guy and a girl," Jonathan explained. "They're pretty incredible."

  Their voices chimed in unison. I was enchanted by their lyrics as we sat quietly, letting them speak for us. I closed my eyes, allowing the music to float through me.

  "Emma?" Jonathan called to me. I pulled my lids open, which was harder than I expected. I must have started to doze off. "Are you okay?"

  "Sorry." I shook my head and sat up straighter to ward off the bout of sleep. "I'm just tired."

  "Really, are you okay?" he asked again, studying my face intently.

  I shifted away from his delving brown eyes and nodded. "I haven't been sleeping much."

  "Or eating," Jonathan reproached.

  I shrugged guiltily. "That obvious?"

  "Uh, yeah," he confirmed with an adamant nod.

  "It's been a crazy week," I defended feebly.

  "That's an understatement," he said with a wry grin. "I know we said we weren't going to talk about it, but we can if you want. I'm really sorry about everything that happened. I still feel like it's my fault."

  "It's not," I stressed. "It really had nothing to do with skipping school and spending the day with you. In the end it was about the truth, and I just didn't want to see it."

  "What do you mean?"

  "She doesn't love me. She never did. There's nothing that's ever going to change that."

  Jonathan didn't respond. We were quiet for a moment before he asked, "What about you?" I glanced over at him. His voice was quiet and smooth. "How do you feel about her?"

  I let his eyes search mine as I considered his question. "I don't know. I always thought I loved her. I mean, she's my mother. But... I don't know."

  "What if you didn't think of her as your mother? Just as a person you know. How would you feel about her?" he coaxed.

  "That I don't like her," I answered without hesitation. "She seems funny and nice on the outside, but when you get close enough, you realize she's selfish and manipulative, and well, a bit unstable. So I guess... maybe I don't love her either." I lowered my eyes as my words took hold. "Wow. That's messed up."

  "Tends to be our unavoidable theme," Jonathan noted with a guilty grin. "Sorry. We can't seem to avoid the depressing, can we?"

  "I think it's because we both understand what it's like. It's not easy to talk like this with other people because they don't know. They don't know what it's like to be hated by the people who are supposed to love you." I sunk further into the couch and allowed the sullen mood to settle within me, drawing on my weariness. I thought about leaving, but I just needed to rest for a moment. I laid my head on my arm.

  "What is it like?" Jonathan pursued, calling me back to meet his dark eyes. "For you I mean, what's it like?"

  I breathed out a humorless laugh and allowed the honesty to slip through. "It makes me stupid."

  "What?" Jonathan questioned in alarm. "I don't understand how you can say that."

  I focused on a distant light on the water, trying to find the words to explain what was starting to become apparent to me―having thought incessantly about what I did wrong over the past year. I had my mother to thank for clicking it all into place for me with her bouts of drunken candor.

  "I close my eyes to the truth. I refuse to see what's happening, convinced that I can handle whatever it is―believing that I'm strong enough and will recognize when I'm not.

  "But in order to really see it, the truth, I have to admit how much I'm hated. And who wants to think they're worthy of that much anger? To be despised so much... to have someone wish you never existed." I paused to take a breath.

  "I shut it out. I choose not to see. I never ask for help. I even try to convince everyone that it's not a big deal. They don't know. No one really knows how bad it is because I won't let them." I paused and repeated, "It makes me stupid."

  Jonathan silently absorbed my whispered words. Exhaustion rolled over me and my head became as heavy as my heart. I felt outside of myself as my eyes burned with fatigue.

  "How do you do it?" Jonathan asked. He sounded so far away. I tried to focus on him, but I couldn't. "How do you get through it?"

  "By not feeling," I murmured, blinking heavily, lulled by the voices crooning in the background. This wasn't difficult to explain, since I'd done it so easily all those years living with Carol. "I shut it off. And I guess if it's really bad, I block it out completely. I didn't realize I did that until my mother showed me what I'd forgotten."

  I shut my eyes. "She thinks I'm strong because I can push everything into the dark. But it leaves me empty. And the dark always ends up finding me in my sleep."

  I felt the weight of a blanket being pulled over me. I opened my eyes and found him propped on the coffee table in front of me. He smiled gently, holding a pillow in his hands. I sat up enough for him to place it beneath my head and lowered myself down again.

  "Sorry," I offered in a whisper, my eyes sliding shut again. "I'm so tired."

  "I know," he returned gently. "You can sleep here if you want."

  "I'm just gonna rest before I go," I muttered, blinking my eyes. They were so heavy; it almost hurt to keep them open. Jonathan stood up.

  "Jonathan?"

  He squatted down in front of me. "Yes, Emma."

  "Do you think you'll ever love again?" I murmured, not fighting against my lids any longer.

  "I think so," he whispered, brushing the hair from my cheek. I shivered against his touch. "I'll see you in my sleep."

  I pushed my eyes open one final time to find him walking away. "What did you say?"

  "I said I'll see you in the morning. Get some sleep."

  "I'm just going to rest for a bit," I slurred, closing my eyes again. I couldn't have kept them open if I’d tried.

  My screams still echoed through the room when I sat up in a panic, trying to breathe.

  "Emma?" Jonathan called out. The clang of the metal stairs echoed sharply in the dark. It took me a moment to focus on him when he crouched in front of me. "You're okay. It was just a dream."

  I nodded and my lips trembled. "I can't do this anymore," I choked, my eyes filling with tears. I was too exhausted and shaken to hold them back. "I'm so tired."

  "I know," Jonathan soothed, sliding next to me on the couch and rubbing my shoulder.

  I released a quivering breath and wiped my eyes with my sleeves. "I don't know how to make it stop."

  Jonathan's brow creased with empathy.

  "Can I please have a glass of water?" I requested, trying to recover from my emotional meltdown.

  Jonathan nodded and stood to retrieve it. I sat up with the blanket wrapped around me and took a deep breath to calm the shaking. He turned on the canister lights above the island, providing enough light for me to look around.

  "Where's your television?" I asked, not finding the post-nightmare distraction.

  "Oh, it's in my bedroom," he nodded toward the loft in the corner. "You need something to clear you head?" he surmised.

  "Something," I begged. "I can't keep thinking about her trying to kill me anymore."

  "You can't let her control you. Emma, you're stronger than this. You just have to believe it." He handed me a
glass of water and sat next to me. "Do you know what happened that night? Or did you block that out too?"

  "I died," I answered bluntly. "So, I have no idea what happened."

  I felt the warmth of his hand encapsulate mine. The strength of it wrapped around my thin hand comforted me, but it also made my heart stammer. I eased it away to hold the glass with two hands. He pretended not to notice.

  "Emma," he beckoned, making me look at him as I sipped the water. "Do you want to sleep better?"

  I scrunched my eyes warily. "What do you have in mind?"

  "Do you trust me?"

  "Are you going to try to cure me again?" I questioned skeptically.

  "Yeah," he grinned. "I think this might work, or at least help you. Will you let me?"

  I paused a moment in deliberation. Jonathan’s eyes were big and pleading, begging for me to trust him. I sighed in defeat and threatened, "If it doesn't work, I swear I will keep you up every night I can't sleep."

  "I can handle that," he grinned in triumph. "Get your jacket."

  "What?" I questioned in alarm. "We're leaving?"

  "Did you think I was going to try to hypnotize you or something?" he chuckled.

  I sighed in resignation and slipped my shoes on as he tossed me my jacket.

  "So how's your triathlon training going?" I asked, cutting through the tense silence that had encapsulated us upon entering the truck.

  "Really?" Jonathan laughed in disbelief.

  "Well, I need to talk about something," I defended with a groan. "From the looks of it, we're heading back to Weslyn. And if we're going where I think we're going, then we'd better start talking before I make you turn the truck around."

  "Training's going great," Jonathan burst out. "I haven't been cycling lately because the weather's sucked, but so far―"

  "Okay, that's not helping," I interrupted, glancing over at him apologetically. "Sorry, I do want to hear about it, but I'm about ready to have a heart attack, or anxiety attack, or something."

  "Breathe, Emma," he urged. "Slow, deep breaths. Just breathe."

  I tried to remember how. My heart continued to convulse, and breathing was becoming more challenging.

  "Wait." It suddenly struck me. "How do you know where to go?"