I Breathe You

by Lori L. Clark

  He shakes his head, “I have no fucking clue.”

  “What happened? How did you get her to come out?” I ask.

  “I called her parents and told them what was going on. They didn’t believe me. Until I held up the phone so they could hear her shrieking about how she needed to shave off all the hair from her and Emmy’s bodies because apparently that’s what the voices told her to do to be safe from the birds.”

  What I know about paranoid schizophrenia you could put on the head of a straight pin. “She didn’t…?” I trail off.

  “No, thank God, she didn’t get that far. Anyway, her mom and dad came right over, put her in the backseat of their car and drove off to the psych hospital. They kept her a few days for observation, figured out what was wrong and got her started on antipsychotics right away.”

  “So her parents finally believed she needed help?” I marvel at how blind some people are when they don’t want to admit something’s not quite right with junior.

  He snorts. “Yeah. Seems Aubrey’s mom was diagnosed in her early twenties. It can be hereditary, so when she heard the random crap coming out of Aubrey’s mouth, she knew right away.”

  “So, she was okay after that?” I ask. “Aubrey, I mean.”

  “As long as she took her meds, she was fine. Between her and my sister, I never know which ticking time bomb is going to detonate first, blowing me into Never Never Land. But, yeah. Aubrey took her meds for a while. By that time, I’d had enough. She only married me to piss off her parents in the first place. Well, that, and because she was pregnant.

  “I was an idiot to think we could make it work, and after a while, I stopped trying. In March, she decided to quit taking the meds. In April, I filed for divorce. In May she drove her car into the lake with Emmy in the backseat.” He pauses and leans his forehead against mine.

  “Holy insanity,” I say, shuddering.

  He rubs my arms and takes a deep breath. “Several people watched her drive into the lake. Luckily, the water level was low enough that the car got stuck in the mud before she went out too far. Aubrey has been in the mental hospital all this time. Most of the time she’s kept heavily guarded on suicide watch. She’s ‘better,’ now,” he makes air quotes, which I find slightly disturbing. “Maybe I’ll get that divorce that should have been final six months ago.”

  “You’re still going through with it?” I ask.

  His eyebrows draw together. “Hell yes. Aubrey and I are like two diesel locomotives headed straight toward one another on the same track. I don’t love her anymore and as far as her loving me? She never did,” he shakes his head and eases onto the couch beside me.

  I lean against his shoulder, trying to absorb all the messed up pieces of the life he’s shared with me. I need time. We need time.

  Chapter 39

  While we sit in silence, I contemplate my life — a life once filled with unimaginable privileges. The major fault with my parents is that they’re so stinking rich they feel it’s their given right and obligation to look down their noses at anyone they consider beneath their social class. In their eyes, when I dropped out of college to become a rock star, I joined the ranks of society’s outcasts: the druggies, the degenerates, the disposables. But what Ian’s been through, and is still going through? I’m guessing I’ve probably only heard a tiny portion of his story, and even at its worst, my life has never been a fraction as messed up as his.

  I stare at our intertwined hands and do something that, for me, is painfully unthinkable. I draw them to my mouth and graze his knuckles with a kiss. He doesn’t know how much courage this seemingly small, yet intimate, gesture takes for me to initiate, let alone complete.

  It’s Ian who finally breaks our silence. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. I know I should have been upfront with you about everything.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” I shrug. “It wouldn’t have done you any good. Probably. You know what happens when someone tells me not to do something? I’m consumed by the overpowering need to do it anyway, and I don’t rest until I do.”

  “Tenacious much?” he asks.

  “No. Just stupid,” I admit ruefully.

  “Sunshine, you are the most non-stupid woman I have ever met,” he laughs bitterly.

  “Lucky for me that bar was set pretty low to begin with.”

  He turns toward me and cups my face with his hands. His breath is hot on my skin. I close my eyes, telepathically willing him to kiss me, needing to feel his mouth on mine.

  “Open your eyes,” he demands quietly. “Look at me, Sunshine.”

  When I do, I’m taken aback by the myriad of emotions I see. His eyes are dark with passion, but there is something else buried within their depths. Fire and ice are at war beneath the surface in a silent battle to see which one will erase desire’s hold first.

  “The next time I kiss you, I’m not stopping,” his voice is low and rough. His thumbs trace the contours of my cheeks. It’s a moment so completely tender my eyes fill involuntarily and I blink up at him. I nearly shatter to pieces when he tells me, “So I’m not going to kiss you right now. I can’t promise you when it will happen. Just know that I’ve never wanted anything as much as I do you.”

  In that instant, an invisible handshake takes place between his heart and mine. He’s right. If it ever happens for us, there will be no stopping. No going back. No do-overs. His lips touch lightly against my forehead, with an unspoken promise. Song lyrics pop into my head. “Sealed with a kiss?” I offer in a lame attempt to lighten the mood. Because if I don’t, I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep my hands off of him.

  His hands drop from my face. He tips back his head and laughs. “Indeed. Do forehead kisses count?” he asks.

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” I lean away from him, suddenly feeling claustrophobic and torn. Ready, in some ways, to say the hell with the consequences and seduce him right here, right now. I swallow the painful lump lodged in my throat. “Until things are settled, I think it would be easier for me if I don’t see you.”

  He opens his mouth — whether to protest or agree, I don’t know. I can’t be sure because I run. Away from him. Away from the ache inside of me. A few minutes later, I hear the front door open and close, and I know he’s gone. Whether it’s for now or forever, I don’t know. A lone tear slides down my cheek.

  My fists ball into instruments of destruction. Fueled by pent-up rage, they clench and unclench. Adrenaline courses through my body and I feel like I’m going to crack in two if I don’t find release. Over and over, I pound my fists against my thighs, relentlessly, without thought. The pain I feel internally is far greater than anything I will ever feel on the outside.

  My tears fall freely and I curl into a ball on top of my bed, hugging my knees to my chest. Strangled, silent screams escape me as I rock back and forth. My breaths come in short, erratic gasps.

  From somewhere, a disembodied voice urges me to just breathe. Inhale, one, two, three. Hold, one, two, three. Exhale, one, two, three. Repeat.

  Chapter 40

  T gave Ian the week off and it’s been strange not having him here. Not that we were spending time together or anything. He’s kept his word and has stayed away from me. I do miss covertly spying on him from the windows though. A few times, I thought I imagined him staring back. I have been wondering what project I can find for him to do next, just to keep him around a little bit longer.

  Christmas is at the end of the week, and honestly, it’s just another day for me. Except for the tree Ian brought out — the one Gwen made me help decorate — the season’s cheer is all but lost on me. When I come back inside from feeding Mama Dog and her crew, Gwen interrupts my thoughts by inviting me to go shopping with her.

  I blink at her like she has a third eye in the middle of her forehead.

  “Don’t give me that look.” She crosses her arms in front of her. “You need to get out of this house for a few hours at least.”

  “Why?” I wrinkle my nose distastefully. “I was jus
t out last week.”

  “Nice try. But going to see Dr. Stephens doesn’t count,” she says.

  “Why doesn’t it count? I think it should count,” I tease.

  “I’m not taking no for an answer. Go change your clothes.” Her voice is soft, but her tone implies she has no intention of letting me get out of going with her. I sigh loudly enough to make sure she understands my reluctance. Leaving my comfort zone, even if it is for just a few hours, is an irritating inconvenience.

  The Christmas spirit lining the streets in town borders on annoying. It takes untold patience for me to tolerate the crowded streets and stores. I grimace at the red-faced kids who unwisely throwing their temper tantrums. Whatever happened to naughty and nice? Though my heart is definitely not in the holiday spirit, I work at keeping the scowl off my face and the snarky comments to myself, for Gwen’s sake.

  “Have you decided what you want to get your Uncle Thomas?” she asks as we walk along the sidewalk between stores.

  I puff out my cheeks and release my breath slowly while contemplating. “I don’t know. Probably a carton of cigarettes.”

  She gives me a disgusted snort. “Why not buy him a cemetery plot while you’re at it?”

  “That’s a stellar idea,” I whisper with a grin. She narrows her eyes and I chew the inside of my cheek to stay the laughter building inside. “God, I’m so kidding. Honestly. I have no idea what to get him.”

  We’re nearing the end of the block, ready to cross over and make our way back on the other side of the street when Gwen stops walking and touches my arm. I stop and glance at her hand on my coat sleeve. My gaze drifts up meeting hers. Frowning, I ask, “What?”

  Gwen nods toward Ian. He’s with a young woman, Emmy between the two of them. They’re laughing and smiling as they push through the doors of a business on the corner. I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, hoping to draw the discomfort away from the painful tightness in my chest.

  “Let’s cross to the other side,” Gwen suggests and drags me begrudgingly along with her.

  I nod my head. “Okay.” I can’t help but glance back over my shoulder, but it’s no use. The trio has disappeared inside the music store. “Is that his wife?” I wonder out loud.

  “It could be anybody,” she responds.

  “That makes me feel so much better,” I say while resisting the urge to covertly dart back across the street and stare through the storefront at them. I don’t necessarily want to confront them. I just want to get a better look at her. “Maybe I should go over and accidently bump into him. He could introduce us.”

  “You will do no such thing!” she hisses.

  “Kidding,” Sort of. I roll my eyes.

  What would I say? Oh, hey, Ian, is this your wife? Oh, hi, Mrs. Callahan. I’d actually be more inclined to let it slip about how wet his kisses made my panties when he had his tongue down my throat and his hand up my shirt.

  Bitter much? I grit my teeth and feel my ears burn from several conflicting emotions warring inside of me at once.

  Gwen tries to ease the resentment brewing inside of me. “You shouldn’t assume anything.”

  “What?” I am only half in the present. The other part of me is floating off, barely connected by a thread, like a kite on a windy day.

  “Rhane, maybe that’s his sister or a friend of the family. You don’t know,” she says quietly.

  “Yeah,” I say. Sister? Does she resemble Ian? I chew on that suggestion for a while. It doesn’t make me feel much better. My stomach continues to twist a little bit more. I feel as though a knife, a very dull knife, is slicing away a piece of my heart to serve for someone else’s lunch. “Or it could be his wife.”

  Ignoring my comment, Gwen sighs loudly and suggests we go inside the small cigar shop. “How ‘bout we try and find something for Thomas in here, what do you think?”

  I nod numbly and follow her inside. Gwen talks to the salesclerk while I wander around the store, staying near the front windows. She calls me over once she’s found something she thinks T might like so she can ask my opinion. I shrug and hand over my debit card to pay for the box of cigars and fancy silver lighter. Offering to buy makes me feel like I’ve at least made some contribution to the gift giving decision.

  With our parcels in tow, we make our way back to the Jeep. It occurs to me that I haven’t gotten Gwen anything for Christmas. Since she’s the other half of my shopping list, I should probably get on that. “What do you want for Christmas?” I ask as she slides into the driver’s seat beside me.

  “You don’t have to get me anything,” she says. Her eyes twinkle a different response entirely. “But. If you really want to, Amazon.com gift cards are always a safe bet.”

  Perfect. Online shopping. The Internet is a recluse’s best friend when it comes to Christmas gift giving.

  She opens up the center console and stows a small, pink gift bag. “What’s that?” I ask.

  “Just a little something for Emmy,” she says softly. “We can tell her it’s from both of us, if you’d like.”

  I draw in a ragged breath and nod. Getting Emmy something had slipped my mind about the same time Ian and I had our talk. I have no idea when or how we’ll be able to give her the gift, but silently, I’m grateful that Gwen had the foresight to pick up a little something for the sweet little girl.

  Chapter 41

  Wednesday, T joins us for breakfast, which is not a huge surprise. However, Gwen informing us that she’s not going to be here for Christmas does catch me off guard.

  “I’ll be leaving early tomorrow morning for Columbia,” Gwen says. She stirs her coffee and watches for my reaction. T’s face remains hidden covertly behind the morning paper, so I don’t know if this is as big a shock for him as it is for me. “I’ll be spending Christmas with my brother and his wife.”

  My brows pull together as I stare across the table. “Oh.” I guess I had just assumed that Gwen would cook one of her crazy good meals and we’d all spend Christmas day here together. I flick the newspaper in T’s hands. “Did you know about this?”

  He drops the paper and sighs. “Yes.”

  I slowly shake my head and mutter, “Thanks for sharing.”

  “We’ll celebrate our Christmas tonight,” Gwen offers. Glancing at T, she asks, “You’ll be back in time for dinner?”

  “Yes, that shouldn’t be a problem,” he nods.

  “It’s just another day, spending it alone won’t be any different than any other,” I say.

  T clears his throat. “I want you to stay with me while Gwen’s out of town.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. “What? Why?”

  “I don’t want you staying out here alone. You’d be stranded with no way to go anywhere, and I just wouldn’t feel right leaving you all by yourself on Christmas,” he tells me. I roll my eyes and open my mouth to protest. He narrows his eyes and informs me, “I’ve made up my mind. This isn’t open for discussion.”

  “Fine,” I huff and push away from the table. Welcome to being a little kid again. I don’t know who I feel has betrayed me more, Gwen or T. Gwen for leaving me to survive on my own cooking over the holidays, or T for believing me unable to take care of myself while she’s gone. I shrug into my coat and boots. “I’m going out to feed the dogs.”

  Later when T arrives for dinner, he grins when he notices the overnight bag I’ve packed and left by the kitchen door. “We’ll make an adventure out of it.”

  “An adventure?” I wrinkle my nose. “How do you figure?”

  His eyes dart around the room looking for Gwen, as though he’s about to share some huge conspiracy with me and doesn’t want her overhearing him. “We’ll hang out at Schmuck’s Bar tomorrow afternoon.”

  I press my hand to my chest. “How will I handle such excitement?” I tease.

  He leans in and whispers, “All-you-can-eat chili, snacks, and free beer.”

  “Oh yay,” I smirk. “Schmuck’s Bar? Who the hell names a bar ‘Schmuck’s’?”

  T t
hrows his hands in the air. “Don’t hate. That’s the owner’s name. Billy Schmuck.”

  My eyes gleam and I poke him in the chest. “Just don’t expect me to drive your drunken ass home afterwards.”

  A grin spreads across his face. “That’s the beauty of it. It’s within walking distance.”

  “Spending Christmas Eve in some shit-hole bar with my Uncle. It just doesn’t get any better than that,” I snicker.

  “Aw, baby girl, it’ll be fun. You’ll see,” he pouts.

  Gwen comes into the room carrying her luggage. She sets it on the floor next to mine and tosses T the keys to her Jeep. “Make yourself useful and take these bags out to my car while Rhane and I get supper on the table.” It’s an order made to sound like he has the option of saying no, though we both know he wouldn’t dare.

  While he’s doing that, she hands me the pink gift bag I recognize from the other day as being the present she got for Emmy. “See that Emmy gets this, okay?”

  I tentatively reach to take it from her. “Are you sure that’s such a good idea?”

  Gwen frowns, “What do you mean?”

  “Having me give her the gift?” I swallow hard.

  “It’s the only way, Rhane. Otherwise, she won’t get it until after Christmas,” she argues.

  I shake my head at her. “So? Would that be so bad? It’s the thought that counts, right?”

  “It’s a Christmas gift. Christmas is important for children,” she scoffs. Vertical lines appear between her eyebrows. “See that she gets it. Before Christmas.”

  I don’t have a chance to protest further. T wanders back inside, interrupting the conversation with his declaration that he’s absolutely starving to death. I tuck the small parcel into the side pocket of my overnight bag. “I’ll see what I can do,” I sigh.

  Gwen puts her hands on her hips and turns toward T, evidently not trusting me to get the job done. “Thomas, I need you to make sure Rhane gets this gift over to Emmy Callahan,” she addresses him, but her eyes remain locked on me. “Will you do that for me?”