Breathless (The Breathe Series Book 1)

by Christy Johnson

  “Nora! Are you ready, honey?” Mom calls up to me.

  “Almost!” I yell downstairs. I slam my laptop shut and scrounge around to find the clothes I had laid out prior to being distracted by my mental disorder. Silk blouse, fitted, black pencil skirt. I search my bed for the outfit, flinging additional clothing around the room, with no luck of finding the premeditated outfit.

  “He’s almost here. Hurry!”

  “Okay, mom!” Instead, I slip into a dress that could have been dirty. I’m sure it had been lying on the floor for days before I even noticed that it was even there. I sweep the excess hair from my face and lean in closer to the mirror to examine the dark circles underneath my eyes. I hadn’t noticed before but I looked as if my insides were defecating, almost as if I didn’t care about life anymore. I had given way to whatever was pulling me under mentally. My hair frenzied—I slap my dresser top, sucking back the tears. He was my worse mistake. The only decision I ever regretted making, yet, there was still something about him that still made my heart beat, still something about him I could not shake. I feel those familiar butterflies swarm in eating away at my stomach lining, pausing before closing my eyes and fanning away the thought of us ever being us again. Loving him would be the death of me.

  “NORA!”

  Coming. I slip on a pair of flops and jet downstairs. I trip over a step or two and ended up sliding the rest of my way down right to the bottom.

  Crap! The sweetest voice I used to know fills me, “You okay?” He was scared to ask, but I was even more terrified to look into his green eyes once more but I do, anyway. He offers his hand to help me from the floor but I don’t take it, instead, I push myself up. Mom glances down at my wrinkled dress, flimsy flops and chipped toenails. Her eyes widen with disapproval.

  “Hello.” My mom says, reaching her arms out to him. He melts into her embrace and smiles miraculously. He was beautiful with subtle movements, so subtle they were almost non-existent. I admire him from behind the grimace look on my face. I still wanted to love him and secretly, I still did.

  “Nora, did you welcome our guest?” Her deep, dark brown eyes pull all the essence out of mine as they demand to know if I had hugged him and kissed him until he went purple in the face. I roll my eyes. Of course, not.

  “We spoke.” Rolling my eyes again.

  “Yes—yes ma’am. In fact, we were just saying our hellos.” He interjects. And indefinite goodbyes. I wasn’t at my best these days, I admit.

  “Well, come in. Make yourself at home.” She points toward the kitchen where she had been slaving over the stove all evening for him. She wanted us to make amends, only because my doctor had suggested it. I could not care less if he and I were friends or whatever again. Mom smooths out her blue puffy dress. The color of it brought out the distressed wrinkles in her face. She's worn down, taking care of me would be the death of her. I study her as she tosses her brown shoulder length hair back behind her. The curls bounced with enthusiasm and she purses her lips following Riley with her eyes as he steps foot into the kitchen—dining area.

  His shoes clack against the wood floor as he examines our home in amazement. He used to look at me that way. “Your home is beautiful.” You are beautiful. I wanted to hear him say again.

  “Thank you! You’re so sweet.” Mom—savvy. “Please join us for dinner.” She sits before us, pushing aside table manners she always taught me to have if I were to ever host my dinner party. She smooths out her dress again. Her round face hanging low to her gown as she waits for us to take a seat.

  He takes a seat and I limp towards the dinner table. I choose the seat furthest from him but mom insisted on being a pain so I ended up sliding in closer to him. We sit side by side, not acknowledging that we still melted when we were around each other. It felt strange at first, trying to relearn a person I had almost forgotten intentionally.

  Our food was already in front of us. The mixed vegetables gave off a pleasant aroma, and the baked chicken was smothered in gravy and onions, allowing our nostrils to bask in its ambiance. Our hands brush while trying to reach for our silverware. “Ooh, sorry.” That familiar jolt rushes through our spines, forcing us to reconnect. I close my eyes reminiscing on our first encounter as he pulls his hand back sheepishly. He is left-handed and I, right so us sitting next to one another was probably not the best idea but my mother was very persistent.

  She smirks and looks back down to her food. “So, Riley.” My heart stops. This was the first time she had spoken his name all evening. Time still lapsed when I heard it. I shift my feet nervously and take a breath.

  “You alright?” I was already pained enough with him sitting next to me but now, him speaking to me could easily send me into cardiac arrest.

  “Yea—yep. I’m fine.” I try to seem as if I was still angry with him but the harder I tried to hate him, the more I fell for him. What a sick contradiction. I dissolve under his harmonious green eyes as they scrutinize me with concern.

  Mom clears her throat, and he turns his attention back to her. She had already started to speak without his eye connection, “… do now?” was all we heard.

  “Excuse me?” He says humbly.

  “I’m sorry. What is it you do now?” She utters the question again. Her eyes batting back and forth between the two of us.

  “I’m thinking about going back to the academy soon.”

  “Oh? Which one?”

  He glances at me. “Apalachicola.”

  Cough. Choke. Do something. I don’t. I meet his gaze with the glass pressed against my bottom lip, flashing my bottom teeth through the crystal. My eyes dance between the two of his.

  “Well, that’s impressive! Your generation is very lucky to choose which academy to go to. I had to go wherever they told us to.” She snickers through her frustration but we don’t look back to her; instead, we stare into each other’s faces and relive memories. Together.

  “Okay! That’s enough.” She snaps and stands with force revealing her dark soul. The back of her chair slaps the floor.

  “Ma’am?” He breaks free from my trance to gaze into her.

  “That is enough. Riley, I didn’t call you back here to swoon with my daughter. I called you back to tell you, you caused her condition and her doctor wanted us to sit down with you and break this cycle she is going through!” She looks as if she had had enough. Her hands were resting flat down on the table and her eyes wore dark circles under them. I could tell that she was done pretending to like him.

  “Mrs. Jacobs, I wasn’t trying to—I—what’s wrong with you?” He interjects himself and turns his attention back to me. He takes my hands into his own and I feel the ominous presence pulsing through his body. He seemed stale—cold. Almost as if he wasn’t here. I snatch my hand away.

  “I–” I open my mouth to speak, looking down at his pale hands.

  “She has schizophrenia!” Mom shouts.

  “MOM!” I scowl at her.

  “It was time he knew, Nora.”

  “That’s not your business to tell, mother!”

  “How did I do this to you?!” His face pales itself. I wait for him to flat line.

  I look away. “Nora! Tell me how!” He screams. “What did I do!?” His bones crackle and pop—he was breaking. Literally.

  “I–” I say, never making eye contact with him, tears begging for their release.

  “Nora, please!?”

  “YOU DIED!” Mom yells—“You died.” She whispers.

  His face grunges as he tries to cry but the dead couldn’t. He takes one last look at my mother and then at me, leaving me weak and vulnerable. He doesn’t yell or shout but whispers sweetly, “And it was all worth it—for you,” and collapses.

  My eyes widen with fear and horror. I couldn’t believe he was dead. Completely, utterly, catastrophically—dead. My head spins and the world falls from under my feet as I find myself falling to my knees beside his cold, limp body.

  I can’t breathe.

  “I—I can�
�t.” I hyperventilate—gripping my throat; not sure if I wanted to breathe or let go and die with him.

  “Breathe NORA! Breathe!” Mom rushes over and grabs me before I could mesh clean into the floor. “Breathe!” She continues to scream, but she always fails to realize that I only live for him. Without him—I am dead. I would always self-destruct with him—for him—I do it all for the love of Riley. And I wish I didn’t.

  2 the beginning

  The black quilt suppresses me down further into the bed, strapping me close to it. I feel trapped, helpless with my hands tucked by my sides. My throat blocked with air; I try talking—nothing. My fingers twitch but the pressure doesn’t lift from my chest, the quilt stays lodged into it, not letting me move, not letting me breathe. I lie there, staring up at the speckle free white ceiling wishing for the paralysis to end as a terrible rattling noise captivates my ears, thrusting me into helplessness. I try shaking my shoulders, wanting to be done with this trance. I try moving my right index finger and thumb closer to my thigh to pinch myself but my many failed attempts leave my eyes filled with tears and my mouth fixed with horror; I fear I will never overcome this.

  “Nora?” A concerned voice calls out.

  “Nora?!” This time, louder, like it’s right there beside of me.

  “H—he–” I try to speak again but my throat’s dry, my voice hoarse.

  “What?” The voice asks for clarity.

  “He—died.” I say in an almost whisper, almost hoarse voice.

  “What? Who?”

  “R—Riley.” I wince at the pain in my heart, tears still streaming down the sides of face.

  “Nora, you’re dreaming. Wake up.” She shakes my shoulders, wanting me to wake from my reverie. My eyes flicker over to my roommate who is standing next to me. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Relax.”

  I suck in air through my nose, filling my lungs. I close my eyes, relaxing my body. As the paralysis lifts from me, I wiggle my fingers and toes and sit up in my bed as she continues to sit next to me, consoling me. I gasp, wanting to pull in the air I’d lost from the compressions on my chest.

  “Are you okay?” She says, pitying me. She knew me, every part of me so that meant she knew I wasn’t fine. Her question almost rhetorical. Mairi had been there for me since the nightmares started two years ago. She knew my deepest fears. I mean, she was my best friend, so she had that right to know. I look down to notice my wrist band out of place. Panic settles in as I realize the band was no longer covering the secret I had been trying to bury since the day I could remember seeing it there. I rub the secret tattoo etched into my skin. The surrounding membrane whelps and burns with force. I slip my hard, white, wrist band on over my tattoo before Mairi could see the markings. Although everyone had them—tattoos, that is, they are still supposed to be a secret. It was a mark we were all born with; well, not the same mark, I don’t guess. Really, all I knew was that the tattoos were in different places on different people. My tattoo was a Key symbol that was long and thin, almost wrapping around my entire wrist but the thing is, it didn’t have a handle at the end; in fact, it was unfinished. It seems the Creator waited to finish my story. I guess it made sense, maybe it would become whole itself once my story is complete.

  Mom had always warned to never show my tattoo to anyone. Funny, she never explained the reasoning; only that I was special and people would take advantage of me but I was a normal girl with a mediocre life. I wasn’t the most popular or most beautiful. I stood about 5’3 with long black hair, touching the sole of my back, dark brown eyes, full pink lips and I had to weigh about 135 pounds; I wasn’t sure, it had been a while since the last time I checked. The question remains, what is so special about me?

  “Nora?” Mairi’s still concerned.

  “Yeah, yep. I’m fine. Go back to bed, Mairi.” I say, forcing a facade. She nods and mopes back over to her bed, sliding back under her black quilt. She turns facing toward the white brick wall with her back facing my direction which was better; apparently, I needed this alone time to think.

  I met her here – at the academy. Apalachicola only comprised three futuristic buildings, stretching in length towards the crisp blue sky. I admit to Mairi after months of scrutinizing the building that I didn’t come from any place that looked like this. I lived in a cabin with my mom and two sisters. In fact, my entire tribe comprised of cabins. I shroud, protecting myself from the future planted into the ground before me but couldn’t quite eclipse my forebode expression. That day, Mairi walked up in the midst of my admiration and fear of this new place, offering her hand out for us to shake. After we greeted, we stood side by side examining the beautiful architecture, admiring that the buildings hadn’t fallen down yet. They continuously lean to one side, resting in place with long glass bridges connecting the three of them together, being the support the other buildings needed. Each building shared four glass bridges. Actually, all the buildings are made of glass but also stone. “Shall we?” She said that first day of meeting, offering her hand for us to walk inside together. I would nod nervously, fearing the entire academy would collapse if I stepped foot onto the smooth, hard rock of gorgeousness but I mustered up the strength to intake her hand into mine. Since then, she has been my best friend.

  Now, it’s my second year at Apalachicola where I am considered a Judoka. I will train part-time under Master Sudan starting tomorrow. The first half of my day is already spent in login learning the attacks of my predators and how to implement my own. Trust me, it wasn’t easy getting here; I had to save every allowance bit I earned from my job at the Hardcover Hoard back in Abenaki. Since my mother worked in Niska Financing, she had connections to get that assistant librarian job for me. I sort books, check them out for other people and clean. Nothing special. That building, too, is small. Truthfully, Abenaki didn’t consist of much.

  Mom had always warned to never show my tattoo to anyone. Funny, she never explained the reasoning; only that I was special and people would take advantage of me but I was a normal girl with a mediocre life. I wasn’t the most popular or most beautiful. I stood about 5’3 with long black hair, touching the sole of my back, dark brown eyes, full pink lips and I had to weigh about 135 pounds; I wasn’t sure, it had been a while since the last time I checked. The question remains, what is so special about me?

  I rub my forehead.

  I feel myself grow weaker with each nightmare I have of Riley. No matter what steps I took, I always failed at shaking this curse. It was only mine to bear, that, I understand but why not give me new dreams to bear? They were always the same: Riley dies and I’m devastated all over again but each dream is always worse than the last; that’s the only difference. My body deflates further downward and my mind contorts itself again and again but the worse thing about it all, is that I do hate Riley because he is the reason I have to face this diagnosis alone. Both of them.

  I peek back down, under my wrist band at the tattoo that is still exasperated. It is always irritated after those kinds of dreams. I glance back at Mairi, who’s asleep by now. I watch as her body rises and depresses back down with each breath she takes in and lets out. There was something more to all of this – life , I mean, but the fact is, no one knew much about this world. Jeshyria held many secrets—untold stories I needed to find out about. I craved to know more. The only thing I know for sure is that Déjà Vu is real. I have been here before—I have lived lives before.

  I run my fingers through my hair, detangling it, looking down at my clock. It was 5:30 ante meridiem, log-ins weren’t until 8 today. I yank the wretched black quilt that asylums me from my legs, ensuing to get up from bed. I walk into the bathroom to wash my face, resting the palm of my hands against the rusty, cream sink vanity, and staring myself down in the mirror. I notice the tears in my eyes after thinking about Riley and what he had done—to us. I wipe my eyes before the tears could fall reminding me of the pain I wanted to rid myself of but the nightmares persist, forcing me to remember. I sniffle, snorting back the snot,
mashing my face inward with my hands to soothe the build-up of emotion creeping its way in. I force out incessant sighs bating to redirect my mind.

  After I fail at overlooking the horrific nightmare, I decide to go for a morning jog. I glide back into the room, slipping past Mairi to slide into a pair of grey sleek pants, tie my hair back, slip on a zip-up jacket, and to put on my given running shoes I hated so much. They help posture. Master Liam always says. I roll my eyes at his judgement before creeping out of the door so I wouldn’t wake Mairi. She shifts once as I walk past her. I peek through the cracked door at her to admire how stunning she is. Her brown shoulder-length hair gliding off the back of her neck as she moves again. She purses her perfect lips as she’s sleeping. I think of how green her eyes are, almost as green as Riley’s. She was completely perfect. I smirk at the thought of her, lower my eyes and close the door behind me.

  *****

  Pant. Pant. Pant. Breathe, Nora. With my eyes closed, I inhale through my nose, then exhale through my mouth. I let my body absorb every damp particle floating in the air. The sky still pink. I look down at the cracked tar under my feet, studying the grooves. Again, and again, I breathe in and out, getting into a position to sprint down the track once more. Breathe. Remember to breathe. I say to myself as I take off running.

  And it was all worth it for you. Riley’s voice eases its way into my brain. I’ll do it again, for you. My mind sops up memories of every consistent nightmare I have had in the past two years. I envision his smile as he’s dying in my arms. I love you, Nora. I shake my head to rid myself of the emotion pounding itself into me, breaking down the walls I had built around myself some time ago. I’m knocked backwards as the dreams hit me head on with force. I grunt at the pain as I lie there on the cold, hard tar. My elbows are caught under me, holding my head up from the strike of the ground.

  “What was that?” I look around me, snatching the wireless earbuds from my ears, to see that the track is empty. I press the palm of my hands into the ground, bracing myself to get up. The small rocks imprint themselves into my skin but I don’t acknowledge the ache of it. I stand to my feet, examining myself for scrapes and bruises. To my luck, I am not hurt.