Ten Tiny Breaths

by K. A. Tucker

  “Mom? Dad?” There’s no answer.

  It’s hard to breathe. Something squeezes my ribs. My right side feels numb. And I hear a strange gurgle. I listen closely. It sounds like someone taking their last breath.

  I bolt upright, my body drenched in sweat, my heart pounding against its confines, racing so fast I don’t know where one beat ends and the next begins. For a moment, I curl up into a tight ball and rock, trying to shake that dreaded knowledge that I had caused the accident. That it was me who distracted my dad with my smart ass remarks. That, if I hadn’t distracted him, he would have seen the car coming and could have avoided it. But I know I can’t change it now anyway. I can’t change anything.

  I’m relieved to find Trent lying next to me, his bare chest rising and falling slowly. He hasn’t abandoned me yet. The street light outside casts a pleasant glow over his body and I sit quietly and take it in, wanting to mold myself to it. I fight against the urge to touch it, to trace my fingers along its perfectly sculpted curves.

  With a sigh, I stand and walk over to my dresser on wobbly legs, wondering how long before this new life falls apart too. Before I lose Trent, and Storm, and Mia. This new life was almost dismantled tonight. Just like that. I should just walk away, I tell myself. Disappear and end all of these relationships that have been forced on me and spare everyone more heart ache. But I know that’s not possible. I’m in too deep. I’ve somehow made room for all of them in my life and my heart. That or they’ve made room for me in theirs. Either way, with each passing day, I won't survive the void that will be left when they’re gone.

  With my back to Trent’s sleeping form, I let my soaked dress drop to the floor. I unsnap my bra and toss it alongside the dress. My panties follow next. Removing a tank top and shorts from my top drawer, I’m considering hopping in the shower to cool off when a soft voice says, “You have the prettiest red hair.”

  I freeze, my cheeks flaming, acutely aware that I am standing completely naked in front of a guy that can make me climax with the right look. I hear the bed creak and footsteps approach slowly, but I don’t move. Trent edges up behind me and the air in the room grows thicker. I can’t turn around. I can’t face him and I don’t know why.

  I can feel his very existence as if it’s wrapping its hand around my soul, cradling it, trying to protect it from harm and I’m terrified. Terrified because I don’t ever want the feeling to end.

  Every nerve in my body short-circuits. I stiffen as his hand grazes my shoulder before shifting my hair over to one side, exposing one side of my neck as he likes to do. A cool breeze tickles there as he leans down close.

  “You’re so very beautiful. All of you.”

  He yanks my PJs out of my grasp and lets them drop to the ground as he takes my hand in his. His mouth trails off to my right shoulder and he begins to sweep across my scar line with tiny kisses, sending shivers everywhere. Pushing my arm up so my hand rests on my head, I sense him shifting his body. Down, down, he continues, his mouth moving gently along my rib cage, over my hip, all the way to my outer thigh, kissing each line marking my tragic past. The entire time, my left hand holds his while my other one rests on my head. And my body trembles with anticipation.

  Trent’s hands move to grip the outsides of my thighs securely as he lays a final kiss on my tail bone and I wobble slightly from weakened knees. I sense him standing behind me again, his hands skating back up and around to my belly, pulling my body firmly against him, letting me feel him hard against my back.

  My head falls back against his chest with a mixture of excitement and frustration—excited that Trent is allowing me close to him again after weeks of keeping me away, frustrated that this will end all too abruptly.

  But he shows no signs of ending this now as his hands continue up to slip over the contours of my breasts, cupping their fullness. I hear the sharp intake of air in his lungs. Slowly, he turns me around and pins my arms behind my back.

  I don’t know why, but I can’t bring myself to look at him, so I stare at the tiny scar line along his collar bone instead, and feel his chest rise and fall against mine, my nipples hardening as they graze against his skin. My breath comes out in short pants as he leans down and whispers, “Look at me, Kacey.”

  I do. I look up and let myself sink into those blue eyes, so full of worry and pain and desire.

  “I’ll make you whole again, Kacey. I promise you, I will,” he whispers. And then his mouth covers mine.

  I’m faintly aware of the wall now flattening against my back, of his boxers dropping to the ground, of strong arms lifting me up, of my legs wrapping around his hips, of feeling him against me.

  Pushing inside me.

  Making me whole.

  ***

  It’s still dark outside when I wake again. This time my head rests on Trent’s chest, my body entwined with his. His fingers doodling over my back tells me he’s awake. It’s not a nightmare that’s woken me up this time. It’s Storm and Dan’s raised voices through the wall.

  “He could have killed you, Nora,” Dan yells. “Forget the money. You don’t need the money.”

  Storm’s voice isn’t nearly as loud or booming, but I manage to hear it all the same.

  “You think I spent all those years training with a place like Penny’s as my goal? I screwed up, Dan. I made bad choices and I have to live with them. For now. For Mia.”

  “Mia is who I’m thinking about. What if that guy killed you tonight? Who would take care of her? Her father? From prison?” There’s a quiet moment and then Dan starts yelling again. “I don’t know if I can do this, Nora. I can’t be afraid you’re going to die every time you go to work.”

  I snort. “Look who’s talking,” I mutter to myself, but then I bite my tongue. This is between them.

  “Well, I’m not making decisions based on what some man wants because when you’re gone and I’m still here, I have to live with the outcome.” I hear her voice crack at the end and I know she’s crying. The yelling dies down and I’m glad. I don’t want to hear Dan and Storm break up.

  “Can I ask you something without you getting angry, Kacey?” Trent asks into the darkness.

  “Uh huh,” I agree without thinking.

  “What do you know about the driver who hit your car?”

  My body instantly tenses. “He was drunk.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing.”

  “Nothing at all? No name, face, anything?”

  I pause, deciding if I want to answer. “Name. That’s it.”

  “Do you remember it?”

  I inhale sharply. I’ll never forget. “Sasha Daniels.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He died.”

  There’s a long pause as Trent continues drawing swirls on my back and I start to believe the conversation is over. Stupid girl. “Was he alone?”

  I hesitate but decide to answer. “He had two friends. Derek Maynard and Cole Reynolds. Derek and Sasha weren’t wearing seat belts. They were both thrown from their vehicle.”

  My head rises and lowers with Trent’s deep breath. “Has the survivor—this Cole guy—made contact with you?”

  I close my eyes and enjoy the warmth of Trent’s chest, fighting the dread as he drags me back into the deep, dark place. “His family tried. I filed restraining orders and told the police that if any of them so much as approach me or Livie, I’d kill them all.” At the time, I was bound to a bed and unable to move, let alone murder. Still, the cops came through with passing the message along.

  Now though, now I know I’m capable of anything.

  Of murder.

  Trent’s fingers stop drawing on my back and he hugs me protectively. “I’m going to suggest something, Kacey. Please don’t get mad.”

  I don’t answer. I just listen to his heartbeat. I let it consume me. I feel it with every fiber of my body.

  “I think you should meet this Cole guy. Maybe there’d be some sort of closure. You two are the only survivors of
a horrific accident. You have something in common.”

  Now I sit up. I sit up and stare at Trent. I stare at him like he’s grown five heads and set three of them on fire and the other two are eating the flaming heads. Pacing my racing heart and calming myself, I speak.

  “I will say this once and never again.” My voice is even. I don’t yell, I don’t cry, I don’t shake. “I do not want to see, or talk to, or know Cole Reynolds.” The name twists my mouth with distain. “It was his car that plowed into ours. He handed his keys to his friend who then shattered my life to smithereens. I hope wherever he is, he is suffering. I hope everyone he loves has abandoned him. I hope he doesn’t have a dime and has to eat cat food and maggots. I hope he goes to sleep every night and wakes up reliving that terrible night. Reliving what he did to me. To Livie.” I let out a vacuous sigh and lie back down on Trent’s chest as if unloading that sheer magnitude of hatred is somehow liberating. “And then I hope his balls catch on fire.” My voice is cold and hard. I don’t bother to conceal the hatred of my words. I unleash full-heartedly. I revel in it. Hatred good. Forgiveness bad.

  Silence takes over as Trent’s arms tighten around me, his chin resting on the top of my head. I feel a new tension in him and I’m not surprised. I stare at the wall and wonder just how screwed up Cole Reynolds’ life really is. I wonder if he’s resorted to working in a strip club to give his sister the life she deserves. I wonder if he had to abandon his dreams of college. I wonder if he winces in pain with every rain fall because his body is held together with metal.

  But most of all, I wonder what Trent thinks of his pretty little fucked up redhead now.

  ***

  I wake up to an empty room and a note on my pillow. Five words.

  Had to go. I’m sorry.

  I assume Trent has a new work contract. Still, I’m disappointed. I could use another dose of his body if he’s willing to administer. I roll out of bed and stretch, the horror of last night at Penny’s pushed aside in favor of my memories of a night with Trent. It’s been so long since I felt that. Scratch that. I never felt that. Sex was never like that with Billy. I cared deeply about him, but we were young and inexperienced. Trent’s not inexperienced. Trent knows exactly what he’s doing and he does it very well. And, something’s just different with Trent. He’s like ripe watermelon after a lifetime of thirst. He’s like air after years under water.

  He’s like life.

  Stage Six~ Withdrawal

  Chapter Fourteen

  I walk into Storm’s apartment to find Mia waiting expectantly like a wide-mouth bass while Dan, in striped boxers no less, tosses Cheerios into her mouth. I guess Storm and Dan made up. Relief swells inside me. I like seeing Storm with him.

  He stops the game to take me in with a worried look. “How are you feeling today?”

  “Good.” I smile as I pop a Cheerio into my mouth. Dan doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know how skilled I am at entombing horrid memories. I’m a master. In only hours, it’s all but forgotten and, as long as no one brings it up, it will stay that way. I walk over to Storm, who’s mixing batter in a big glass bowl. “Pancakes?” She holds up a ladle.

  I nod, patting my stomach. “Did you see Livie this morning?”

  Storm nods. “She left for school not long ago.” She drops a spoonful of pancake mix onto the griddle and the kitchen fills with the sizzling sound. She fixes me with the same worried look that Dan just gave me. “How are you feeling, really?”

  “I’m … good. I’m better.”

  “You sure? Dan knows a guy you can talk to if it’ll help.”

  I shake my head. “I’m good. Seeing you here, alive and well, and serving me pancakes is all I need.” I rub her back with one hand as I grab a plate of food with the other. Yup, this is exactly what I need. Storm and Mia, and Livie and Trent. Even Dan. This all I need right now.

  ***

  Me: I have the night off. You coming over?

  I wait and wait but I get no text response from Trent. Impatient, I walk over to his apartment and knock. No answer. His place is pitch black. Then I wander out to the commons on a fake mission to inspect the hibachi. Really, I want to see if Trent’s bike is there. It is. I go and knock on his door again and wait. Still no response.

  Cain won’t let either of us work that night. In fact, he’s forced Storm to take an entire week with danger pay. I’ll bet Dan is happy about that. By the light bounce in Storm’s step, I think she’s okay with it too. I would be happy too. If Trent was here.

  I don’t hear from Trent the next day.

  Or the next.

  No text. No call. It’s like he’s dropped off the face of the Earth.

  I go back to Penny’s on the third night with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. The music’s dull, the lights are blinding, the customers’ annoying. It’s not the same without Trent and Storm there and I’m miserable. I can’t even force a smile while concentrating. I know Storm will be back in a few days. Trent though, I feel his absence like a knife in the center of my back. It’s painful, I can’t reach it to pull it out, and I’m sure it will be my demise if it stays as is.

  Trent being gone eats at me all week. It makes me grouchy and snappy and generally unpleasant to be around. I’m well aware of it, and I don’t care. It makes me start fights with Livie on my one night off over what to watch on television. It makes her start to cry and call me a bitch. Livie never does that. It makes me lurk through the commons every night, casting furtive glances at 1D. The end result is the same. Darkness. Where ever he went, Trent’s not back.

  What if he’s never coming back?

  ***

  Day Five.

  I scream in horror as I watch my parents’ Audi sink into the river, my eyes locked on the person trapped behind the wheel.

  Trent.

  I’m a sweaty tangled mess in my sheets when I come to, gasping. It was just a dream! Oh, Thank God! It takes me a good fifteen minutes to shake the image scalding my mind. Only now I can’t shake the idea. What if Trent did get into an accident? No one would call me. I’m nobody. I haven’t had a chance to be anybody yet.

  I harass Storm to give me Dan’s number. Then I harass him to check the police reports of a ‘Trent Emerson’ in an accident. He tells me he can’t abuse his position like that. I snap and slam my phone against the counter. Then I call him back and apologize, and he concedes to bring his laptop so I can search the news, the obits. Anything.

  It’s well into the night before I accept that Trent is probably alive and well. He’s just not with me.

  ***

  Day Nine.

  Wandering past Trent’s apartment door on my way to the gym, I freeze. I’m sure I just caught a whiff of something funky.

  Ohmigod.

  Trent’s dead.

  I run to Tanner’s door and hammer on it until it flies open. Tanner’s standing there with his standard Batman pajama pants and deer-caught-in-the-headlight eyes. “Come on!” I grab his arm and yank him out. “You need to open 1D right now!”

  Tanner uses his weight to resist me. “Wait a minute. I can’t just open—”

  “I think Trent’s dead!” I shriek.

  That gets him moving. I wait behind him with itchy feet as he fumbles with his giant key ring, his hands shaking. He’s bothered by this. Of course he is.

  When he opens the door, I shove past him, not even considering what I’m rushing in to see. It’s dim and tidy inside. Sparse, even. I wouldn’t know someone lived there had it not been for a laptop sitting on the desk, Trent’s navy sweater hanging over the back of the couch, and the smell of his cologne lingering in the air.

  Tanner moves past me, and does a quick sweep of the bedrooms and bathroom. He even opens the closet door. When he comes back to face me, it’s with a glower. “Why exactly did you tell me Trent was dead?”

  I swallow, averting my gaze. “Oops.”

  “Okay, get out of here.” He ushers me toward the door none to gently with a hand on my shoulde
r. I hear him as he lumbers away, grumbling something about drugs and hormones.

  ***

  Day Thirteen.

  Kick. Punch. Spin. Kick.

  The bag takes my punishment without complaint. I slam and pound against it, all my anger and anxiety coming to a head. Trent has another life. That has to be it. A tanned, blonde, unbroken woman. They probably have two perfect little kids together who say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and haven’t learned to swear like sailors because of their mother’s incessant profanity. He must have run away to Miami and had a quarter-life crisis affair. I am nothing but someone’s quarter-life crisis and I fell for it like a mindless sap.

  Kick Pivot. Spin. Kick.

  This feels good.

  I feel like I’m gaining control again.

  Later, at Storm’s house, I sit on the couch and watch an episode of Sponge Bob with Mia. Lying next to me on the cushion is a dark-haired Ken doll. It kind of reminds me of Trent. I give serious consideration to stealing it, painting ‘Trent’ over its chest, and taking a lighter to where its man parts should be.

  ***

  Day Seventeen.

  “Was he real?” I mumble, staring at the phone in my hand. I didn’t buy this for myself, did I?

  “What?” Livie asks, looking up at me in surprise.

  “Trent, was he real? I mean, I could understand if he wasn’t real. Who could be that beautiful and sweet and perfect and want someone as fucked up as me?”

  There’s a long pause and when I look over at Livie, she’s staring at me like I swallowed a bag of broken glass. I can tell she’s worried about me. Storm’s worried about me too. I think even Nate is worried.

  ***

  Day Twenty.

  Kick. Punch. Punch. Kick.

  I’m raging against the bag.

  Trent used me. To what sick end, I can’t decide. He obviously has a twisted fetish. He found a damaged woman and targeted her weakness with his dimples and his charm. He broke through my shell, wormed his way in to melt the ice over my heart. Then he abandoned me after uncovering just how fucked up I really am. But not before getting laid, of course.