Barely Breathing (Breathing 2)

“Hey,” he beckoned lowly before I could enter my room. I turned to face him. “How are you?” That one question, combined with the anticipatory look in his eyes, confirmed I hadn’t imagined anything.

“Confused,” I answered honestly, opening my door.

“I don’t think she remembers,” he explained. “I kinda screwed up last night, so she took it out on you. My fault, and I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, the confusion still looming.

“I mentioned that I hadn’t slept at my place in a while, and that I should probably stay there a few nights this week.” He hesitated before admitting, “It wasn’t the best thing to say on Valentine’s Day.”

I pressed my lips together and shook my head. “She thought you were breaking up with her, didn’t she?”

Jonathan sighed and nodded. “We talked it over this morning, and she understands. So I won’t be over much this week. I just need to… breathe a little I guess.”

His choice of words alarmed me. I suddenly understood my mother’s distress. “Wait. Are you breaking up with her?”

“No,” he shook his head adamantly. “She and I are having a lot of fun together, honestly.” He was about to say something else when my mother interrupted from the kitchen, “Did you find them?”

Jonathan looked at me and then down to the kitchen. “I found them,” he lied, not making a move for her door. Then he returned to me and quickly said, “I just wanted to explain if you didn’t see me around for a bit. I’m still here; I just need to back off a little.” Then he went down the stairs and into the living room.

I backed into my bedroom when my mother came into sight carrying a sealed glass container of salsa. I realized he’d never intended to get anything from her room; he just wanted to check in on me, to explain things. He hadn’t explained much, in all honesty. I knew that he hadn’t told my mother half of what he'd just told me, or else she wouldn’t have been smiling that way.

Someone had left a red heart shaped box filled with chocolates on my bed. There was heart drawn on top in marker with an “R” scrawled underneath. I held the box in my hand and stared at it. I didn’t want to be the person who made things harder for her.

I lay on my bed with my hand on the heart, considering if my being there was what was best for her. How was I supposed to decide that? She sounded so hurt last night, convinced that I didn't want her. The irony was that I'd been afraid she was going to say the same thing to me.

I eventually fell asleep on top of my covers. The house was dark when I woke a couple hours later, but it wasn’t exactly quiet. This house never rested. I turned on music to mask the house’s distress, so I wouldn’t jump at every little noise.

I was searching for a shirt to wear, when a loud bang suddenly drew my attention. I shut off the music, remaining perfectly still and holding my breath, convinced I’d heard a cabinet slam shut in the kitchen.

I crept to my door. The hinges creaked as I slowly opened it. I listened intently and jumped when the radiator rattled on. I took a breath and rolled my eyes at my overreaction, turning the music back on.

I gathered a pair of sweats and a long sleeved shirt in preparation for a shower, so I could feel a part of the human race once again and rid my hair of the chlorine smell. I had texts waiting for me from Sara and Evan when I emerged, clean and revived.

I kept each light on as I walked through the house, making my way to the kitchen to microwave a frozen macaroni and cheese dinner. I poured a glass of milk and brought the plastic tray into the living room. I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel comfortable being alone, at least not in this house.

I got sucked into a pathetic reality television show with explosive drama and so many words bleeped, the sentences didn’t even make sense. After wasting an hour of my life, I found a black and white movie I’d seen enough times to know just about every other line.

“Emma, you should go up to bed,” the voice whispered. “Emma.”

“Yeah?” I answered, not sure if I was talking in my dream.

“It’s late,” the voice responded.

I pulled the cover up under my chin, slowly realizing I wasn’t in my bed. I pushed my eyes open to find the television playing highlights of a basketball game. I blinked heavily, waking in the dark with the lights extinguished except for the television.

“Sorry to wake you,” Jonathan said from his seat across from me. “But I figured you’d be more comfortable in your bed.”

“What time is it?” I asked, trying to focus on the glowing clock of the cable box.

“After two,” he answered.

I pushed up to sit, slowly coming to the surface

“You should go up to bed,” Jonathan encouraged again.

I took a breath, “Okay.” But I didn’t move. My brain started functioning, and I looked at him quizzically. “What are you doing up?”

“Needed to step away from a dream,” he answered vaguely, but with words I could understand.

Then it struck me. “Wait, I thought you weren’t staying over this week.”

“I’m not,” he confirmed, then corrected with, “I wasn’t supposed to. I had to drive her home; then she asked me not to leave her. I just…” He pressed his lips together, not finding the words to support his decision.

“You know she’s always going to ask you to stay."

“And that’s the reason I shouldn’t.”

I was confused by what he said, and slightly alarmed. But I let him decide if he was going to explain what he meant, and he eventually said more than I expected to hear. “I sent out applications to graduate schools, and the closest one is in DC.”

“Oh,” I breathed, starting to understand, and not liking where this was headed.

“I like being with her. She’s a lot of fun, and has the craziest perspective on the world. She doesn’t ask questions about me or where I came from; she only cares about who I am now and just wants to be with me.”

“And that’s good, right?’ I asked, suddenly curious why keeping his past hidden was important to him. But then again, I was the last person to want to talk about mine.

“Yes, not talking about my past is a relief, honestly,” Jonathan replied. “But, I don’t want her to need me like she does. I just want…” He searched for the right words. “I don’t want any pressure.”

“She’s always needed someone,” I blurted. I hadn't planned to say it, but as soon as I did, I knew it was true. I looked up at him, my honesty shrouding me with guilt. “I didn’t mean it like it sounded…”

“You’re probably right,” he interrupted. “I’m not sure it’s me she needs, exactly.”

I started pulling at a thread on the blanket.

“I shouldn’t really be talking about my relationship with you anyway,” he suddenly said. “Sorry, I’m sure it’s weird.”

“A little.” But my conclusion started to make sense, looking back over the years. She’d never been without a man in her life, even for short spurts of time. I’d always believed it was her desperate way of replacing my father.

I looked over at Jonathan and wondered what she’d seen in him that reminded her of my father. Maybe it was his smile. When it spread across his face, the edges of his eyes would crinkle into a smile too. My lips curled up just thinking about it.

“What?” he asked, catching me in my memories.

“Nothing,” I recovered, adjusting the blanket uncomfortably. “I was just thinking. I can understand why she'd want you to stay.”

“Then does that make me a horrible person for needing some space?”

“No,” I answered. “I’m just not sure how she’ll do with the space. She really likes you.”

“I like her too," he admitted with a sigh. "But, you’ll be here with her."

I let out a short laugh, “It's not the same.”

Jonathan grinned, his eyes locked with mine. My smile faltered for a moment when I couldn't look away.

“I guess I should go to bed,” I blinked, pulling the blanket off of me. Before I got to the stairs, I turned to him and said, "Jonathan?"

"Yes, Emma."

"Please don't hurt her," I asked, my voice soft and edged with emotion. "I don't want to see her hurt again."

He paused for a moment, scanning my face thoughtfully. "I don't want to hurt her either." He offered a consoling smile before I turned away and walked up the stairs, not sure if he'd promised what I asked?fearful that he hadn't.

14. Under the Surface

Jonathan wasn’t in the house in the morning. Neither was my mother, who was once again fulfilling her obligations as executive assistant at the engineering firm. We didn’t see Jonathan for the rest of the week either, and she appeared to be adjusting to the separation.

I tried to keep her busy. I even suggested a cooking lesson one night, but after the smoke detectors went off and we had to open every window in the house for ventilation, we opted to eat out. She worked late a couple of nights, coming home after I'd eaten and joining me on the couch to watch television.

"I hope he doesn't leave me," she uttered one night with a glass of wine in her hand. She had kicked off work shoes under the coffee table, and her blouse was untucked from her skirt. She was staring at the TV, but her thoughts were obviously with him.

"He cares about you." I tried to sound encouraging, but it fell flat.

“When’s Evan get back?” she asked, changing the subject. Her gaze readjusted to the present, and she looked over at me with bright eyes.

“Sunday,” I answered slowly, not prepared for the "on" switch to her personality.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to take off to wherever you wanted, just because you wanted to?” She said this with an equal measure of envy and possibility. “We should have him over for dinner soon.”

“Uh, okay.”

"I'm going to bed," she announced. I watched her climb the stairs and hoped that whatever Jonathan was doing, it wouldn't leave her devastated in the end. I didn't think I could handle watching her heart break.

~~~~~

I met up with Jill and Casey the next afternoon; we ended up going to a movie that night. After a half day of incessant giggling, combined with soda and jujubes, my teeth hurt from all the sugar. I could only take the two of them in small doses, and I’d OD’d today.

I had barely taken off my jacket when my phone rang. I pulled it from my pocket to see Rachel lit on the screen.

“Hi,” I answered.

“Is this Emily?” a deep voice asked. Not answering, I looked at the phone again to make sure I’d read it correctly. It had my mother’s phone number as the caller. I put the phone back to my ear, my stomach clenched.

“Hello?” he bellowed over the voices and music clashing in the background.

“Yes,” I replied, my heart picking up its pace. “This is Emily.”