Barely Breathing (Breathing 2)

“Do you want to leave?” he asked, standing up and sliding his arms into his sweater before pulling it over his head.

“No offense, I’m sure it a great party, but…”

“I get it,” he concluded. “I’ll drive you.”

“You can’t leave your own party,” I rebuffed.

“They haven’t missed me yet,” he smiled sardonically. “I haven’t had more than one beer, and I can’t say that for just about anyone else at this party besides you. Still don’t drink, right?”

I shook my head.

“Then let me drive you home.”

I took a breath to give me a moment to decide. “Fine.”

I followed Drew to the house so he could grab his keys. We shuffled through the crowd that had grown to raging proportions during our absence.

“Where’ve you been?” a girl with long, flowing blond hair and a fitted strapless top asked Drew as we neared the stairs.

“I’ve been here,” he responded without really looking at her. “I’ll be back.” We passed by, and I avoided the daggers that followed me up the steps.

A man dressed all in black stood at the top of the stairs. He looked like he was about to stop us when he recognized Drew. “Good evening, Mr. Carson.”

“Hi, Frank,” Drew greeted. “Anyone giving you a hard time?”

“No one I can’t handle,” the muscular figure responded. I noticed an ear piece in his ear, and he squeezed a small mic on his collar to talk, conversing with someone.

“You take partying to a whole other level,” I observed, continuing down the long, wide hallway.

“I know what can happen when it goes wrong,” Drew responded, stopping at a door. I remained still when he opened it. “You can come in if you want.”

“No,” I answered quickly. “I’ll wait in the hall.”

Drew smirked and entered his bedroom. He re-emerged a few minutes later with a jacket on and keys in his hand. We retreated down another staircase at the far end of the hall, with another man dressed in black posted at the top.

“I’ll be back in a while,” Drew told the guard.

“Don’t worry. Everything’s under control,” he promised in return.

The stairs led to a hallway near a side entrance, away from the crowd. We disappeared without anyone noticing. His SUV was parked on the side of the house, making for an easy escape.

“Thanks for driving me,” I said, securing the seatbelt.

“No problem,” he responded, starting the vehicle.

We were quiet most of the ride. I was afraid to say anything, not wanting to evoke a conversation I wasn’t prepared to have. As we continued, I looked around in a sudden panic.

“Where are we going?” I demanded in a rush.

“To your… oh shit.”

My heart was beating so fast, I couldn’t catch my breath. Drew opened his mouth in aggrieved apology. He pulled the SUV into the parking lot of the closed coffee shop.

I closed my eyes, trying to pull some semblance of composure together.

“I can’t believe I did that,” Drew said lowly, pulling away and putting distance between me and the house. “Where do you live now?”

I gave Drew directions to my mother’s house on Decatur Street, finding it easier to breathe the farther away we drove.

Drew pulled in the driveway behind Jonathan’s truck. He put the SUV in park and turned toward me.

“It was good to see you,” he said.

“Yeah,” I returned, unbuckling the belt.

“Hey,” he said, stopping me from reaching for the handle. “I wish I had known.” I faced him, letting him continue but knowing I shouldn't. “You know, about what you were going through,” he explained softly.

A twinge of nerves spiked through me. I closed off, determined not to let his words in.

“I know I was a dick at times, but I really did care about you.”

Those words snuck in unexpectedly, and I felt a warmth rush through me. “I know.”

“I tried to visit you,” he shared, “when you were in the hospital. But the police wouldn’t let me in. I really am sorry, Emma?for everything.”

I smiled slightly. “Thanks, Drew. No one knew, so it wasn’t just you.”

“Do you think I could call you sometime?” he asked slowly. “You know, to keep in touch?”

“It was good to see you too, Drew,” I said, without answering. “Thanks again for the ride.” I opened the door and got out. He waited in the driveway until I opened the door. I didn’t look back, shutting it behind me.

16. Ready?

I pulled the ear buds from my ears and set the magazine next to me on the bed when I heard the knock on my door.

"Hi," my mother smiled easing the door open. "Can I come in?"

"Sure," I encouraged, not sure why she was acting so nervous. Then I noticed the frame in her hand.

"I wanted you to have this," she said, propping the frame on the top of my bureau, next to Leyla and Jack's framed Christmas card. I slid off the bed to get a better look. "I figured you should have it, since it's the only one that escaped my clumsiness."

It was a picture of my father balancing me on his shoulder, smiling proudly. I was laughing, wearing a soccer uniform and holding up a trophy. My mouth turned up at the sight of it.

"Thank you."

"He loved watching you play soccer," she recalled. I examined the picture, but couldn't place the moment. I appeared to be around five or six. Perhaps I was too young to remember. "You understand why I don't have pictures of him out, right?" she asked tentatively. I nodded. "Well, it doesn't mean you can't."

I wasn't sure what to say. It was obvious it had taken a lot for her to share this with me. And I wanted to tell her how much it meant to me. I probably should have hugged her. But we just stood there awkwardly, having difficulty even meeting each other’s eyes, forget about touching.

"So how was the party?" she finally asked, breaking up the emotional tension.

"It was a party," I sighed indifferently.

"Did anyone say anything about the sweater?" she pushed.

"Oh no!" I exclaimed, shaking my head.

"What?" she questioned in alarm.

"I forgot my sweater," I explained, upset with myself. "I can't believe I forgot it."

"Can't you just go there and get it?" she asked, not understanding my dilemma.

"Well... it was at my ex-boyfriend's house, so I'm not so sure that would be a great idea," I groaned.

"Ex-boyfriend's?" my mother mused with raised eyebrows. "Does Evan know you went?"

I pressed my lips together guiltily. "No. And I'm not looking forward to telling him."

"Good luck with that," she scoffed lightly with a shake of her head.

"Oh, thanks," I shot back, my stomach twisting at the thought of having to tell Evan I went to Drew's and that he drove me home. "That makes me feel better."

"Sorry," she chuckled.

"Ready?" Jonathan hollered from the hallway.

"For what?" my mother questioned in confusion, just as red and purple squirt guns thumped on my bed.

Jonathan appeared in the doorway, armed with a blue one. "For this," he smiled wickedly and released a stream of water.

I ducked toward the bed when he shot at us again. My mother yelped in laughter.

"Oh, you are so going to get it," she squealed, snatching the red gun and chasing after him down the stairs, spraying the entire way.

I grabbed the other gun and pursued them, losing sight of Jonathan as my mother ran into the kitchen for cover. I led with the gun, pointing it into the living room, but he wasn't there.

I turned and crept back toward the foyer. My mother stuck her head out and nodded toward the dark hallway that led to the basement door. Before I could react, Jonathan emerged from the shadows and grabbed me by the arm, pulling me in front of him just as my mother popped out of the kitchen, aimed to squirt.

Jonathan pressed his arm across me, taunting my mother to shoot.

"You're using me as a shield?" I accused, as he waved the gun, flashing it between my mother and me?ready to squirt whoever made a move first.

"She's not going to shoot you," he explained, steering me further out into the foyer as my mother attempted to circle around to get a clear shot.

"Sorry, honey," my mother said, aiming the gun at my head.

"Mom?" My eyes spread wide in disbelief. Then I noticed her eyes flip toward the floor, and in that second, I dropped out of Jonathan's arm and onto the floor while she squirted him. I spun around and began streaming water at him as well.

Jonathan held up his hand to protect himself while he shot back at us. None of us attempted to retreat, allowing the water to fall on us as we laughed, until there wasn't anything left in our guns.

"Time to refill," Jonathan proclaimed with his hands raised in surrender.

My mother took my gun as I sat on the stairs, wiping the water from my face, still smiling.

"Okay, we get a head start," my mother instructed a few minutes later, handing back the filled water guns. "Jonathan, you have to stay in the kitchen for twenty seconds before you can come out. Ready, Emily?"

I nodded. Jonathan eyed us suspiciously before retreating to the kitchen.

"Quick," she whispered, "up the stairs."

I scampered up the stairs with her right behind me. Ducking into the bathroom, I hid behind the door, as she lay on the floor of the hallway, ready to ambush him when he came up the stairs.

"Ready?" she asked, glancing back at me. I thought I heard a knock at the door, but I couldn't be sure from where I was.

"Wait, you can't go outside," my mother hollered when the door squeaked open. She popped up and started shooting in that direction before she was even on her feet. I stepped out of the bathroom to follow her. But she'd stopped. She stood frozen at the top of the stairs with her hand covering her mouth.

"I am so sorry," she gasped. I followed her horrified gaze to find Evan at the bottom of the stairs with water running down his forehead and over his nose, stunned and confused.

I opened my mouth in shock and then burst out laughing.

"What did you do?" Jonathan asked from beside the door. "That's not the best way to greet someone."

"Evan, I thought you were Jonathan trying to escape," my mother offered in a rush, her face bright red. I shook my head, still laughing as I went down the stairs.

Evan wiped the water from his face with the sleeve of his jacket. "It's okay. It's only water." He eyed me and with his amused grin. "You're laughing? You think this is funny, right?" I recognized that look.

Before I could turn back up the stairs to get away, he had his arms wrapped around my waist and I was off the ground.

"Oh no, Evan. Don't," I begged. I had no idea what he planned to do, but I knew I was in for it. Jonathan appeared entertained, but my mother scrambled after us.

"What are you going to do?" she asked, watching as he wrestled me into the kitchen.