Breathe for Me Read online

  Samantha, still quiet, takes my hand, pushes the sleeve up and glove down to bare my wrist. The question is in her eyes.

  I swallow, nod.

  She licks her lips, then touches the tip of her index finger to my skin. Flinching, she pulls away, her shocked gaze slamming into mine. “It’s true,” she whispers as she shakes her head in disbelief. “I don’t understand this at all, but it’s true.”

  I get up, grab an ice cube and paper towel from the kitchen and hand them to her so she can care for her finger before it gets too painful. Shyness sweeps over me; I keep my eyes fixed on the ground and slip into my chair again to maintain a healthy distance between us. She needs time to process.

  Several long minutes pass in silence. I stare at the tops of my shoes, at the wood grain on the floor. The lines on my hands. Anywhere but at her.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she finally asks.

  I make myself look up into her disappointed eyes. “It’s a ridiculous story. I didn’t think you would believe.” I pause. “And then, after Dominic’s grandfather died, I was afraid of putting you at risk. I was scared.”

  “So—” she clears her throat, “—so why are you telling me now?”

  Carefully I weigh my words. “Because my time is almost up, and I’m out of options. I’m going to be… I’m not going to be here for much longer.” I danced around the subject of my suicide during my confession, not wanting to freak her out on top of everything else. That’s still being ironed out anyway, and those private words will be shared with her in a letter. Later.

  Samantha stands. “No, this can’t be it. I won’t accept it.” She paces across the room, back and forth. “We’ll cut school tomorrow and go to the library. I think it opens at nine. We’ll look up demon curses and—”

  “I’ve already done that,” I say sadly. I stand up and grab her hands. “I need you to understand something. I’ve spent the last almost six months here doing research, desperate to break this curse. I—” My voice breaks, and I speak past the knot in my throat. “I love this city. I love you. I don’t want to leave. But I didn’t find anything to help. And I’m not giving him Dominic.”

  “No, of course not.” Tears flood her eyes, stream down her cheeks, leaving a shadowed trail of mascara. “But what am I going to do without you? I can’t just let you leave me, not now. Not when you finally told me the truth.”

  My heart aches, and I gingerly wrap my arms around her in a hug. We remain that way for a long time, quiet, giving each other our sorrows and strengths.

  With a sniffle, Samantha pulls away, then wipes her face, which streaks makeup everywhere. I chuckle, pointing her toward the mirror.

  She gives a choked laugh and cleans her face up. “I’m a mess. Good thing Rick can’t see me right now.”

  “Um, I should also say that it’s important he not know,” I tell her. “Please. Don’t tell him any of this. Don’t tell anyone.”

  Turning back to me, she puts her hand over her heart, sincerity pouring through her eyes, her voice. “I promise. It’ll go with me to the grave.”

  The words tiptoe a chill across my skin, and I shove it aside. I need to focus on the here and now. “Thank you.”

  “And I don’t care what you say,” Samantha says, jutting out her jaw and crossing her arms. “We still have time. We’re going to figure this out and beat Sitri at his own game. You’re not leaving New Orleans.”

  My sweet friend—so much bravado, so much strength, even in the face of certain failure. I hug her again, glad I let down my guard and told her the truth.

  chapter eighteen

  SAMANTHA CALLS HER MOM and asks if she can stay for a few more hours at my place, claiming there’s a big test tomorrow that we need to cram for. In reality, we spend the rest of the day finishing my goal of decorating the apartment. We both know it’s a hopeless cause and there’s no way to get out of the curse, but we shove the darkness from our midst and spend time taking more photos of each other in crazy poses, making goofy faces.

  Then we head over to a local drug store and get the digital pictures developed in their 1-hour booth. While we wait we scour the store for supplies, filling up three baskets with food, caffeine, painting gear and a chick flick we haven’t seen yet but is on sale.

  “This is a great plan,” Samantha says as the cashier rings us out. “I’m glad we’re doing this.”

  I nod, casting a surreptitious glance at my phone. No messages. No calls.

  My heart lurches, but I paste on a brave face. This isn’t the time to cry over Dominic. Obviously he’s still angry with me.

  Tonight, when I’m alone, I’ll figure out how to handle things with him. But right now my best friend needs me, and I desperately need her.

  After snagging our photos from the surly employee who looks more interested in staring at Samantha’s breasts than giving us service with a smile, we head back to the apartment. Samantha pops in the movie. As the opening credits queue up, I open the tubs of acrylic paint and hand her a brush.

  “Anything you want,” I remind her. “Just put something of yourself in there. And don’t forget to sign it.”

  We decided that not only does my apartment need photos, it needs decoration. A personal touch. Therefore, we’re going to paint murals in the living room. It gives Samantha a chance to flex her creative muscles and gives me a chance to absorb myself in something other than my own foreboding pain.

  I grab a light-blue container first and dip the brush into the thick color, pausing. Then I just let myself paint abstract shapes, swirls, circles. Whatever comes to mind, uncensored, unedited.

  As we paint, the movie plays in the background, its familiar tropes a comfort to me. Boy and girl meet, fall in love, have big misunderstanding, then come together at the end for a happily ever after. If only life were really that simple. We laugh at the appropriate parts, and after a couple of hours we’re covered in paint, as are the walls.

  “I’m done,” I proclaim, stepping back to look at my art. Not the most amazing thing, but I’ve never given myself permission to be free before. It’s a good start. A very good start. Bold, cool-toned colors fill a decent portion of the wall behind the couch, a splash of life and vibrancy that makes the room look different. Definitely better.

  “That looks great!” Samantha enthuses. “Now, give me just another sec…” A long pause. “Okay, I’m done. You can look now.”

  I turn toward Samantha’s image on the opposite wall—she made me promise not to until she was done. My breath catches in my throat, and I press a hand to my mouth, holding back a startled, choked cry.

  It’s me. She painted a close-up of my face. Shadows haunt my eyes, and a deep sadness pours from me. And yet, there’s a small smile creasing my mouth. A hint of promise, of getting past the pain. My thick curls don’t look unwieldy. They look soft, inviting.

  “Do you like it?” she asks, her voice strangely shy.

  I nod and give her a hug, careful not to expose her skin to mine. “It’s perfect. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.”

  She sniffles, then presses her cheek against the side of my head and hugs me close. “Thank you. For telling me, I mean. For trusting me.”

  “Thank you,” I simply say in return.

  It’s just before midnight when Samantha leaves. I want to ask her not to go, but of course that’s not possible. Her parting words, asking—begging—for me to come to school tomorrow echo in my mind long after she heads home. I settle down on the couch, staring at my walls, letting the cool colors warm me. It’s time to accept my destiny.

  Upon thinking the word, I snag the English class poem and reread it, running my finger along the lines of Dominic’s letters. A stabbing pain hits me in the solar plexus, and for a moment I can’t breathe for missing him.

  I check my phone again. No messages. No calls. Is he giving me space? Is he thinking of me at all? Does he miss me half as much, a tenth as much as I do him?

  I need to write these emotions out, ge
t them off my chest. So much still to do before I say goodbye to him, to this city I now consider mine. Taking pen in hand, I open my notebook to a fresh page and write:

  I am the night sky, dead and blind

  Swept by half-frozen cold

  My howls fall lost into certain corners,

  I shiver Shivering.

  I am the moon that passes

  Between a rushing winds

  Soft and white,

  I arch my back.

  I remember Dominic’s hands on my torso that evening he gave me the massage. The budding feelings of love blossoming under his attentive care. My cheeks grow flushed, and my belly flutters uncontrollably. I continue the last stanza of the poem, keeping that passionate emotion in the forefront of my mind.

  I am the tempest, like gasoline,

  Consuming Forgetting everything I see.

  Another sunshine, unfading

  Into the lovely dark.

  My words. My diary of the last six months of my life, right here. I flip back through the pages, reread the rollercoaster of emotions. Has Sitri ever read this? It’s possible, but he’s never said a word, never hinted about it. Something of mine that isn’t utterly tainted by him. The thought gives me great pleasure. Maybe he doesn’t know all my secrets after all, like he thinks he does.

  I slip Dominic’s poem and our joint poem under the front cover and close it. Then I grab the book of Christina Rossetti poems and place them both on the edge of the coffee table.

  Fatigue hits me suddenly, the weight of not sleeping last night making my eyes heavy. I stretch out on the couch, eventually falling into sleep.

  I wake up with the morning sun, surprising myself. My subconscious must know I want to live every moment of this day. After all, it’s going to be my last in New Orleans. I swallow several times, draw in long, slow breaths until my heart resumes its natural pace, take a shower and pick out some clothes.

  My stomach is too twisted to eat, so I don’t force myself. Instead, I grab my backpack, slip the notebook and Christina Rossetti book in, along with a few changes of clothing and necessary toiletries—anything else I need I can buy along the way. I glance around the apartment, imprinting the room in my mind. On impulse, I snap a quick shot of the murals on my phone.

  Then I close the door for the last time.

  Yesterday morning, while wandering around the city, I spent a lot of time debating where and how to do…it. I quickly decided nothing messy, and not in my place—not in this state, even. I don’t want to be found for a long time. My plan is to make my way to Boston over the next several days, where I’ll be nothing but a nameless face in a big city, a young girl who somehow slid her way to the cold depths of the Atlantic Ocean. I hear autumn is beautiful up north, and I’d love to see the turning leaves.

  Hopefully I can avoid Sitri as long as possible. If not, I’ll lie. I’ll tell him I decided to soak in the sights before he wipes my mind and moves me somewhere new.

  When I’m in the apartment complex’s courtyard I smell each flower, dragging in shaky breaths, trying to capture their scents into my memory. I want to breathe them in so deeply that they’ll linger with me while I travel up the east coast. Impossible, I know, but one can hope.

  The stroll to school is bittersweet. I move slowly, just taking my time and enjoying the view as I walk, not worried about being late. I’m on my own schedule now. I’m free. And even better, Sitri is nowhere to be found. He hasn’t bothered me since I summoned him, actually.

  Where does he go when he’s not with me? Odd—I don’t remember ever wondering this before. I’m not sure why I’m wondering now, except that once I’m gone he’ll have to move his obsessive torture to someone else.

  Every time I think about what’s going to happen, my heart squeezes a little tighter. I blink rapidly and suck in deep breaths to steady myself.

  The images from Aggie’s tarot cards—devil and phoenix—suddenly spring to mind. I chose phoenix.

  I chose sacrifice. My own sacrifice.

  The meaning of that hated, haunted word finally becomes clear to me. I freeze in my tracks on the sidewalk. The warm sun beats down on the crown of my head, and I can feel slithers of sweat slipping down my back.

  I must sacrifice myself for Dominic’s safety, for the souls of those I accidentally gave to Sitri. And for my own freedom. The understanding of this gesture, that it’s not a futile escape or a cop-out, gives me hope, gives me something positive to cling to.

  With strong strides, I continue my way to school. The time on my cell confirms the bell rang over half an hour ago. I get buzzed through the front doors, make my way to the office—I can’t wander around without signing in tardy.

  “Sorry,” I say to the office aide perched at the desk. “I haven’t been feeling well. I’ve been absent a few days, but I needed to come today and pick up assignments from my teachers.”

  “Sure thing, sweetie.” She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, then points at a well-worn clipboard as she eyes me. “Sign in there.”

  I do as she asks, taking the tardy slip from her. I push back into the hallway, my lonely footsteps echoing as I proceed down the side. I slide my fingers across the locker surfaces, feel the bumps and ridges of decades of students who walked these very halls before me. And I’ve left my own mark too, in my own way.

  When I pass by the French room I peek through the window, spotting Samantha. She’s slumped over her notebook and scribbling on the paper. Probably doodling something. The thought makes me smile.

  I linger for a moment to watch her, then press my fingertips to the windowpane and walk away. Last night, right after she left, I composed a letter to her, one I’ll slip into her locker after I see Dominic. Classes should be letting out in a few minutes, and his room is all the way down the hall. Anatomy—I never got a chance to take it.

  No time for regrets.

  By the time I make it there, the bell rings. My heart flutters, threatens to burst out of my chest. I press shaking hands to my stomach.

  The door flings open, and students pour out. When I see Dominic I dart my hand out and grab his upper arm.

  He freezes in surprise, blinking. “Isabel.”

  “Do you…” My throat closes, and I suck in several desperate gulps of air. I can’t let words fail me right now, but the pressure of the moment hits me like a gale force wind. Come on, come on—

  His brows scrunch together, his eyes suddenly warm with concern. He takes my hand and pulls me to the side. “You okay?”

  I nod. I can do nothing else. I can’t tell him goodbye… This is cruel and painful. How did I think I could look into those beautiful blue eyes and just leave him?

  With a mental shake, I force myself to focus. Sitri won’t let him go until I’m gone. I have to say goodbye.

  “Sorry,” I finally tell him. “Do you have a moment?”

  He glances at his watch, then back up at me. “Let’s go somewhere where we can talk.”

  “I don’t want to get you in trouble,” I say with a glance over his shoulder.

  His mouth presses into a thin line. “I got your text, but I didn’t know how to respond. I…” He rakes a hand through his hair, rubbing it several times over the back of his neck before dropping it. His whole body is tense, tightly wound, every muscle stiff.

  I’ve never seen him like this before.

  Fresh guilt washes over me anew. Between his grandfather and me, he’s had an unusually high level of stress and worry the last couple of weeks. I reach out, squeeze his hand briefly, then let it go. Tears spring to my eyes. “I wish I could make everything better,” I whisper.

  Someone jostles into my back. I jerk away and press against a locker, darting my attention to the small girl—must be a freshman.

  She walks along without showing signs of concern or pain.

  I exhale slowly.

  “We’re getting out of here,” Dominic suddenly says as he grabs my hand. “Come on.”

  chapter nineteen
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br />   DOMINIC LEADS ME TO his car, shuffles me inside and takes off. His tires nearly peel as he drives out of the parking lot.

  I focus on his hands, the dashboard, the curves of my knees—anything but his face. I’m so afraid to look into his eyes, petrified of what I’ll see. Or what I won’t see.

  Does he still love me?

  “You came to say goodbye, didn’t you?” he asks quietly.

  In spite of the moment, I find myself smiling. Always blunt, my Dominic. “It’s time for me to move on.” A much gentler way of avoiding the truth. One he can live with.

  Out of the corner of my eye I see him give a brisk nod. “It doesn’t have to be like this, Isabel,” he says.

  “Yes, it does.” I can’t keep all of the sadness out of my voice, though I try.

  A soft whiff of his cologne makes its way to me. I draw in a slow breath. This might possibly be the scent I’m going to miss the most. Out of all the exotic spices and rich aromas of New Orleans, nothing has hit me harder, or filled me with more longing or emotion, than Dominic’s cologne. The underlying warmth of his skin’s natural scent.

  I blink rapidly, fighting the hot burn in the backs of my eyes. I’m not going to cry in front of him and make this situation harder for us. It’s time for me to be strong. I can push aside my pain for him, because he deserves that.

  He says nothing else, simply drives for a while. The car is filled with words we’re not saying, both of us lost inside our own minds. My fingers itch to reach over and caress his, but I don’t have that right anymore. Dominic isn’t mine now. So I keep my hands knotted in my lap, my fingers twisting each other.

  I’m not sure where we’re going, but I don’t really care at the moment. We drive for a while as we make our way through residential streets, onto the highway, then back to more streets. Then he pulls into a parking lot in front of what looks like a nature reserve. A couple of dirt-packed hiking trails delve deep between thick trees and tall grass. “Let’s walk,” he says, turning the car off.