Breathe for Me Read online

  He turns his beady eyes to me. “Isabel. Was that Alexis talking?”

  I shake my head. “I didn’t hear anything.” It’s true—I wasn’t paying any attention to him or to anyone else, so I honestly couldn’t say if she was talking or not. But he didn’t need to know that part.

  His jaw tightens, and he stares at our part of the room for one long, hard moment. Then he shifts toward the chalkboard and scrawls across it.

  Alexis turns back to look at me. She nods her head lightly, as if in thanks.

  I return the gesture, oddly touched by her acknowledgement, and focus my eyes on my notebook. Better to make a more concerted effort at paying attention and not getting in trouble with Mr. Morris. He’s already looking way too stressed out as it is, and I don’t want to contribute to making his numbers decrease any more than they already are.

  I plead out of lunch with Samantha, who’s all too happy to spend her time with Rick, and head to the library. I need a break from reality right now. So I grab a book that talks about the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, an artistic group formed by the poet Christina Rossetti’s brother (a fact I discovered from the introduction of the poetry book), and crack it open. It’s fascinating, reading about the courage of these avant-garde people who bucked tradition and formed their own movement. Their paintings and writing reflect their beliefs.

  I can be that courageous. I can make my own way, one without Sitri, even without all the benefits of my situation. I stare at the pages blankly for a moment, my mind whirring through ideas on how to break my curse. Would he be receptive to me simply asking? I don’t remember my past after the bargain, since he wipes my memory every time he transfers me to a new city, but I do know I’ve always been too afraid of him to dream of being so bold. But maybe it’s time to try.

  “You’re such a good girl—even studying on your lunch break,” a whispering voice says as Sitri settles into the seat across from me. Speak of the devil.

  I ignore my surprise at seeing him, forcing my heart rate to steady by drawing in slow breaths. I can’t concentrate anymore, but I pretend to read. Why is he here?

  He leans over and plucks the book from my hand, then scans the cover. “Really?” he asks me, curiosity apparent on his face. “I never would have guessed.”

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” I say, then instantly wish I could take the words back. If Sitri feels I’m being secretive, he’ll close off again, and I’ll have to work harder to regain the trust he’s shown me so far. I can’t lose that hard-earned ground. “I mean, I’ve learned a lot in school.”

  A smile creeps across his face, and his eyes warm to a rich, dark grey. “I look forward to hearing more about these things that interest you.” He pauses. “I hope you’re behaving yourself,” he continues. His voice is low, soft, but the thread of seriousness beneath his words is undeniable. “And that you remember your time is coming to a close.”

  “How can I forget?” I say, fighting to keep the edge out of my voice. Stay calm. “I’m reminded every day.”

  “Isabel?” Dominic’s voice floats into the library as he enters.

  Oh, God. Oh, God.

  I stand. A wave of nausea sweeps over me. I wish Dominic would go away. Or better yet, Sitri. But that’s not going to happen, because Sitri is studying my face with a keen eye and drinking in Dominic’s presence, no doubt wondering who he is to me.

  He misses nothing.

  “I’m in the middle of something right now,” I say to Dominic. “I’ll see you later in class.” I mentally plead for him to leave, even as my heart aches for having to push him away.

  Sitri stands. “No, no, I’ll leave you two alone.” His eyes suddenly glow like hot black coals, and he smiles again. But this time, there’s nothing close to warmth in his face. It chills my blood. “I’ll see you later, Isabel.” With that, he moves by Dominic, brushing oh-so slightly against his arm, and leaves the room.

  I exhale sharply, not realizing I’d been holding my breath. My head spins from dizziness and fear. This is a mess. I can’t do this. I can’t let Dominic get in the middle of something he can’t ever possibly understand. Sitri would tear him up in ways even I can’t imagine.

  “Who was that?” Dominic asks. His face is unreadable, his voice a little tighter than usual.

  I shake my head, unable to speak. If I do, I know I will cry. And I’m barely holding on to myself right now as it is. I move around the table and start walking toward the door.

  “You promised not to run.”

  His words freeze me in my spot. “He’s…my ex.” I say. I pause, swallow. “I don’t like him anymore.”

  He nods. “I can tell.”

  “I’m not trying to run away, but I really need to go to the restroom now. I’ll see you in class, okay?”

  With that, I leave.

  Mr. Morris moves up and down the aisles of our math class the next day, thrusting papers into our hands. It’s our quizzes from last week, and mine has a large red D on the top. I sigh and close my eyes for a moment, trying to steady my nerves. This is bad.

  A small, sarcastic voice in my brain tells me I shouldn’t get this worked up, as I’m going to be leaving soon anyway. I force that dark thought back down. While I’m here in New Orleans, I’m doing the best work I can. That’s been my motto from the start. Because I will find a way to make this work out so I can stay. I have to.

  “I’m disappointed in some of these grades,” Mr. Morris says as he makes his way back up to the front of the class. “Many of you need to do a better job studying, especially since this is just the beginning of the school year. This isn’t going to cut it.”

  I force myself to focus on his words for the rest of the period. When the bell rings, I gather my stuff and head toward the door.

  “Isabel, I need to speak to you,” Mr. Morris says.

  I turn around and go to his desk, forcing my eyes to stare at the massive piles of paper spilling all over. It makes me uncomfortable to look at his face because all I can see are the numbers hovering above his head, their unsteady descent getting faster and faster as the days go on.

  “This was not your best work,” he tells me, his tone thick with disapproval. “I’m not pleased.”

  I dare a glance at him. Mr. Morris shakes his head at me. His lips are pinched. He swallows.

  “I’m sorry.” I hope my words will appease him. “I’ll do better next time.”

  “You’d—” He stops and coughs lightly, pressing a hand to his chest. “You’d better. Because it’s all too easy to drop grades in here.” His brows furrow, and he draws in a shaky breath.

  “Are you okay?”

  He nods his head. “Fine. Anyway…” He pauses, and an intense flash of pain etches across his face. He grips his chest and groans for several long seconds, slumping back in his chair. His eyes flutter shut.

  “Oh, my God!” I cry out, reaching for him and shaking his shoulder. “Mr. Morris, wake up!”

  He doesn’t respond. His chest appears to not be moving up and down, and the numbers above his head have rapidly increased their race toward zero.

  My heart is pounding hard, and I grip my hands together. What do I do? I can’t give him mouth-to-mouth because it’ll instantly kill him. I can’t even lean close or try to hear if he’s breathing, in case I accidentally brush up against him and burn his skin. There’s nothing I can do to save him myself.

  “I’ll be right back!” I yell, hoping he can hear me, then dart out of the room. The hallway is empty by now, so I run to the class on the right of ours and fling its door open.

  The teacher, a middle-aged woman in a dark blue pantsuit, jerks when the door whips wide open, shocked at the intrusion. She glares at me, her wrinkled brow even more lined from her aggravation. “What is going—”

  “I think Mr. Morris is having a heart attack,” I spill out, “and I’m not sure if he’s breathing or not.”

  The teacher runs toward the door and follows me into Mr. Morris’s classroom,
the rest of the class hot on her heels. She gasps when she sees him, presses her ear against his mouth for a few moments. “He’s not breathing.” She rips the tie off his neck and proceeds to give him mouth-to-mouth.

  Another teacher enters the room, shoving the students out and shushing them. He grabs his cell out of his pocket and dials, his voice steady as he relays information to the 911 operator. I turn my attention back to Mr. Morris, whose face is eerily pale and still as the teacher tries to force air into his unresponsive lungs.

  “You need to leave,” the male teacher tells all of us. “We’ll handle this.”

  “But I just want to make sure he’s okay,” I say. Even if I can’t help him, I need to make sure he’s going to live.

  “We’ll handle it. Students, go to your next class, please.” He waves toward the door.

  With a heavy heart, I shuffle my way out of the room. The image of Mr. Morris’s lifeless face is burned into my mind. I press my gloved hand to my mouth, my stomach suddenly heaving. I have to leave this place, now. On shaky feet, I run toward the front door and head into the hot sunlight, leaving the school behind.

  Several hours later, a hard pounding on my front door wakes me from my bed. The room is dark—it was still light out when I fell asleep. I swipe my hand under my eyes, which are swollen and sore, and stumble into the living room. A quick peep in the eyehole shows me Dominic’s distorted face.

  I press my forehead against the doorframe, sucking in a ragged breath. “I don’t want to see anyone right now,” I say.

  “Can I come in?”

  At the soft tone in his voice, I look through the peephole again. A bead of sweat slips down the side of his face.

  “I just want to make sure you’re okay,” he continues.

  I pause for a long moment, debating. I’m a mess, not fit to be seen by anyone. Not ready to smile and pretend everything’s just fine and dandy. But if he wants to see me, the real me, he should see all sides, including the not-so-pretty ones. Besides, I’m going to see him in school tomorrow anyway. I unlock the door and swing it wide open.

  He comes in, stopping in surprise as he takes in my tank top and shorts. His eyes quickly darken, and he glances away.

  A flush crawls up my throat. I completely forgot how unclothed I am. He, on the other hand, is covered from head to toe; it’s as if we have traded places. Odd. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting company. I’ll go slip on—”

  “No,” he says, his voice husky. He turns his gaze back toward me, and I see him swallow hard. “Make yourself comfortable. I promise not to hurt you. I don’t want to make you sick or anything.”

  His gentle words about my lie, his armor of protective clothing so he can’t get me ill, almost undo me. My stomach twists. How can I do this anymore? I am so tired of living a constant falseness. But it’s not like I can tell anyone the truth. Who would possibly believe me?

  Wary, I nod and sit on a chair, pressing a throw pillow against my stomach. “Have a seat,” I say.

  He slides onto the couch, then stretches his long legs out in front of him. His eyes cast around the apartment, taking in my piles of books, the abandoned homework spilled across the coffee table. I couldn’t concentrate long enough to work on it earlier this afternoon, so I gave up and went to bed, crying myself to sleep.

  We sit in silence for a long minute. I sniffle and blink back the burning in my eyes. Tears threaten to spill out. I close my eyes, press my face against the top of the pillow. All I can see in my mind is Mr. Morris’s pale face, his chest frozen and unmoving. And me, unable to help him in any way.

  “You okay?” Dominic asks. His voice is quiet, not carrying any edge of judgment toward me.

  I nod slightly, not lifting my face from the pillow.

  I hear a rustling sound, and then a hand touches my hair. I freeze, pull away in horror.

  Dominic lifts his hands up to reveal a pair of black cotton gloves. “Sorry. Figured if I wore something, it’d be okay. You looked like you needed comfort.”

  At his words, I unravel. The band around my chest lightens, and I gaze up into his eyes. “There wasn’t anything I could do,” I say, my voice shaky. “I was watching him die right in front of my eyes, and I couldn’t help him.”

  “I know. Don’t worry about it. He’s in the hospital and doing okay. You found someone who could give him CPR. You saved his life.”

  “He could have died because I couldn’t help him.”

  Dominic slips his gloved hands into mine and squeezes. The sensation is so unusual that I pause. I’m unused to my bare hands touching someone else. The soft cotton slides across my skin, and I feel the heat pouring off him.

  He tugs me out of my chair and, without saying a word, guides me to the couch. His hands are light, barely touching me, as if he’s taking all the care in the world to respect my need for distance. “Lie down,” he says. There’s a slight hitch in his voice, and his eyes are dark, heavy-lidded.

  My throat closes tightly, my heart racing in my chest. “I can’t.” He knows I can’t.

  “Trust me. Please.”

  Those three words break through the last of my reserve. I know it’s stupid, I know it’s selfish, but I so desperately need to relax and let go of all this tension. Of this wall I’ve had to build between me and the world. For a few minutes, I want to feel like everyone else. Like a normal girl who can acknowledge her growing attraction to a boy she could fall for. And who could fall for her back.

  I stretch out along the couch and rest my arms at my sides.

  Dominic reaches toward me. I flinch instinctively, and he pauses, giving me a small smile. “I promise my skin won’t touch yours. I would never hurt you.”

  Hurting me isn’t the problem, but I bite my lower lip, nodding. Everything in his eyes shows me he means it. He doesn’t want me to get sick. And because of that lie, he can remain safe.

  I push my guilt aside and relax as he strokes the tops of my hands. My skin hums under the sensations of his touch, coming alive for what feels like the first time. Everywhere his fingers move leaves behind a trail of delicious pleasure. He brushes my knuckles, the tops of my fingernails, then flips my hands over and runs his thumbs across my palms.

  I want to close my eyes and fully soak in the moment, but I’m afraid to. So I leave them open and watch him. He kneels at my side, his lower legs and feet beneath the small coffee table at his back. His gloved hands knead their way up my lower arms, the thumbs sliding along the muscles in long strokes.

  I swallow, almost drowning in the heady sensation of falling under. In this moment, I am frozen—Dominic offers me a freedom to simply enjoy the moment without fear of harming him. It’s the most generous gift I remember ever receiving in my life.

  Heat pours from his palms, from his strong fingers, as they massage their way up my arms. They curve over my shoulders, and a tingle spreads from my lower belly through my torso and limbs. My body hums under his hands. When he brushes his fingers across my collarbone, I can’t stop the slight arch of my back, the hunger in my body to bring him closer. I am hypnotized by his touch.

  His eyes turn toward mine, and he stares at me. Through me. He can see me at my most raw, my most vulnerable. And it’s strange, but I’m not embarrassed. He smiles, his eyes crinkling in the corners. Wordless still, he slides his right hand across my belly.

  I gasp, swallowing hard as the tingle in my lower abdomen explodes into a throbbing ache.

  He stops, pressing his big hand against me, and we remain silent. I can hear him breathing in as I breathe out.

  “You are beautiful,” he tells me. His words are simple. The impact echoes.

  I bite my lower lip. In this moment, I would give anything in the world to kiss him. To be able to feel that mouth against mine.

  Reality pours back into me, and I sigh. The moment is broken. “Thank you for the massage,” I say.

  He nods, his eyes shuttered—disappointment at my pulling away. Guilt twists my stomach. He pulls his hands away and st
ands up. “Glad you’re okay. I was just worried.”

  I sit up on the couch, my heart crying out a futile wish that the moment could have lasted longer. I already feel his absence. But it cannot be, and we’re all better off if I don’t let myself fall over the edge. “I’m fine.”

  He takes the seat beside me, then wraps his arm around the back of me and pulls my head onto his lap. His hand strokes the curls away from my face.

  I feel myself tugged into a deep comforting place. The tension in my body unwinds, leaving behind a blissful silence. Every stroke on my hair brings me closer to sleep, until I finally succumb.

  When I wake early in the morning, I am alone on the couch. I blink the sleep from my eyes and stretch, trying to recapture the sensation of Dominic’s warm body against mine, of his hands caressing my bare skin. It felt like sin, like tasting temptation, and I should let it go. But I don’t want to. Besides, Sitri will wipe it from me soon enough.

  I sigh, filled with a swell of anger at him. Why me? Why must I be trapped in this endless cycle? One mistake made in haste. Centuries of suffering. There has to be a way to end it. Because after last night, there’s no way I can leave here, leave Dominic. My course has been set, and I will follow it through to the end.

  Everything has changed. I opened myself up, and Dominic has edged his way into my heart. There’s no denying it.

  I think I’m falling for him.

  chapter seven

  AS I WALK TO my locker on Wednesday morning, I notice more than a few sympathetic looks in my direction. A couple of people even awkwardly pat me on the shoulder, a gesture of comfort that isn’t lost on me.

  Awareness blossoms in my chest, unfolds into glorious realization—they aren’t rejecting me. Maybe I’m not an outsider to them anymore.

  Maybe I belong.

  Samantha makes her way through the hall toward me. Her face is etched with concern. “Are you okay?” she asks once she reaches my side. “I heard about what happened yesterday. So, how scary was that? Are you still freaking out?”