Barely Breathing

"Maybe," she shrugged and trod down the stairs, leaving us staring after her. I took a deep breath and followed her as Jonathan went into the bathroom.

The rest of the night, we didn't even look at each other. Or at least I didn't look at him. I refused to fuel my mother's drunken delusions, and I really didn't want her saying anything in front of Evan.

As the money dwindled, so did the participants. Jared and Sara were the first to leave.

"I think I got a little drunk," Sara laughed in my ear as she clumsily hugged me good-bye.

"It's okay," I told her, patting her awkwardly on the back as Jared waited to help her put her jacket on. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Not long after, the other poker table and chairs were folded up as one of the car loads decided to head out as well.

"But you can't leave," my mother begged, hugging Ally.

"Happy Birthday, Rach."

My mother walked them out to the porch to see them off.

"Who wants a shot?" she announced upon closing the door. It was a question that wasn't expected to be answered as she lined up the shot glasses on the coffee table, filled them with tequila, and began handing them to everyone, including me.

When she set the gold liquid in front of me, I cringed and glanced across the table at Jonathan.

"To being forever young," she declared, holding her shot glass in the air. "Come on, Evan, pick it up."

Evan raised his shot along with everyone else, slinging it back with a grimace. I didn't touch mine. Jonathan slid it surreptitiously across the table and took it down before sliding it back in front of me.

"Thatta girl, Emily," my mother praised, collecting the glasses.

While she was in the kitchen, Evan leaned over and asked, "Want to stay or go?"

I bit my lip in contemplation. Before I could make a decision, the bearded guy folded his hand and declared, "Well, I think I'm broke enough. Sharon, we're going."

"No," she mumbled from her slouched position on the couch.

"Yeah, you're about ready to pass out," he noted, standing from the table.

"Not you too," my mother sulked when she found him retrieving their coats from the closet.

"Your guy took all my money," he told her, "so happy birthday. Don't spend it all at once." She gave him a hug and brief peck on the lips.

With it just being the three of us, and my poker chips down to a handful, Jonathan suggested, "Cash out?"

"Sure," I answered standing from the table. Evan remained to help Jonathan put the chips back in their silver case. I headed into the kitchen to begin picking up.

My mother came in from the porch shivering. "It's just us, huh?" She observed the guys in the living room and me in the kitchen.

"I did have fun," she said from behind me.

"Good," I answered, dumping the half full glasses in the sink.

"I'm sorry about upstairs, you know, with Jonathan. I can be pretty stupid sometimes."

I could only nod, not knowing how to respond.

Then out of nowhere she asked, "So you don't remember, right?"

I turned around and tightened my eyes in confusion. "What? About your parties when I lived with you? I remember."

"I was just thinking," she said, ignoring my answer. She settled down on the kitchen chair―probably because she was having a hard time standing. "I've had to relive that day for all these years, and you don't remember it." Her face was smooth and emotionless as her eyes lazily flipped up at me.

I opened my mouth to ask her what she was talking about, but then I realized―she was talking about the day he died. I closed my mouth and averted my gaze.

"You always had to wear pink," she remembered, lost in the past as her eyes glazed over. "He bought you a new pink dress every year."

I was held hostage by her words, unable to tell her to stop. My heart started to beat faster.

"You were waiting for him by the window, wanting to know why he was late. You kept asking where he was every five minutes." Sorrow flooded her face. "It's not fair that you don't remember the day I can never forget. When was the last time you celebrated your birthday, Emily?" Her question sliced through me.

My chest froze, and I had to force air into my lungs. All of a sudden, I wasn't in the room anymore. I was in my pink frilly dress, staring out the window.

"He would drive home early from work to hang those stupid colored lanterns in the backyard," she recalled impassively.

For a second I saw them. They were different shapes and colors, strewn in crisscrossing lines across the backyard. My stomach was swallowed in coldness, and I couldn't move.

"He'd bring home your cake, made from that ridiculously expensive bakery in the city. It always had to be chocolate with raspberry filling."

"When's daddy going to be home?" I asked, the curtains spread so I could keep watch.

"He shouldn't be long," was what I was told each time. It wasn't my mother who answered me, but another woman. I looked over my shoulder to see her pulling a pan out of the oven.

"But it's getting dark, and he never comes home in the dark," I argued, continuing to stare out the window.

"Anything yet?" she asked, concern resonating in her voice as a man entered the room with a phone in his hand.

"No," he answered. "They said he left the office hours ago." The man looked familiar, but I couldn't place him.

"Rachel!" he hollered.

"What?" she answered from upstairs.

"I think we need to make the call."

Before she could answer, the phone rang. She rushed down the stairs as the man answered. "Who is it?" she demanded before he even said hello.

The anxiety in her eyes made me nervous. I kept watching her, unable to look away from her distressed face. It changed from worry to despair when the words spilled from his mouth after he hung up the phone. "There's been an accident."

"You took him from me," she murmured, not removing her eyes from mine.

"Rachel? What did you do?" Jonathan's voice sounded like he was talking through a tunnel.

My vision blurred with tears. Her eyes widened in recognition. "Oh," she breathed, "You remember."

Pain eased through my body like venom. I opened my mouth to cry out, but nothing happened.

"What did you do?" Jonathan demanded again more urgently. "Emma, are you okay?"

"Emma what's wrong?" Evan's muted voice was etched with concern.

I looked into her eyes again, and swore I saw loathing. I winced.

I couldn't be there any longer. I needed to get out. But I couldn't. My legs refused to cooperate. I choked on the sobs that were suffocating me. My body was on fire, searing in pain. I had to get away from her.

Before I knew what I'd done, I was out the front door―the legs that had failed me moments before were now carrying me in a run down the street. I couldn't run fast enough. But no matter how hard I ran, I couldn't escape the ache that was crushing my chest. I breathed in, but I couldn't get enough air.

I ran down random street after street before collapsing on the damp, muddy ground, gripping my chest. It felt like it was about to burst open. I screamed in pain.

It all came back to me in a rush. The call. My mother yelling out in denial. I watched as if a spectator of a play. I didn't understand, but at the same time, I understood too well. He wasn't coming home. He was never coming home again.

I don't know how long I lay on the cold, wet ground, consumed in grief. I was pulled back to the surface when a warm hand brushed across my cheek. He gently propped my head on his lap as he soothed me with comforting words I couldn't quite make out.

"It's okay," he whispered.

"It hurts so bad," I gasped, my body tense. "Please make it stop." The tears continued down my cheeks.

Evan pulled me off the ground and carried me to the car. He gently set me down on the passenger seat, bending down to kiss my forehead. I curled up in a ball, still clutching my chest―afraid that if I let it go, I would fall apart.

I began to shiver, the cold earth having seeped into my bones. The warmth of the car did little to ease the shaking. Evan draped his jacket over me, and I burrowed my nose into the collar, breathing in his scent.

I fought for each breath, my jaw quivering. I was consumed by the pain, unable to escape it. It was crushing me.

I was trapped in my grief, barely aware of where we were when the car stopped. I think he may have tried to talk to me, but I couldn't hear what he was saying. His voice was muffled and distant. I closed my eyes and pressed my face against his chest when he lifted me from the car.

I remained still as he rested me on his bed. I felt my shoes slide off my feet and my pants glide over my legs. I couldn't focus, but my eyes were open. I could only feel, and I didn't know how to shut it off. I couldn't push it back down to the hidden depths of darkness where I'd been protected from it for so many years. I was losing him all over again.

Warmth pressed against my back and his arms pulled me into him. I gripped his hand, holding it tightly, keeping myself tethered to the present just enough so that I could regain perspective of where I was, lying on Evan's bed.

"I'm here, Emma. I'll never let you go," he whispered in my ear, holding me tighter.

My frame shook as I cried, releasing the torment that had been trapped since that day, ten years ago. I found reprieve sometime in the early hours of the next day when exhaustion shrouded the pain and I drifted into a sleep filled with vivid images of my father.

25. All Over Again

Before I opened my eyes, I heard music playing softly in the background. I couldn't quite figure out who was singing, but his voice was calming. I breathed in, letting the melody float over me before deciding to open my eyes. They didn't open very wide.

My eyes were swollen and puffy, and my entire body ached, especially my chest. I eased myself out of the curled position I'd locked myself in throughout the night. Though he wasn’t in the room, Evan had left behind the comforting lyrics flowing through the speakers.

I sat on the edge of the bed and breathed in deeply. I felt empty, like everything inside of me had spilled out and there was nothing left. I rose from the bed and went into the bathroom. Not bothering to look at myself as I passed by the mirror, having seen the vacant look one too many times.

I stripped down and climbed into the shower, allowing the hot water to beat against my skin. The exhaustion held tight, even after the long shower. A pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt were set on the floor in front of the door when I got out. Evidently Evan knew I was awake.

I dressed in the t-shirt that hung past my hips, and folded the waistband of the pants over so I wouldn't trip on them. I braided my wet hair before stepping back into the room. He was waiting for me, sitting up against the headboard, flipping through the channels with the television on mute.

Evan clicked off the TV when I slid onto the bed and curled up on his chest.

"How are you doing?" he asked gently, wrapping his arms around me.

"Okay," I rasped, my throat raw from the strain of emotion.

He squeezed me against him before asking, "Can you tell me what happened last night?"

I swallowed hard. Tears filled my eyes at the thought of saying it out loud.