Barely Breathing

"If you can't―"

"It's okay," I choked. Sitting up, I took another cleansing breath, and met Evan's smoky blue eyes. The worry forged a line between them. I knew I had to try to explain.

"My mother blames me for my father's death." Just hearing those words spewing out of my mouth, suffocated me.

His back stiffened. "How?"

"He died on my birthday," I explained. "On his way home from buying the cake."

"How is that your fault?"

I shrugged. "Logically, it's not. But... she hurts, and I give her a reason for her pain. I ruined her life."

"Emma, you didn't. She's an adult. She should realize that accidents happen. You can't believe that it's your fault."

"I..." I couldn't find the words to say what he wanted me to―that I knew I wasn't at fault. Guilt thrust out and captured the words off my tongue before I could say them. I understood what was true, but I couldn't deny how devastating it was to be the reason he had been on that road, at that moment.

Logic didn't matter when the person I loved most was taken from me. I finally understood why my mother needed me to feel her suffering. It hurt her too much to keep it inside. For her to be the only one to miss him like she did.

"I couldn't remember him," I told him, running my eyes along the lines of the comforter, allowing the images of my father to run freely through my head. "Remembering him would mean that I knew I'd lost him, and the grief that went along with it. So, I didn't. I didn't remember, any of it―until last night. And it hurt..." I choked out the last word as tears flooded my eyes.

Evan pulled me against him and held me tight.

"It hurt so bad I couldn't breathe." Warm tears streamed down my face. "I felt it, all of it, as if it had just happened and..." I swallowed back a sob.

"It's okay," Evan soothed, kissing the top of my head. "I understand." I stayed in the comfort of his arms until I could move again.

I sat up and wiped my wet cheeks.

"Can we just lay here?" I asked, sniffling. Evan handed me a much needed tissue.

"Of course."

I rested back down on Evan's chest, listening to the beating of his heart. He pulled the blanket over us and embraced me like the strength of his arms could ward off the sorrow.

The music faded and the television turned on. Evan selected a movie for us to watch, but I didn't last long, still so drained from the emotional beating I'd taken.

When I opened my eyes again, the room was darkening. Evan was on his side with his arms locked around me, breathing heavily in a restful sleep. I inhaled his scent with my face pressed against his shirt and leaned up to kiss his neck.

He stirred and hugged me closer. I ran my mouth along his neck, feeling the warmth of his pulse under my lips. A smile formed on his face while his eyes remained closed. I found the spot under his ear and kissed him again.

"Hi," he murmured with a wide smile, slowly opening his eyes and inhaling deeply.

"Hi," I whispered in his ear, tracing his carved jaw with my lips, making my way to his mouth. He parted his firm lips to receive me. I breathed him in and pulled myself against him, kissing him harder as his hands moved under my shirt, along my back.

Our bodies moved together, easing over the other. His warm hands pressed against my bare skin, inciting a flutter throughout my body that made my heart convulse. Our breathing quickened, and his touch trailed down to the waistband of the sweatpants, teasing along the elastic. I lifted his shirt and he pulled back to allow it over his head, revealing the smooth lines of muscle beneath.

I ran my hands over the definition of his chest and grooves of his stomach, kissing along his shoulder to his neck.

I went to remove my shirt, but he propped himself up and pulled back, his eyes scanning mine.

"What?" I asked in confusion, not sure if I'd done something wrong.

"Not yet," Evan explained. "Not like this."

I collapsed against him, my body pulsing. "Okay," I breathed in disappointment.

"You understand, right?" He tucked my hair behind my ear.

"I do," I answered, unable to look at him. Of course I understood. Our first time shouldn't happen after I spent the day mourning the loss of my father. But I wanted to feel him, needed to feel him, to be close to him―to mend the fissure that had split open overnight.

"Do you want to stay over again tonight?" he offered, breathing in my hair as he pressed his lips against my temple.

"I should go home."

"To Rachel's?" he questioned in surprise. "I didn't think―"

"Yeah, I should," I interrupted. "It's okay. I want to talk to her. I understand now, and I didn't before. Maybe... maybe we can really fix us."

"Em." Evan waited for me to look up at him. I tilted my head and absorbed his troubled expression. "It's not your fault. No matter what she says, or believes, you have to know that, okay?"

"Okay," I answered in a whisper, kissing him gently.

The house was dark when we pulled into the driveway, and my mother's car was parked at the end. I hesitated before opening the car door, staring at the black windows.

"Want me to come in with you?" Evan offered, putting the car in park.

"No," I replied without taking my eyes off of the house. "I'll be okay."

"Call me later, alright?"

"I will," I answered, slipping out of the car and shutting the door behind me. I inhaled through my nose, preparing for whatever awaited me in the dark. Evan didn't move out of the driveway; he kept watch until I disappeared through the front door.

I flipped on the foyer light and listened. The house remained uncharacteristically still. I walked into the living room and watched through the window as Evan slowly backed out of the driveway. I turned on the lights and found the poker table still in place with half eaten bowls of chips and empty shot glasses splayed about. I began collecting the remnants of the party and carried them into the kitchen.

Once I'd cleaned up and put everything back in its place, I climbed the stairs, having spent the past hour summoning the courage to do this. As I neared her door, I could hear her crying.

I froze, my insides squirming. Before I could back away, I tapped lightly on the door. The sobs ceased.

"Yes?" she answered, barely audible.

With my heart beating frantically, I slowly opened the door and stepped in.

"Hi," I offered lightly.

My mother was lying on her bed, her eye make-up smeared with tears, her hair tangled and sprawled on the pillow. The red face and swollen eyes were a look I was all too familiar with. She still wore the same clothes from the night before.

I sat down on the side of her bed farthest from her.

"I thought you left me too," she rasped, pulling a tissue from the box next to her bed.

"No," I explained. "I just needed some time."

"So, you're... you're staying?" She took short drawn breaths, recovering.

"I'm staying," I confirmed faintly.

My mother rolled away from me. I could make out small gasps as she continued to cry. My hand hovered over her, shaking slightly, hesitant to touch her. I let down the wall, the one that protected me from everything that hurt. I opened myself up and felt her pain, my pain, and became her daughter, resting my hand on her back.

I felt her chest expand as she inhaled a sobbing breath. I waited for her to surface, sitting beside her, letting her know I hadn't abandoned her.

After some time she became quiet. I took my hand away when she shifted onto her back to face me with sullen eyes.

"Do you want to watch a movie and eat a pint of ice cream with me?" I offered gently.

She attempted to smile. "Sure."

My mother slowly sat up, wiping the makeup and tears from under her eyes. "I'm going to take a shower." Before she left the room, she turned to me and said, "I'm glad you didn't leave me."

My mouth twitched into a delicate smile.

On her way to the bathroom, my mother yelled back, "Nothing romantic and sappy―I may throw something at the TV."

I laughed as she shut the door behind her. I went to my room to retrieve my wallet and keys. The red light was blinking on my phone, so I grabbed it on my way out the door.

After flipping through Jonathan’s and Evan's missed calls and texts from the night before, wondering where I was and if I was okay, I deleted them with a sullen breath.

I got up the nerve to call Jonathan when I pulled into the grocery store's parking lot, not exactly sure what I should say.

"Hi," Jonathan answered after only a couple of rings. "How are you?"

"I'm okay."

"Are you sure? You didn't look okay last night."

"I will be," I assured him, running my fingers along the steering wheel.

"I can't believe she did that. I wanted to go after you, but Evan was already out the door and she started screaming at me. Sorry. I should have gone anyway."

"No," I stressed, confused by his words. "I understand."

"Where are you now? At Sara's?"

"No, I'm back home," I answered quietly.

"You are?" He questioned in surprise. "Why?"

"Umm..." I began, flustered by his disapproval. "Because she's my mother, and I don't think she should have to go through this alone anymore."

"Emma, what she did was horrible. How―" he stopped. I could hear him exhale, as if to calm himself. "I don't understand how you can let it go like it wasn't a big deal."

"I'm not... exactly," I replied weakly. "I just think I understand better now, that's all."

Jonathan was silent for a moment before he added, "I couldn't let her treat you like that. I had to end it. You understand, right?"

"I knew it was coming." I answered. He remained quiet. "I should get going," I finally said when the silence became too uncomfortable.

"Call me," he said in a rush before I could hang up. "If you need anything, even just to say hi, okay? Just call me." His voice was heavy with worry and made me take pause.

"I will," I promised, not truly certain if I would, or should.

When I returned home, my mother was showered and on the couch with a blanket over her lap. She didn't have any makeup on to conceal the lines etched around her mouth and the creases at the corners of her eyes. She looked... worn. Defeated.

She tried to smile when I walked in carrying the movie and two pints of ice cream, but her eyes remained dull and unaffected.

I put the movie in and sat next to her on the couch. We ate our ice cream and watched the movie in silence, until her voice broke the stillness with, "I can be such a bitch, can't I?"

I didn't know what to say. I was actually afraid to look over at her, hoping she wasn't really expecting an answer. So I scraped my spoon along the top of the ice cream and waited.

"I don't know what happens," she finally continued. I glanced over at her out of the corner of my eye. She wasn't looking at me, but staring down at the floor, consumed by her thoughts. "It's when I drink too much. I get... I say things I shouldn't. I'm a terrible person."

"No you're not," I said automatically. She peered up at me, her blue eyes heavy with guilt. My mouth softened into a small smile. "I didn't understand what you were going through. I didn't know."