Barely Breathing

"Sorry." I shook my head and sat up straighter to ward off the bout of sleep. "I'm just tired."

"Really, are you okay?" he asked again, studying my face intently.

I shifted away from his delving brown eyes and nodded. "I haven't been sleeping much."

"Or eating," Jonathan reproached.

I shrugged guiltily. "That obvious?"

"Uh, yeah," he confirmed with an adamant nod.

"It's been a crazy week," I defended feebly.

"That's an understatement," he said with a wry grin. "I know we said we weren't going to talk about it, but we can if you want. I'm really sorry about everything that happened. I still feel like it's my fault."

"It's not," I stressed. "It really had nothing to do with skipping school and spending the day with you. In the end it was about the truth, and I just didn't want to see it."

"What do you mean?"

"She doesn't love me. She never did. There's nothing that's ever going to change that."

Jonathan didn't respond. We were quiet for a moment before he asked, "What about you?" I glanced over at him. His voice was quiet and smooth. "How do you feel about her?"

I let his eyes search mine as I considered his question. "I don't know. I always thought I loved her. I mean, she's my mother. But... I don't know."

"What if you didn't think of her as your mother? Just as a person you know. How would you feel about her?" he coaxed.

"That I don't like her," I answered without hesitation. "She seems funny and nice on the outside, but when you get close enough, you realize she's selfish and manipulative, and well, a bit unstable. So I guess... maybe I don't love her either." I lowered my eyes as my words took hold. "Wow. That's messed up."

"Tends to be our unavoidable theme," Jonathan noted with a guilty grin. "Sorry. We can't seem to avoid the depressing, can we?"

"I think it's because we both understand what it's like. It's not easy to talk like this with other people because they don't know. They don't know what it's like to be hated by the people who are supposed to love you." I sunk further into the couch and allowed the sullen mood to settle within me, drawing on my weariness. I thought about leaving, but I just needed to rest for a moment. I laid my head on my arm.

"What is it like?" Jonathan pursued, calling me back to meet his dark eyes. "For you I mean, what's it like?"

I breathed out a humorless laugh and allowed the honesty to slip through. "It makes me stupid."

"What?" Jonathan questioned in alarm. "I don't understand how you can say that."

I focused on a distant light on the water, trying to find the words to explain what was starting to become apparent to me―having thought incessantly about what I did wrong over the past year. I had my mother to thank for clicking it all into place for me with her bouts of drunken candor.

"I close my eyes to the truth. I refuse to see what's happening, convinced that I can handle whatever it is―believing that I'm strong enough and will recognize when I'm not.

"But in order to really see it, the truth, I have to admit how much I'm hated. And who wants to think they're worthy of that much anger? To be despised so much... to have someone wish you never existed." I paused to take a breath.

"I shut it out. I choose not to see. I never ask for help. I even try to convince everyone that it's not a big deal. They don't know. No one really knows how bad it is because I won't let them." I paused and repeated, "It makes me stupid."

Jonathan silently absorbed my whispered words. Exhaustion rolled over me and my head became as heavy as my heart. I felt outside of myself as my eyes burned with fatigue.

"How do you do it?" Jonathan asked. He sounded so far away. I tried to focus on him, but I couldn't. "How do you get through it?"

"By not feeling," I murmured, blinking heavily, lulled by the voices crooning in the background. This wasn't difficult to explain, since I'd done it so easily all those years living with Carol. "I shut it off. And I guess if it's really bad, I block it out completely. I didn't realize I did that until my mother showed me what I'd forgotten."

I shut my eyes. "She thinks I'm strong because I can push everything into the dark. But it leaves me empty. And the dark always ends up finding me in my sleep."

I felt the weight of a blanket being pulled over me. I opened my eyes and found him propped on the coffee table in front of me. He smiled gently, holding a pillow in his hands. I sat up enough for him to place it beneath my head and lowered myself down again.

"Sorry," I offered in a whisper, my eyes sliding shut again. "I'm so tired."

"I know," he returned gently. "You can sleep here if you want."

"I'm just gonna rest before I go," I muttered, blinking my eyes. They were so heavy; it almost hurt to keep them open. Jonathan stood up.

"Jonathan?"

He squatted down in front of me. "Yes, Emma."

"Do you think you'll ever love again?" I murmured, not fighting against my lids any longer.

"I think so," he whispered, brushing the hair from my cheek. I shivered against his touch. "I'll see you in my sleep."

I pushed my eyes open one final time to find him walking away. "What did you say?"

"I said I'll see you in the morning. Get some sleep."

"I'm just going to rest for a bit," I slurred, closing my eyes again. I couldn't have kept them open if I’d tried.

My screams still echoed through the room when I sat up in a panic, trying to breathe.

"Emma?" Jonathan called out. The clang of the metal stairs echoed sharply in the dark. It took me a moment to focus on him when he crouched in front of me. "You're okay. It was just a dream."

I nodded and my lips trembled. "I can't do this anymore," I choked, my eyes filling with tears. I was too exhausted and shaken to hold them back. "I'm so tired."

"I know," Jonathan soothed, sliding next to me on the couch and rubbing my shoulder.

I released a quivering breath and wiped my eyes with my sleeves. "I don't know how to make it stop."

Jonathan's brow creased with empathy.

"Can I please have a glass of water?" I requested, trying to recover from my emotional meltdown.

Jonathan nodded and stood to retrieve it. I sat up with the blanket wrapped around me and took a deep breath to calm the shaking. He turned on the canister lights above the island, providing enough light for me to look around.

"Where's your television?" I asked, not finding the post-nightmare distraction.

"Oh, it's in my bedroom," he nodded toward the loft in the corner. "You need something to clear you head?" he surmised.

"Something," I begged. "I can't keep thinking about her trying to kill me anymore."

"You can't let her control you. Emma, you're stronger than this. You just have to believe it." He handed me a glass of water and sat next to me. "Do you know what happened that night? Or did you block that out too?"

"I died," I answered bluntly. "So, I have no idea what happened."

I felt the warmth of his hand encapsulate mine. The strength of it wrapped around my thin hand comforted me, but it also made my heart stammer. I eased it away to hold the glass with two hands. He pretended not to notice.

"Emma," he beckoned, making me look at him as I sipped the water. "Do you want to sleep better?"

I scrunched my eyes warily. "What do you have in mind?"

"Do you trust me?"

"Are you going to try to cure me again?" I questioned skeptically.

"Yeah," he grinned. "I think this might work, or at least help you. Will you let me?"

I paused a moment in deliberation. Jonathan’s eyes were big and pleading, begging for me to trust him. I sighed in defeat and threatened, "If it doesn't work, I swear I will keep you up every night I can't sleep."

"I can handle that," he grinned in triumph. "Get your jacket."

"What?" I questioned in alarm. "We're leaving?"

"Did you think I was going to try to hypnotize you or something?" he chuckled.

I sighed in resignation and slipped my shoes on as he tossed me my jacket.

"So how's your triathlon training going?" I asked, cutting through the tense silence that had encapsulated us upon entering the truck.

"Really?" Jonathan laughed in disbelief.

"Well, I need to talk about something," I defended with a groan. "From the looks of it, we're heading back to Weslyn. And if we're going where I think we're going, then we'd better start talking before I make you turn the truck around."

"Training's going great," Jonathan burst out. "I haven't been cycling lately because the weather's sucked, but so far―"

"Okay, that's not helping," I interrupted, glancing over at him apologetically. "Sorry, I do want to hear about it, but I'm about ready to have a heart attack, or anxiety attack, or something."

"Breathe, Emma," he urged. "Slow, deep breaths. Just breathe."

I tried to remember how. My heart continued to convulse, and breathing was becoming more challenging.

"Wait." It suddenly struck me. "How do you know where to go?"

I thought I heard him laugh. "It's not hard to find anything in Weslyn. All you have to do is ask, and people talk. Don't worry. Nothing's going to happen to you," he assured me. "I promise."

I buried my face in my hands, as the world spun out of control. I couldn't watch as we turned down each road. The closer we got, the more I had to fight the urge to jump out of the truck.

"Come on, Emma." I was too wrapped up in my anxiety to realize we'd stopped.

"I can't," I whimpered, unable to unshield my face.

"Yes you can," he consoled. "I'm here. Nothing's going to happen."

My hands shook when I lowered them. I kept my eyes closed and tried to calm the panic that was overtaking me. "I don't think I can get out."

His door opened and closed behind him. I stayed within the dark cab, paralyzed. My door opened, and his warm hand wrapped around mine. "You can do this."

I opened my eyes and looked into his. "Come on, Emma.” I concentrated on his face. It was so sure and confident. I held tight to his hand as if it were a lifeline. I suddenly felt so small.

"Just look at me," he encouraged, as I stepped down from the truck. "Keep looking at me."

I nodded, unable to find my voice. I continued to focus on him, his eyes assuring me with every step.

"Okay, close your eyes," he advised, "I'm going to turn you toward it." My knees buckled, but he kept me upright with his hands gripping my shoulders.

"Why are we doing this?" I whispered, feeling the warmth of the tears on my cheeks.

"Because I can sleep," Jonathan answered softly in my ear, still holding me upright.

"What?" His words distracted me from my anxiety, and I tilted my head toward him. "What did you say?"

"I don't know if it was facing it, or sharing it with you, but I've been sleeping through the night. And I want you to be able to, too." He gently ran his thumb along my cheek to wipe away the tears. "Go ahead and look."