Barely Breathing

"How are you?" he asked, but it was a loaded question, and I didn't answer until he clarified. "How badly are you hurt?"

"I'll be okay," I returned softly.

"I scared you, didn't I?" he said, his voice faltering. I looked up into his eyes, having avoided them since I stepped out of the house. I was struck by the sorrow that coated them. "I promised never to do that. I'm so sorry, Emma."

I swallowed hard, and nodded, unable to speak.

"I care about you," he explained. "I couldn't―" He glanced toward Evan without finishing―recognizing we weren't alone. "What does he know?"

"Um," I faltered. "I didn't say anything, really. Just explained how everything was a mess with Rachel. And I didn't tell the police you were there either. I told them I walked in on the guy and couldn't remember what he looked like."

"Okay," Jonathan accepted with a nod. "So he doesn't know about the nightmares, or your fears, or..."

I shook my head, darting my eyes along the ground guiltily. I gripped my hands as the tension crashed in on us. I couldn't breathe. Jonathan reached to touch my arm and I backed away with a shake of my head.

"I know," he returned with a defeated breath. "It's not right to put you in this situation."

I lifted my eyes to his. The remorse in his glistening gaze caused my heart to falter.

"Emma, please don't give up on me." His words spilled out in a desperate rush, leaving me speechless.

"Please," he begged again.

"I won't," I whispered. "I just need some time."

"I understand," he replied, bowing his head. "I'll go. But I'll hear from you... when you're ready?"

I nodded, evading his eyes. I turned away, my shoulders bowed, crushed with guilt. I continued past Evan and Sara, who were standing on the porch, watching our every move. But I knew they hadn't heard a single word we'd said.

Sara followed me inside while Evan waited for Jonathan to back out of the driveway.

"How'd he even know where you live?" Sara asked Evan when he closed the door.

"I don't know," Evan replied, his eyes following me carefully.

"It's not difficult to find anything in Weslyn," I found myself saying, "You just have to ask." They peered at me curiously.

"What was that about?" Sara demanded as I moved to leave the room. "He seemed so upset."

"He was there," Evan said before I could utter a word. My heart skipped a beat, wondering how he knew.

"What?" Sara spun toward him. She flipped her eyes from Evan to me. I looked down. That's all she needed. "He was. Why?"

"Why did you lie to the police?" Evan demanded on top of her question.

I took a deep breath and began. "The guy was my mother's drug dealer. I didn't want the police to know." I skirted my eyes between them for a reaction. They appeared surprised, but remained quiet. I shifted my gaze back to the floor and continued. "He beat her pretty bad because she owed him money. I found her when I went to the house to get my soccer shirt. I ended up having to take her to the hospital. Jonathan found out and didn't want me to go back to the house, but I figured the guy would be gone. I was wrong." I paused, deciding how to continue. "Jonathan showed up, and fought the guy off."

"That's what I thought. I saw his knuckles," Evan said with a slight edge to his voice. "So, he protected you?" I raised my head, struck by his tone. I nodded and pain shot across his face, knowing Jonathan had done what he'd vowed to do―to protect me.

"So why did he come by here?" Sara asked, breaking our tense connection.

"I ran out," I explained quickly. I couldn't tell them how badly Jonathan had beaten the guy, and that I thought he might be dead. Or the true reason I left in such a rush. I took a quick breath and repeated, "He just wanted to know that I was okay."

"That's it?" Evan asked skeptically, examining me. My face flamed up, fearing he'd seen more between us. I nodded, unable to hold his gaze for more than a second. "I know you explained that you and Jonathan are friends and that you can talk to him about Rachel. I get it. But why do I get the feeling he knows more than I do?" His voice became stronger as he spoke, more agitated. I opened my mouth instinctively to defend Jonathan, but stopped when I saw the challenging look on Evan's face. "Then the way he was out there... The way he was looking at you..." I shifted my eyes. He released a breath, and lowered his voice. "I'm sorry, Emma, but I just don't trust him."

And maybe he had good reason not to.

40. Honest Truth

No matter how hard I tried not to, I kept thinking about what I'd witnessed. His dark eyes were so compelling and trusting, yet instantly cold and hard. There was more hidden in their darkness than pain and torture. More than anger and loathing.

It seemed impossible that the same man who stayed up with me in the middle of the night, laughing at infomercials, was capable of bludgeoning someone into a grotesque, bloody mess. I shuddered at the remembrance, hugging the pillow against me tighter.

"What are you thinking about?"

I turned my head with a start. Evan stood in the doorway of the sun room, the warm rays lighting up the breathtaking angles of his face. Darkness wasn't hidden in his steel blue eyes. The disturbing thoughts were instantly brushed away at the sight of him.

"Hi," I greeted happily. "How was school?" I closed the book that was resting on my lap and set it on the wicker table beside me with the pillow I was mangling.

"The same," he shrugged, sitting down and resting my legs across his lap. "How was your day?"

"I helped stuff envelopes," I shared. "So exciting."

Evan laughed. He leaned toward me and ran his fingers over the vanishing bruise along my jaw, inspecting it. Then he leaned a little closer and gently kissed me.

"Aren't you supposed to be at practice?" I suddenly remembered when he pulled away.

"The coach had an appointment, so we have practice tomorrow instead."

"On a Saturday?"

"Unfortunately," Evan grimaced.

"Oh," I sighed. "I was hoping we could get my things tomorrow. Anna hired some guys to move the furniture out this weekend, so I need to pack up before they arrive."

"Is Rachel back?"

"I have no idea," I answered with a shake of my head. "I haven't heard from her, but I don't really expect to either. I'm hoping she's not."

"Do you want to go there this afternoon?"

A jolt shot through me just thinking about going back to the house. I knew we'd have to eventually, but I wasn't expecting it to be this afternoon. I thought I'd have more time to prepare.

"Okay," I answered, "let's do this," realizing there wasn't any way to prepare for it, no matter how much notice I had.

"You don't have to," Evan reassured me. Apparently my anxiety was evident. "Sara and I could go when she gets out of track practice. Besides, she said she wanted to help."

"No," I countered, trying to sound confident, "I can do it. I'll text her and tell her to meet us there when she gets out."

"Are you sure?" he confirmed again, eyeing me skeptically. "What if she's home?"

I didn't know how to tell him that it wasn't Rachel that made me dread going back to the house. It was the fear that there would still be blood on the floors. But the police didn't return to question me further upon searching the house, so I was fairly confident that Jonathan had cleaned it up and disposed of the broken coffee table. I had a feeling I'd see the blood even with my eyes closed.

"I can handle it," I assured him. Evan stood and offered me his hand. I took it and eased myself from the wicker chaise that was layered with pillows for my comfort. It didn't matter how many pillows it had, it didn't keep the pain at bay every time I had to breathe.

"I wonder how bad it's going to be," I thought out loud as we weaved through the back roads of Weslyn.

"What?" Evan asked with uncertainty.

"My room."

"How come you didn't go back with the police to see if anything was taken?"

"Because I knew there wasn't," I replied flatly, knowing the only thing he tried to take was hanging around my neck.

"Do you think he'll come back?" I could feel him watching for my reaction.

I shook my head and stared out the window, not wanting him to see the look on my face as I closed my eyes and tried to push away the bloody image that induced a shudder. What did we do? I mouthed to my reflection, resting my head against the glass, replaying Jonathan wiping away his prints on the car door. I wondered how detailed he had been when ridding the house of evidence.

I was so wrapped up in preparing myself to face the brutality; I really didn't give much thought to what it was going to be like to see my mother―if she was home. Her car was still in the driveway when we pulled in. But it had probably been there since I took her to the hospital. When we neared the house, music reverberated through the front door, confirming that she'd returned.

Evan stopped on the steps and turned to me. "Do you want to do this? We don't have to."

Despite the nausea that rolled in my stomach, I nodded. He eyed me warily, but didn't try to talk me out of it. Evan opened the screen door for me. I took a deep breath and walked into the house.

I didn't look for her. I continued up the stairs and Evan followed. I kept my eyes on each step and veered into my room without looking at the spot where his battered body had lain motionless. By the time Evan closed the door behind us, my heart was beating so hard I thought I might fall over.

We waited for her reaction. The music continued in the kitchen, allowing us to relax and breathe easier. I was just beginning to think we'd be able to leave without incident when I heard the door beneath my bedroom slam shut. She must have been out back. Evan stopped and looked toward me, awaiting my reaction. I shook my head with a shrug, trying to appear unaffected.

"Oh, Emma," Evan consoled under his breath.

I snapped back into the room and my mouth dropped open. "What the..."

It was completely torn apart. The mattress was pushed off the bed. The bureau drawers were dumped and tossed in a heap. The clothes in the closet were strewn across the floor. The only things left untouched were Evan's pictures on the cloth covered bulletin board and the stacks of clothes on the top shelf in the closet.

"My laptop's gone," I noticed, my voice deflated. I walked closer to the desk and discovered the hard drive on the floor beneath the desk. I eased myself under to pick it up. "At least I still have this. I guess I can always buy another laptop."

"True," Evan responded, trying to sound optimistic. Then he questioned in confusion, "But I thought you said he didn't take anything."

"He didn't," I confirmed. "She must have, or someone from one of her parties maybe." I absorbed the disaster with a disheartened sigh. "Okay, let's do this."

Evan set the suitcase and a large duffle bag on the box spring. He scooped the clothes from the floor and tossed them next to me so I could stuff them in the bags. There was no point in folding them.