I Breathe You Read online

  The rhythm of the wipers mixed with the drugs soon makes me drowsy. I recline the seat slightly, trying to get more comfortable. I only want to close my eyes and relax for a few minutes to keep the headache at bay.

  I’ll never be comfortable riding in a car again, but I could fall asleep on a toilet while under the influence of one of these bionic painkillers. T reaches into the backseat and retrieves a small pillow for me to tuck beneath my head. He puts in a CD of classical music. Beethoven. The melodic piano succeeds in finally pulling me under.

  Chapter 8

  “Dalton, where are you?” I cry, spinning around in circles. It’s pouring and my clothes are soaked through. I’m frantically searching for Dalton, whimpering softly for him to “Come back, baby. Please, I’m so lost without you.”

  “Go back, Rhane. You’ll get lost.” His voice is filled with playful laughter. “You always sucked at following directions, remember?”

  “That’s not true. I didn’t always lose my way,” I protest. “Where are you?” I don’t know why I’m able to hear his voice so clearly, when I can’t see him. The dense trees snag at my clothes and scratch my arms. Just when I think I spot him up ahead of me, a twig snaps behind me. I whirl around, hoping to finally see his face.

  He smiles and holds out his hand for me. “Hurry, Ray. We don’t have much time!”

  I run toward him and he takes my hand. A shiver runs down my back as his cold lips brush against the back of my knuckles. His eyes are black, void of light, as he kisses my hand. I reach for him to return the kiss and he disappears into a misty vapor. “No! Dalton, come back!” I scream. “Why are you leaving me?”

  The dark timbre of his laughter vibrates through me, and he taunts me unseen, “You killed me, Rhaney baby. Are you happy now?”

  Suddenly, the sound of tires screeching against wet pavement jerks me from my dream. My eyes burst open as I’m thrown hard against the seatbelt. I gasp for air, trying to release the screams that won’t come. Finally, the skidding Lexus comes to a stop and T slowly eases onto the shoulder of the road. I’m flailing about crazily and one of my fists connects with T’s chin. He curses through clenched teeth and grips my arms. “Rhane, calm down, baby girl. It’s okay. You’re okay,” he urges. “God damn deer ran in front of the car.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and my bottom lip begins to quiver uncontrollably. T drops his hands from my arms and tips my chin up. I don’t open my eyes. I wrap my arms around myself and hold tight, rocking back and forth. I take in a deep breath and rub my face against my shoulder to erase the tears. I spot the dry erase board on the floor and reach down to retrieve it. I had a bad dream, I write.

  He watches me and I see the questions in his eyes. Thankfully he doesn’t ask. He nods, “Okay then, let’s try this again.” He lights a cigarette with shaking hands. He opens his window a few inches and maneuvers the Lexus back onto the two-lane shortcut he’d decided to take while I was napping. “Guess I should’ve stayed on the highway.”

  Finally, just before dusk, we turn off the main road onto a narrow rutted lane. The house sits about a quarter mile off the blacktop. My closest neighbors will be the trees. I guess when I told T that I wanted to go someplace where nobody would know me, where I could be completely alone, he knew this would be the perfect place.

  Dr. Keller had been less than enthusiastic about the idea, but T promised her he’d hire a live-in caregiver. I haven’t told him yet, but that’s so not happening. I’m twenty-three, not twelve. My face falls as soon as I spot the maroon Jeep Cherokee sitting in front of the garage when we pull up. A hateful look crosses my face and I draw a big question mark on the board, holding it up for him to read.

  T sighs and tells me, “I don’t like the idea of you being stuck out here all alone.” The glare on my face hasn’t subsided, prompting him to continue, “I hired someone to help out around the house. She’s a former army nurse. You’ll, um, well… fact is, you’re probably going to hate her, but she’s dependable. And she can cook.”

  Almost involuntarily, my head starts shaking back and forth.

  T purses his lips and opens his door to get out. “Give her a chance. Or at the very least, try not to kill each other until I can get the security company out here and have the alarm installed.” He watches me and adds, “Please.”

  The scowl doesn’t leave my face the whole time we’re unloading my things and it only intensifies when I hear the front screen door bang closed. Holy shit. This’ll be good, I think to myself as her scowl matches, if not exceeds, my own. She’s a stocky woman, built like a fireplug. And what’s up with that hair? If possible, her haircut is worse than mine.

  As soon as she opens her mouth and barks out, “You’re late,” I decide I’m screwed.

  If looks could kill, T would be on the ground mortally wounded right now. He shrugs his shoulders and whispers, “Okay, so maybe she’s a little harsh.” I mouth the words, ya think? and stomp up the wooden steps and brush past her into the house.

  Nurse Ratchet — okay so I made that part up; her real name is Gwen Cummings — informs me that she’s put her things in one of the bedrooms on the main floor and that I can have the upstairs bedroom and bathroom for my space or the other bedroom on the main floor. I only half listen while she goes over the house rules. House rules? Give me a break. Last I checked, this was my house. My house, my rules.

  “Well, let’s get the rest of your things out of the car, so I can get back to town,” T says as he edges toward the door. I glance around for something handy to bounce off the back of his head, but when Gwen folds her arms in front of her and arches an eyebrow at me, I decide against crippling him since I have such a hostile witness. For now.

  Once all the bags are unloaded and we’re standing by the car, I shove my palms against T’s chest, wrinkling my nose in distaste. He holds up his hands, trying to buy a temporary truce. “I’ll have the alarm company out first thing tomorrow, baby girl.”

  I sigh and nod, hoping I’ll be able to tolerate the woman for one night.

  He smiles wanly. “In the meantime, take a look around. The old house needs a little work. Make a list, and I’ll see about having one of my contractors come out to fix it up for you. Okay?”

  I wave him off and nod, mouthing the word Okay.

  He grins. “Hey, I think I’m getting pretty good at reading lips.”

  I arch an eyebrow at him and mouth fuck you.

  “Love you too, baby girl,” he smirks and turns to leave.

  Chapter 9

  I trudge up the stairs to my new space, dragging a couple of bags up with me.

  “Dinner will be at seventeen hundred hours,” she barks.

  And this concerns me how? I wonder, until I realize that it concerns me because I haven’t eaten anything today other than a couple of day-old Krispy Kreme donuts T gave me — out of the dozen he’d bought yesterday. I guess we were both too anxious to get here to think about stopping for a real meal. Of course, he’s probably sitting in a nice restaurant right now, chowing down on something horribly unhealthy. That annoys me a little.

  I calculate in my head what time seventeen hundred hours is in non-military time and glance at my watch. I figure I’ve got about fifteen minutes to start unpacking and organizing what little crap I’ve got.

  The food is actually pretty good, especially since I haven’t had a decent, home-cooked meal since I can’t remember when. Thankfully, Gwen doesn’t talk much, and avoiding eye contact seems to keep her mindless chatter to a minimum.

  After dinner, I decide to take a hot shower to try and ward off the chill I feel creeping in on me. I scribble out a message for Gwen, Is there any heat in this place?

  She shrugs. “I just got here a few hours before you did, so I can’t tell you what works or doesn’t work. I think there’s a thermostat down the hall. I’ll go check,” she tells me. She dries her hands on the dishtowel and wanders away from the kitchen to search.

  I nod and go upstairs, digging out an old swea
tshirt and sweatpants to throw on after my shower. It dawns on me that I don’t have any shampoo or conditioner, or any other toiletries, for that matter. My eyes land on the large cardboard box from the apartment sitting in the corner, silently taunting me. A sense of unease gnaws at my stomach while I contemplate just how badly I want to know what’s inside. I decide that, for now, it’s not real high on my list of priorities.

  The shower doors are covered with a thick, milky soap scum. I peer cautiously into the tub, hoping like hell there isn’t anything crawling around in there. The old bathtub is in sad shape; a rust ring fans out from the drain, and even though it’s not extremely filthy, it will still take about a gallon of lime remover, rust remover, and a whole lot of elbow grease just to make it presentable.

  Inside the small linen closet are a few folded towels, I pull one from the middle of the stack and give it a hearty snap to dislodge anything that might have more legs than me. I rummage around the cabinet beneath the sink and the only bottle with the word “shampoo” on it, unfortunately, also includes the word “puppy.”

  I sigh heavily and decide it’s probably better than nothing as I turn on the water and wait for it to get warm. Pipes clang and bang inside the walls. It takes a minute or so, but the water finally reaches a somewhat comfortable level of tepid and I quickly shed my clothes to hop in.

  The water pressure suddenly drops and the lukewarm spray turns to boiling in a split-second. As soon as it returns to normal, I quickly lather my hair with the coconut-smelling puppy shampoo. At least it smells nice and lathers up well enough for me to wash not only my hair but my body as well. I’m in the process of rinsing off when I hear Gwen’s shrieks from downstairs. I can’t quite make out what she’s saying, but between all the swear words, I think she’s shouting for me to turn off the water. Now.

  I crank the hard water-encrusted knobs turning off the spray, and yank the towel from the hook to wrap it around myself. I pull out another one for my hair and hurry down to see what all of the commotion is about. Gwen’s in the kitchen on her hands and knees with towels, surrounded by pans of every size imaginable. She’s cursing under her breath and strategically placing pans under the dripping ceiling. With her other hand she blots up puddles. Apparently, rather than my shower water going down the drain, it has poured — and is still pouring — through the already water-stained kitchen ceiling tiles.

  Gwen yells for me to get busy. “Grab some more towels and if you can find a bucket, that would be handy.”

  Clad only in a towel, I run down the hall to the other bathroom and gather up all of the towels I can manage in one armload. I dump them on the floor next to her and once I see that she’s got everything under control for the moment, I take off toward the stairs so I can put some clothes on. “Where do you think you’re going?” she protests.

  I stop in my tracks and turn around. Is she serious? I narrow my eyes and sweep my hand down the length of my towel-clad torso. She shakes her head and waves me off. The heat still hasn’t kicked on, and I’m freezing my ass off so I take the stairs two at a time.

  After the minor catastrophe has been handled, Gwen hands me a steaming hot cup of cocoa and sits across from me at the table. The majority of the mess is under control, although a few errant drops of water still plink into the pots and pans scattered haphazardly around the floor.

  I take it heat’s out of the question for the night? I write and hold the whiteboard in front of me for her to see. She nods and gets up from the table. Soon she’s back with two sheets of lined paper and two pens.

  “Here, write down everything you’ve found that needs to be fixed, and I’ll make a list of my own.” She pushes the paper closer to me, and mutters, “I hope there’s enough paper.”

  A soft snort escapes me. I’m not sure, but I think she just cracked a joke.

  Chapter 10

  I get up from the table, paper and pen in hand, and wander from room to room. I pull open the door to the basement and flip the switch. When the light fails to come on, I shake my head and slam the door, adding basement light to my growing list of things that need to be fixed.

  “The washer and dryer are down there, I think,” Gwen informs me. I turn my head slowly, meeting her gaze. I wrinkle my nose and scribble on my paper, Move laundry to main floor. Basements = spiders, holding it up for her to see. I’d rather do almost anything than come face to face with a spider.

  She bursts out laughing, and nods her head in agreement. “Good idea. Bugs suck.”

  I quirk an eyebrow at her and grin. Maybe my first opinion of Gwenzilla was a bit hasty. It might not be that awful having her around. Especially since my idea of cooking is “slit the plastic and microwave on high for three minutes.”

  I peer around upstairs and decide I not only need a new bathtub, but I want the whole bathroom remodeled. Obviously, it’s not useable the way it is, so while it’s being made functional, it also needs to be brought into the current century.

  There are a lot of things that need attention, both minor and major. Grandma was neat and tidy, and I’m sure everything worked while she lived here, but the house has been empty for quite a while.

  Along with my list of things that need to be fixed, I make another list of items I need from the store. My hair may only consist of spiky, raven-colored chunks, but I’m pretty sure washing it in puppy shampoo isn’t something I want to make a habit of doing.

  Back down in the kitchen, Gwen and I compare lists. She grumbles, “There’s enough work here to keep an army busy for a year. Or longer.”

  I shrug and write, All I have left is time.

  Her mouth moves into a slight, but sad smile as she pats my hand, “This has been a long day for us both. I don’t know about you, but I’m so tired I’m turning cross-eyed.” She rinses out her cup and pulls her sweater a little tighter around her broad shoulders. “Not to mention, it’s colder than a witch’s broomstick in here. I’m going to turn in. See you in the morning at oh-seven-hundred.”

  I snicker at her comment about the broomstick and hold up ten fingers to indicate my idea of a more appropriate waking hour.

  “Suit yourself, but if you’re not up in time for breakfast, you can fend for yourself.” If I’m not mistaken, it would appear as though she’s trying to keep a smile from showing on her face.

  I guess giving orders must be her thing, and since taking them really isn’t mine, things could get interesting around here. Just because I���ve tentatively decided she can stay, I don���t think I particularly like her telling me what to do.

  I’m cold and I’m tired, and even though I know one thing would cure both of these problems, I’m not ready for sleep to find me. I know that once I finally give in, I’ll dream. Not dreams of kittens and puppies, or running naked through a wide open field chasing butterflies. No, my dreams are about things like broken glass and blood and squealing tires. One of the worst things about having nightmares is my inability to scream myself awake.

  I’m too keyed up to relax, and if sleep intends on overpowering me, it will have to sneak up and drag me down unaware.

  Next to the kitchen door, there’s a worn pair of flowery rubber boots. One at a time, I tap them upside down to dislodge anything that doesn’t belong. They’re a couple of sizes too big and strictly for functionality, not their hot fashion statement. I slip my feet into the clunky things, pull a hoodie over my head, and wander outside onto the porch. Unsurprisingly, the security light on the front of the garage isn’t working, but the full moon and clear night illuminate the yard. I’m amazed by how bright the stars are out here away from civilization.

  I used to visit here a lot when I was a little girl. I knew my way around the woods better than I knew my own name. As an only child, most of my fun came from self-entertainment and exploration.

  The old porch swing sits silent and motionless. I debate whether or not to tempt fate by sitting down since the chains are rusted and the wood has turned a weathered shade of gray. I cautiously lean som
e of my weight onto it, testing to see if it will hold. Although it groans slightly in protest, it doesn’t immediately collapse in a heap on the floor at my feet. I ease myself onto it and hold my breath. So far, so good.

  The calm that washes over me as I rock gently to and fro leaves me with an inner peace that I haven’t felt in forever. When I was in the hospital, my therapist had suggested that I start keeping a journal again. She believed that writing might help me come to terms with who I’ve become.

  I don’t know how long I sit there, letting the rhythm of the swing lull me into a sense of temporary ease before I push to my feet to go inside. As soon as I stand, one end of the swing crashes to the floor as the rusty hook that had been securing it pulls free from the wooden porch ceiling. Just as that happens, a small, black and white dog darts out from under the porch giving me a start. It scampers off toward the woods disappearing into the night.

  Gwen stands just inside as I walk into the kitchen. “Are you alright?” she asks. I nod. She peers through the door and eyes the lopsided porch swing. “You weren’t sitting on that old thing were you? Lord, you’re braver than I am.”

  Maybe once upon a time that would have been an accurate assumption. Not so much anymore. Losing my voice in the accident was akin to losing my identity, and although I try to put on a brave front, inside, I am anything but. With heavy footsteps, I head up the stairs to bed. To count the ceiling tiles. Hoping like hell none of them decide to fall on me.

  Chapter 11

  Food. The aroma of something delicious creeps into my senses and pulls me from a strangely dreamless sleep. I sit up and rub my eyes, confused for a few minutes. It takes my feeble brain a bit to process where I am. I work my fingers through my choppy hair and slide my legs out from under the blankets. I stretch and it hits me: I didn’t have any nightmares last night. Once I finally drifted off to sleep, I stayed asleep the entire night. This has to be some sort of record.