Barely Breathing (The Breathing #2)(112)

I closed my eyes and fell asleep. I was still so tired. I felt like I could sleep for three days straight.



The creaking stairs woke me. The room was bright, with the afternoon sun pouring in the windows. I squinted, trying to focus.

My mother had emerged dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, practically crumpling down the stairs, her eyes slits and her hand holding her head. I sat up. She looked to me and held up her hand.

"Don't want to talk about it right now," she groaned, the anticipation evident on my face.

"Want me to get you something?"

"Aspirin, coffee, and please cut my head off," she croaked. 

I followed her into the kitchen and found the aspirin in the cabinet above the sink. I set two tablets in front of her with a glass of water while I started brewing the coffee. She rested her head on her folded arms on top of the kitchen table. She made careful movements to take the aspirin, grimacing when she swallowed them down.

I set a cup of coffee in front of her and sat across from her, waiting. She took a sip of the coffee and reluctantly looked my way.

"You want to talk about it, don't you?"

"I think we should," I replied, anxiously picking at my thumb. "Before you say anything though, I have to ask you one thing."

"What's that?" The pain from her hangover was evident in her glassy, bloodshot eyes. She could barely open them.

"Don't ever drive again if you've been drinking," I told her. I meant it to be a request, but it came out harsher than I'd intended. She picked her head up at my tone. "If something happened to you... or someone else..." I shook my head, unable to say it. My jaw tensed just thinking it.

"I won't," she whispered. "That was stupid. I shouldn't have driven home."

"You can always call me."

My mother let out a laugh that sounded more like a cough. "Not last night. I was so mad at you. There was no way I was going to ask you for anything."

I sat back in my chair, stunned by her words. "Why?"

"Don't pretend like you're innocent," she accused, her eyes boring into me. "I hear you talking to him in the middle of the night. I saw the texts on your phone. Why are you still talking to Jonathan, like every day?"

She was still angry with me. It was evident in her glare. But the crack in her voice made it obvious that she was hurt too. I lowered my eyes, wringing my fingers under the table.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," I told her, not sure how to explain my friendship with Jonathan. "We just talk... that's all."

She shook her head. "Didn't you even think for one second how much that would hurt me? Emily, I was in love with him. I thought I'd finally found the person that would help me move on.

"I knew he was leaving, and all I wanted was the summer. I'd hoped by the end he'd consider asking me to go to California with him. Why wouldn't I want to move? He'd be there, and so would you. But..." She paused and pressed her fingers across her eyes.

"He was more concerned about you the night of my birthday," she continued in a low shaky voice. "He didn't even care that I was upset too. You forgave me. I don't understand why he can't. So, don't you realize how much you hurt me by still talking to him? It's like you don't care about me." She sniffled and closed her eyes. My mouth hung open in silent utterances. I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach and all of the air was forced out of me.

She stood with her coffee cup in her hand and walked out of the kitchen.

I never really thought how my friendship with Jonathan would affect anyone around me. It wasn't like I was intentionally keeping that relationship a secret.

I sat in the empty kitchen, staring at the chair across from me, finally admitting that I did keep him a secret. And I refused to consider how it would make her feel if she found out. He was the only one who understood that dark part of me, and I could tell him things I couldn't tell anyone else―selfishly, I didn't want to give him up.

I covered my face with my hands and breathed in. Guilt devoured my insides like acid. I felt like I was going to be sick.

"Are you kidding me?" she screamed from the top of the stairs. I rushed into the foyer to find her clutching his white t-shirt. "He was here last night? What the fuck, Emily?!"



       
         
       
        

"I couldn't carry you," I choked, my lower lip quivering. "I didn't know what else to do. I'm sorry."

"I can't believe you," she seethed, shaking her head, infuriated. "I can't believe you."

She turned her back to me. My heart beat erratically with the suffocating fear that I had finally made her not want me. I ran up the stairs and blurted desperately, "I won't talk to him anymore, I promise. But please don't be mad at me. I never meant to hurt you, I swear. I won't ever talk to him again, just don't be mad." I bit my lower lip and my vision blurred with tears.