Barely Breathing (The Breathing #2)(121)

       
         
       
        

"Um, in a small farm town in Pennsylvania," she said slowly. "Why'd you want to know?"

"I guess because I never did," I explained bluntly. "Do your parents still live there?"

She was quiet. She looked from me to the television and back again  –  like she was trying to decide if she wanted to have this conversation. She obviously wasn't prepared for the questions, and maybe the shock of them was why she did answer. "My mother may, but I don't really know. I moved away with some friends when I was seventeen and never looked back. Never knew my father. He was a drunk and took off before I could remember him."

"How come I don't know any of this?" I questioned curiously. I wasn't completely surprised by the knowledge of her broken home life. It couldn't have been that happy if she never wanted to talk about it, or visit.

"I don't like living in the past. What's the point?" She redirected her gaze and began changing the channels again.

I found her words ironic, especially since she hadn't figured out how to move past my father's death. Or maybe she had, and his death was an excuse to be miserable. She didn't seem to be making any effort to be happy, except maybe with Jonathan―but even then, she had sabotaged it with her drunken tantrums. Perhaps she preferred wallowing in eternal sadness. I didn't understand why she'd want to live like that.

"Why don't you ever try to talk to me about what happened when I was with Carol and George?"

Rachel's shoulders pulled back, struck hard by my question. I realized I'd reached my limit, but I didn't hold back.

"Why was I there to begin with? Why did you leave me with them?" For years, this question had destroyed me, always thinking it was me―that I was too much for her to handle. It's what had motivated me to be perfect, to never be a burden again. Perfection still left scars.

So now, I just wanted to know the truth.

"I didn't leave you," she whispered. Her answer left me speechless. Before I could utter a sound, she stood up and walked out of the room. I watched as she went into the kitchen and gripped the refrigerator handle. She stayed like that for a moment, battling with the decision to open it or not.

I waited. She let the handle go with a shake of her head, appearing distraught and frazzled.

"I don't know why you want to talk about this," she said from the doorway, her voice shaky. "Why would you want to bring up things that already happened? We can't change them, so let's just let them go, okay?"

I inspected her light blue eyes as they darted around the room nervously, and I nodded.

"I'm going to take a bath." She disappeared up the stairs. 

I had always been too afraid to question her. I wasn't sure where I roused the courage from, but I was pretty certain Charles Stanley's visit had a lot to do with it.

I was prepared for her to be angry with me, and even yell. But that never happened. Instead, she seemed nervous and uncomfortable. And maybe even a little... guilty.





32. In the Woods



I didn't sleep that night, nor was I expecting to. I kept flipping my phone over in my hand, wanting to call Jonathan. I needed him to distract me with absurd conversations about a botched sci-fi movie, or the pillow that cured athlete's foot. It was hard not to call, to hear his voice waiting for me on the other end. But I had promised I wouldn't, so I didn't.

I heard Rachel's door open, followed by the pipes thumping into action for the shower. I viewed the clock and recognized that she was up early, which probably meant she wanted to be out of the house before I woke up. She was avoiding me again. Maybe I wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep last night.

I waited to hear the front door close before getting out of bed. While in the shower, I considered apologizing to Rachel just so that she'd stop evading me. Or perhaps it would blow over by the time I returned from practice tonight, or maybe time away at Sara's would help. Or maybe I didn't care.

That last thought was unexpected.

I didn't know where it had come from. It didn't feel like me. But at the same time, it felt more honest than I'd been with myself for a long time.



I dressed in a fitted grey t-shirt and jeans, and opted for the pink checked Converses that I'd only dared to wear a few times. They drew attention, and I didn't usually want that. It was supposed to be nearly eighty degrees today, which was unfathomable in Connecticut in April. I decided to grab my zipped sweatshirt just in case the morning air was still cool.

I hated the weather teasing with summer-like conditions, knowing it would only return to the rainy and cool norms within a day or two. It was torturous to think summer and graduation were that close, yet still two months away.