Barely Breathing (The Breathing #2)(123)

"Jonathan, why are we here?" I asked, turning around. But he wasn't looking at me. He was staring at the charred remains.

I had an ill feeling in my gut. I didn't like this place. There was something about the way the blackened structure was set in the shadows of the woods that made it appear haunted, like there was a dark tale to be told if you listened carefully enough.

"What are you afraid of, Emma?"

"What?" I practically jumped, convinced he'd read my thoughts.

"What is it that keeps you up at night? What is the source of all of your nightmares? What are you afraid of?"

The ill feeling in the pit of my stomach spread, and I didn't want to be there anymore. This was the place where bad things happened and nightmares took root. I shivered with the realization of where we were.

"This was your house, wasn't it?" I asked barely audible, disturbed by the distant gleam in his eye. He continued to scan every inch of the ruins like he was putting it back together in his head. "What happened here?"

"I thought I would feel different. More afraid, I guess," Jonathan contemplated out loud, not really talking to me. "It's so much worse in my dreams. Fire's coming out of every window. Smoke blacking out the stars. And I can't get close because it's so hot; it feels like my skin will melt off." He walked closer, holding out his hand like he could feel the flames.

I watched as his nightmare unfolded in front of him. He wasn't here with me. He was in the presence of his past―reliving it again. I was too stunned to save him.

Jonathan crouched in front of the stone steps and reached out tentatively, prepared to pull back if they were hot. He ran his hand across the bumpy surface and shook his head.

"I just sat in the woods and watched. Watched it all burn away. But the screams... their screams all sound the same."

"What?" I questioned in shock, my chest tightening with his words. "Did someone die in the fire?" Then I remembered. "Your father. This is how he died."

"So did my mother and younger brother," Jonathan murmured, sitting on the bottom step and running his hands through his hair.

I cautiously walked toward him and sat next to him on the cool stone. "Did he set the fire?" Jonathan shook his head.

"Is this why you brought me here? To show me your nightmare―the one you keep having over and over again?"

"Actually, this was for me," Jonathan admitted, glancing at me. "I thought we should face our fears together. Especially since we're both leaving soon. Then we can officially start over, without our fears following us.

"But I'm not afraid. In truth, I'm angry." He clenched his fists and pressed them against his thighs. "That man took everything away from me the night of this fire, and there's nothing I can do about it. He's dead, and so are they." Jonathan's face was hard, his eyes cold and distant. Then he broke, and bent forward, covering his face with his hands.

I barely heard him say, "They shouldn't have been in the house. This shouldn't have happened to them. I keep hearing their screams over and over again. Reminding me I couldn't save them."

"It's not your fault," I soothed softly. "You didn't do this to them. Maybe that's what you have to do. Forgive yourself."



       
         
       
        

Jonathan lifted his head, a line creasing his brow. "Forgive myself." He repeated it like the words were unfamiliar to him. He took a breath, washing away the distance in his eyes, returning to me. "I bet you're wishing you hadn't skipped school right about now, huh?" He grinned faintly, trying to transition us out of his nightmare.

"Let's get out of here and do something much more interesting. My fear doesn't exist here." Jonathan turned toward me, delving into me like he did, "Okay, Emma. What are you afraid of?"

"Oh no," I shook my head adamantly. "We don't need to conquer my fear today. I'm sure there's another way to spend our day." He continued to wait until I finally buckled. "Fine. I'm afraid of heights."

"Done. But I know this has nothing to do you with your nightmares, so don't think you're getting out of it that easily," Jonathan warned, standing up and walking toward the motorcycle. I remained on the steps, unmoving―not sure I was ready to follow him to my fear. Knowing I wasn't. I took a breath and pushed myself off the stone, conceding, as I always seemed to do when I was with him.

I climbed on the back of the bike and watched Jonathan's past disappear behind us, swallowed up by the surrounding trees as we drove away. Then I gripped him tightly and hid my face against his back, trying to prepare for my fear. Which was not at all possible.