Barely Breathing (The Breathing #2)(131)

I dropped my bag on the floor next to the bed I usually slept in and sat on the edge with my shoulders bowed. My head felt light and was spinning slightly.

Sara sat next to me and waited, knowing I would tell her once I found the strength.

After a few minutes of silence, I took a deep breath and said, "I wasn't supposed to live."

"What?" Sara gasped, sitting perfectly still. 

"She killed me, Sara. I was dead. Why am I still here?" My voice was heavy. Tears filled my eyes.

"Oh, Emma," Sara breathed. "Don't think like that."

"I don't want to feel like this. This pain. I shouldn't have to feel it. I was supposed to be dead." A tear rolled over the rim of my lid and slid down my cheek.

"Emma, please tell me what happened," Sara begged softly. "You're not making any sense."

I took a stuttered breath and revealed, "My mother told me she never wanted me. That I was the reason my father never loved her. He left me everything, Sara." I connected with her large blue eyes. They glistened with sadness. I had to look away, unable to bear her pain as well.

"What do you mean he left you everything?" she asked patiently, trying to understand.

"A lawyer came to see me yesterday. My father had a trust set up for me. The lawyer told me the truth about my parents. They were never married, and my father only stayed with her for me. She blames me. She hates me. I'm pretty sure she even tried to kill herself because of what happened."

"What are you talking about?" Sara's brows tilted in confusion.

"That's how I ended up with Carol and George. She was in the hospital after taking too many pills. I think she tried to commit suicide." I spoke without connecting with my words. My whole body was a whirl of incoherency. I could no longer feel or think.

"When did she tell you this?" she asked, shaking her head like it was incomprehensible.

"Tonight," I stated flatly. "I should have told you. I should have said something about what was going on …  her drinking, but I thought I could handle it. I thought I could fix her. But I can't."

"It's not your fault," Sara consoled, taking my hand. Her words echoed through me, and I focused on her, drawn back to my exact words to Jonathan earlier in the day. In that moment, I recognized the impossibility of forgiveness when my insides were tangled in culpability. Guilt was lonely and isolating. I wondered how Jonathan had lived with it all of these years.

"I'm so tired," I told her, the ache in my chest sucking the will out of me. "I don't want to do this anymore."

"Do what?" Sara whispered, helping me up so she could pull back the covers.

"Hurt," I muttered, tears seeping between my quivering lips.

"You don't have to," Sara soothed, guiding me down on the bed. "Emma, it's going to get better. You don't have to do this alone. I'm here, okay?"

Sara lay next to me on top of the blankets and smoothed my hair away from my face. "You don't have to hurt anymore," I heard her whisper again as I closed my eyes.





35. Everyone Hurts



I would've thought I'd be up most of the night, unable to sleep, but when I opened my eyes it was midmorning and Sara's bed was empty. I lay under the covers for a while, not sure what the point was of getting up. But I couldn't suppress the need to use the bathroom, so I forced myself out of the bed.

Since I was already there, I decided to shower. I realized I'd never showered after my daytrip with Jonathan or practice last night, and I desperately needed it. I remained hollow as I stood under the water, unable to feel anything stirring inside―not an emotion or a single thought. I was tempted to go back to bed when I came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, but Sara had already made it and was lying on top, reading a magazine.

"Hey," she greeted with a smile. "Are you hungry? My mom's making pancakes."

I shrugged and started to dress, not caring if Sara saw my scars―she'd seen them at their worst anyway.



       
         
       
        

"So, where were you during school yesterday?" she asked casually, keeping her eyes on the magazine as she turned the pages.

"With Jonathan," I admitted softly, my voice hard to find.

This got her attention. "Excuse me? You were with Jonathan? Why... Uh, what did you do?" It wasn't often that Sara had difficulty finding her words.

"We went for a ride on his motorcycle," I told her. She waited, but I didn't continue. There wasn't much more I could say without revealing his secrets, and I couldn't do that.