Barely Breathing (The Breathing #2)(134)

My brows crumpled in confusion. "What?"

"Did you tell me you were staying there?" she asked in her nervous rush. "Did I forget? I'm so sorry. I probably forgot."

"What's wrong with you?" I shot out. "Why are you all of a sudden worried about me?"

"Oh," she sighed, sounding disappointed. "Are you still mad at me? I'm so sorry I overreacted on Friday. I shouldn't have thought that you would ever do anything to hurt me. I was upset. Are you really mad?"

I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it, completely speechless. Who was this woman? Even if she didn't remember what she'd said to me that night because she was so drunk, she had to have remembered what I said to her―how much I hurt her.

"Emily?" she called out to me.

"I'm here," I answered, devoid of emotion. "I'm staying here this week. It's vacation anyway, so... I'm staying here." I couldn't tell her I was moving out. I wanted to. I meant to. But I didn't.

"Okay." Her voice sounded strained. "Well, I guess I'll see you next week."

"Yeah," I breathed before I hung up, too confounded to say anything else.

"Well," Sara demanded when I appeared at the top of the stairs. I didn't acknowledge her, too baffled by what just happened. "Emma," she urged impatiently, "what did she want?"

"I have no idea," I murmured in a daze. I sat down on the couch next to Sara and told her what happened.

"So she doesn't remember?" Sara questioned skeptically. "I really doubt it, Em. I bet she wants you to think that so you'll move back in again."

"But why would she do that? She doesn't even want me." It didn't make sense, but I'd come to the same conclusion as Sara.

"I have no idea," Sara agreed. "Maybe you should talk to her."

"You mean I should break up with her," I corrected. "I can't believe I need to have the we're over talk with my own mother. How depressing is that?"

"She can't keep hurting you and using you like an emotional punching bag. It's messed up. How many times do you have to forgive her before she destroys you?"

I knew she was right. It was only a matter of time before she got drunk and did something devastating again. I just didn't understand why she kept pulling me back in, making me feel like she wanted me when, during her vodka-induced proclamation, she'd confessed that she wished I was never born.

"I'll come with you," Sara said from beside me. "I'm not going to let you do it alone."



       
         
       
        

~~~~~

Sara drove us to the house the next evening after my soccer game. I still hadn't figured out what I was going to say when we pulled in behind Rachel's car.

"You don't have to come in," I told Sara as I slowly unbuckled the seatbelt, my heart beating so fast I couldn't think straight.

"Uh, no," Sara countered adamantly. "I'm coming in with you."

I took long even breaths as I approached the door, trying to remain calm. It was useless. I was a wreck. Sara stayed by my side and opened the screen door for me. The front door was locked, so I used my key to let us in.

We didn't make it very far into the foyer before we both stopped. The house was a disaster. Sara and I scanned from the kitchen to the living room speechlessly. Plastic red cups and glasses were abandoned on just about every surface. Bottles littered the floor, along with bowls of chips and empty boxes of pizza. The stench of stale beer and old pizza made our noses scrunch in disgust. It was ten times worse than Sara's house after the anti-Valentine's party.

"Looks like Rachel had a party," Sara observed, stepping carefully over the cluttered floor and into the living room. "Or two."

"What the hell?" I muttered in disbelief, wondering when this happened. I ran up the stairs, expecting to find her in rare, or not so rare, form in her bedroom―but it was empty. I turned to head back downstairs and my mouth dropped open. "No way."

My door was open and my bed was unmade. "Oh please, no," I shook my head. "I can't believe she let―" I was afraid to finish the sentence.

Sara appeared behind me. "We are so burning those sheets."

"It doesn't matter," I resigned with a heavy breath. "I can't live here anymore."

"Uh, of course not," Sara scolded. "When between the car and entering the house did you decide that you were going to do that?"

"I didn't," I fumbled. "I just―"

"Live in a world of denial," Sara finished sternly. "Em, look around and open your eyes. She's not going to change."