Barely Breathing (The Breathing #2)(48)

"Wouldn't it be nice to take off to wherever you wanted, just because you wanted to?" She said this with an equal measure of envy and possibility. "We should have him over for dinner soon."

"Uh, okay."

"I'm going to bed," she announced. I watched her climb the stairs and hoped that whatever Jonathan was doing, it wouldn't leave her devastated in the end. I didn't think I could handle watching her heart break.

~~~~~

I met up with Jill and Casey the next afternoon; we ended up going to a movie that night. After a half day of incessant giggling, combined with soda and jujubes, my teeth hurt from all the sugar. I could only take the two of them in small doses, and I'd OD'd today.

I had barely taken off my jacket when my phone rang. I pulled it from my pocket to see Rachel lit on the screen.

"Hi," I answered.

"Is this Emily?" a deep voice asked. Not answering, I looked at the phone again to make sure I'd read it correctly. It had my mother's phone number as the caller. I put the phone back to my ear, my stomach clenched.

"Hello?" he bellowed over the voices and music clashing in the background.

"Yes," I replied, my heart picking up its pace. "This is Emily."

My brain flashed through a thousand different images of what might've happened to her, inciting a panic.

"You need to come pick up Rachel. I can't let her drive home."

"Um, okay," I responded with a heavy heart. I should have been relieved that she was okay, but then again, she really wasn't. "Where is she?"

"Mick's Place, on Route 113 in Stenton."

"Alright. I'll be there soon." I sank onto the steps with my phone in my hands, bowing my head in dread. I shouldn't have been surprised that she was drunk once again. It was what I'd become accustomed to as a child, but I'd hoped I wouldn't have to deal with it this time around.

My entire body hollowed with the acceptance of her condition, shutting off the emotion that threatened to take over. I just needed to focus on getting her home, and then I'd figure out the rest later.

I tried to locate the bar on the GPS on my phone, but nothing came up. I had no idea where she was. That left me with only one choice. I shook my head and groaned, "Shit," not liking what I was about to do, especially since he was probably the reason she was drinking.

I dialed the number and held my breath as it rang.

"Hello? Emma? Is everything okay?" The urgency in his voice made it clear that he was expecting the worst. 

"Um …  not really," I replied softly. "Can you help me?"

"Of course. What's going on?" he responded in a rush.

"I need to pick up Rachel, but I don't know where she is."

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes, okay?"

"Okay," I exhaled.



Jonathan's truck pulled into the driveway, and I stepped onto the porch to lock the door behind me.

"Will you drive my car?" I asked before he'd said a word.

"Sure," he responded, taking the keys with a questioning look.

"I think she's going to need to lie down," I explained glumly.

He took in my drawn expression. "It'll be okay. We'll pick her up and everything will be fine."

"Yup," I answered, not believing a word.

I told Jonathan where she was, and his brows pulled together in concern.

"What?" I demanded nervously.

"It's not the best place to hang out," he noted with a heavy breath. "You should stay in the car while I go in and get her, okay?" I closed my eyes and nodded, trying to hold it together.

When we arrived, I understood why he didn't want me to go in. The bar was a single story box with neon lights nailed to its roof. Several of the letters were dark, and the end of "Place" was flickering red, fighting to stay lit. The small slots that were presumably windows were covered with glowing neon beer signs. The building was a dingy shade of white that the years and lack of care had rotted away. There were shingles missing in some spots or broken in others. It looked like a strong wind could bring the entire place down.

The parking lot was poorly lit. A single spotlight hung from the corner of the building, casting more shadows than light. The dirt parking lot was covered in patches of ice. It was a hazard to walk on while sober, forget about after drinking until you could barely stand. A rough group of men stood outside, smoking cigarettes and making comments to the patrons coming and going. Their faces were dark and stubbly. I was convinced they hadn't showered in days. A line of motorcycles would undoubtedly be lined up in front of them if it weren't the middle of winter. They blended with the dilapidated background perfectly―the sight of them made me squirm in disgust.