Barely Breathing (The Breathing #2)(51)

"What?"

"No one's ever been able to stop me. I usually lose it, and there's no holding me back."

"You're a fighter?" I clarified, not expecting the confession. For the first time I noticed a thin scar under his chin, and another above his right eyebrow, both barely visible.

"Used to be," he corrected. "My past, remember. I haven't gotten that angry in a long time. It scared me."

"It scared me too," I admitted.

He stopped rubbing his hands together, troubled by my admission.

"The whole thing scared me," I said, still feeling the after effects trembling beneath my skin. "Let's just say tonight sucked all around."

"Yeah, it did," he exhaled. Jonathan leaned toward me to make certain he had my attention. His dark brown eyes focused on me, pulling me in when he said, "I don't ever want to scare you again." I couldn't say anything. The conviction of his words poured into me, and I could barely breathe.

He leaned back against the couch, releasing me from the connection. I took a deep breath to ease the pounding in my chest.

"What were you going to ask me?" I was finally able to get out. 

"You said you thought it would be different. What did you mean?"

"I haven't lived with her for almost five years," I explained evasively, staring out the window into the night. "She's been hurt before, and I don't want her to go through that again. I just want it to be different for her, for us."

"Where were you during those five years?"

"In hell," I breathed, resting my head against the couch. He was quiet. I continued to stare into the dark, eventually breathing myself to sleep.

~~~~~

When I opened my eyes, the room was a warm gold as the sun filtered through the trees. My heavy lids closed again, and I pulled the blanket over me. I was about to drift off when I set my hand down and felt the hard lines of his thigh beneath it. My eyes stretched wide. My instinct was to jump up from the couch, freaked that I fell asleep with my head on his leg. But I didn't want to wake him, so I sat up slowly. Jonathan remained seated on the end of the couch, his head lolled to the side, breathing deeply.

I found my jacket draped over the arm of the rocking chair and my shoes placed beneath it―knowing I'd had them on when I fell asleep. I rubbed my eyes to ward off the remaining drowsiness and carefully rose from the couch. A floorboard creaked when I stood. His head rocked in response, and his eyes blinked open.

"Sorry," I whispered, my heart beating quickly. I'd really wanted to be gone when he woke up.

"What time is it?" he asked, squinting as he read his watch. "I should get going." He yawned and stretched his arms over his head.

"You're not staying?"

"Um," he stalled, not expecting the strain in my voice. I bit my lip, realizing how I sounded.

"I mean," I fumbled, searching for a way to fix it. "I thought that … "

"I can stay," he interrupted. He sighed as his eyes climbed the stairs.

"You don't have to." I could tell he was unsettled by his decision.

"I don't understand what happened last night," he said, resting his head on the couch and searching the ceiling. "I've seen her drunk, and I've seen her get emotional. But I've never seen her that bad before."

I hesitated, taking in his troubled face―debating if I should just go up to my room. He was obviously concerned about her, and so was I.

I sat down on the couch, with one leg folded under me so I could face him. "She was upset." He rolled his head over to look at me. "I'm sure it's been hard having me move back in, too. I remind her of my father, and that... hurts her. I want to fix us, but I don't know how if I'm the reason she's in pain."

Jonathan studied my eyes, as the truth of my words swallowed me.

"You didn't do this to her," he soothed. I averted my eyes. "And as much I feel guilty for not calling her back, I didn't do this to her either."

We sat in silence for a minute. I tried to convince myself that what he said was true, and I knew it was. But I couldn't help feeling that if I hadn't forced myself back in, she wouldn't be forcing herself forget.

"Can I ask you something?" Jonathan inquired hesitantly.

"Sure." I turned back toward him, waiting.

"What happened to your ankle?" He eyed the scar on my right foot, which was curled under me. I pressed my lips together, not prepared for the question.

He opened his mouth to say something when I answered, "A going away present."

He was quiet a moment. "From hell?" I raised my brows in confirmation, not expecting him to get it. "I have one of those." Before I could react, he lifted the right side of his shirt to reveal a long, thin scar that ran under his ribs. "Lived there once too."