Barely Breathing (41 page)

I dressed in a fitted grey t-shirt and jeans, and opted for the pink checked Converses that I'd only dared to wear a few times. They drew attention, and I didn't usually want that. It was supposed to be nearly eighty degrees today, which was unfathomable in Connecticut in April. I decided to grab my zipped sweatshirt just in case the morning air was still cool.

I hated the weather teasing with summer-like conditions, knowing it would only return to the rainy and cool norms within a day or two. It was torturous to think summer and graduation were
that
close, yet still two months away.

I grabbed my backpack and soccer bag before heading out the door. As I walked toward my car, a black motorcycle came into view. I stood by my car as the bike pulled into the driveway and coasted to a stop beside me.

The rider had on a black t-shirt and jeans with a pair of black leather boots. His head was covered with a helmet reminiscent of a combat helmet―not much protection if you asked me. The mirrored glasses covering his eyes reflected the image of my dumbfounded stare. Then he smiled, and the creases around his mouth rocked me back slightly.

"Jonathan?"

"Good morning," he replied after shutting off the engine. "How are you?"

"Uh, fine,” I answered, flustered. "What are you doing here? I thought we weren't talking to each other; that we decided it was the best thing to do."

"Not really," he countered, taking off his glasses. "
Rachel
decided we shouldn't talk, and she's not here right now. I don't think it's the best thing at all, do you?"

I was stunned by his defiance and continued to stare at him, not knowing what to think, forget about what to say.

"Let's do something," Jonathan demanded boldly, not at all a request.

I laughed. "I have to go to school, and shouldn't you be at work?"

"This is not the kind of day where you should be at school. And no,
I
should be right here," he rebutted. "Come on, Emma. You're already accepted into Stanford. One skipped day of school isn't going to change that."

"I don't know," I hesitated, inspecting the shiny black Harley with chrome detailing―determining if I was willing to even get on the bike, forget about ditch school.

"You agreed we would do
something
, so let's do it. Stop thinking so much and get on the bike, Emma." His directive was bold; he wasn't willing to hear another excuse. He slid on his glasses and jumped on the starter, revving the motorcycle to life. The deep guttural engine roared, calling for the road with a twist of his wrist.

I took a deep breath... and stopped thinking. I opened my car door and tossed my bags inside, grabbing my sunglasses and sliding on my sweatshirt. When I turned around, Jonathan was holding out a black helmet with a crooked smile.

I fastened the straps under my chin, then slid my sunglasses in place. He kicked up the stand, and I flipped my leg over the back. The leather seat slid us close together, the front of my thighs pressed against the back of his. I grabbed a hold of his waist and closed my eyes in anticipation.

My brain might have been turned off, but my heart raced with adrenaline. I knew it would've been overloaded with panic if I'd taken a moment to think about the many ways this was not a good idea―particularly the gruesome death that was a possibility if he took one wrong turn. Maybe there was a benefit to not thinking.

Jonathan slowly backed the motorcycle up and then walked it forward to turn us around before accelerating down the driveway and out of the neighborhood. That's when the thoughts broke through, and I wondered what the hell I was doing. Skipping school to hop on the back of a motorcycle with my mother's ex-boyfriend and taking off to who knows where
definitely
was not a good idea. But before I could allow the voice of reason to penetrate too deep, I shut it off again. Instead I watched Weslyn slip away and closed my eyes to feel the wind whip against my face as the engine roared between my legs. I let the adrenaline rush through me and decided just to go with it, regardless of the consequences.

I had no idea where Jonathan was taking us. I never even considered what his
something
could be before the impulsivity had hijacked me. We ended up on the highway at some point and continued west, deeper into Connecticut, until we entered New York.

We exited the highway and followed winding roads lined with woods. The houses were set deep within forested driveways, each marked with a mailbox on the road. We slowed enough that I attempted to talk, or holler, "Where are we going?"

"There's something I want to share with you," he turned his head to the side to yell in return.

A few more twisting roads later, we slowed practically to a crawl. Jonathan veered down a road that barely resembled one. The tire worn dirt tracks were filled in with weeds and splotches of grass. He weaved along the drive and pulled up in front of the skeletal remains of a house.

I took in the plot curiously, unfastening the helmet as Jonathan shut off the engine and kicked the stand into place. I dismounted, and my legs shook slightly from the long ride.

A fire had devoured the entire structure, leaving only remnants behind. A tall stone chimney remained erect amongst leaning beams and ash. On the far side of the house, a section of crossbeams stood defiantly, despite its black, scarred outer skin. It connected to what appeared to have been a porch. The stone foundation outlined the modest home, but the interior was unidentifiable since it was completely incinerated.

"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.

We didn't have to go very far to find my fear. Within twenty minutes, Jonathan pulled off the road into a gravel inlet that could easily be missed.

"Where are we?" I asked, taking off my helmet and sweatshirt, starting to register the eighty degree heat that was promised.

"You'll see," Jonathan grinned slyly. I followed him as he led us along a path into the woods. Soon the rush of water reverberated through the trees, and I caught a glimpse of rapids twisting over rocks before dipping out of sight.

The air was a little cooler within the shadows of the trees as we followed the turbulent water that continued to evade full view. It sounded like it was running beneath our feet. And pretty soon, it was.

Jonathan stopped on a flat ledge that opened up in front of us. About twenty feet below was a pool of water, capturing a small cascade pouring into it from a little further up. The path continued down to the water's edge where a cluster of boulders rested in the water.

"This is a favorite swimming spot in the summer," Jonathan explained, and I could easily picture it―sitting on the smooth surface of the boulders to soak in the sun and cooling off in the clear water. I peered over the edge without getting too close―my pulse thrummed through my body. Angled slabs of rock lined the bottom of the crystal pool.

"Ready?" Jonathan asked from behind me.

I whipped around. "What? Ready for what?" Fear captured my breath, knowing what he was expecting.

"Do you want to keep your jeans on? They may weigh you down. But I would keep your sneakers on because the water can hurt from this height if you hit wrong.

"You're not serious," I challenged, my words spewing in a rush. "You can't be serious."

"I have a knife if you want to cut your jeans into shorts," he continued casually, ignoring my panic attack.

"No, no, no, no, no," I uttered, moving to get off the ledge, but Jonathan stepped in front of me, blocking the way. "What are you doing?" I gawked at him with wide eyes, my heart beating so hard it actually hurt.

"Jump, Emma," he commanded, his voice stern but nonthreatening.

"No way," I practically yelled. "This is so high, and the water's not that deep. You can't make me do this. I won't do it."

"It's actually very deep, I promise you," he continued in his even, assertive tone. "Emma, you're either going to jump, or I'm going to push you." He stepped closer, making me back up toward the edge.

I searched for another way off the ledge, but it wasn't wide enough to get past him. "Please don't make me do this."

"Emma, jump or I'm going to push you," he repeated a little more firmly. He remained emotionless and calm, but from the intensity in his eyes, I knew he was serious. I wasn't leaving this ledge without going in the water.

I turned away from him and focused on breathing, since I wasn't breathing at all.

Breathing in, then out―in, then out. My chest moved up and down. In, then out. I swallowed hard and let my eyes fall over the edge to the water below.

Jonathan remained silent behind me. I didn't look for him.

I inched closer until I was about a foot from the rim. I became dizzy and quickly looked up. I focused on the trees along the cliff on the other side of the water and grounded myself again. I closed my eyes and my heartbeat pulsed through my head. My breathing quickened and my stomach rolled with nerves, and then a shot of adrenaline streaked through me.

Before the adrenaline could slip away, I took the step and leapt―just as I felt his hand press against my back. My stomach opened up, becoming hollow as the air rushed by me and my head buzzed with fear and excitement. A second later my feet slammed into the water, and I was consumed by the frigidity.

I kicked to the surface and expelled the small amount of air in my lungs, my chest frozen from the shock of the water. My muscles tightened as I gasped for air. I focused on swimming to the boulders. My jeans were heavy and slowed my progress. A spray of water hit me from behind with a loud splash.