Breathe Again (22 page)

My head hurt like hell. I felt like
there was a jackhammer and rock concert inside my brain at the same time. It
was so loud, and all I could see was a bright white light, which made my head
hurt even more. I’d have sworn my skull was about to shatter into a thousand
pieces, and that all those pieces would then spontaneously combust.

I don’t remember ever having felt this terrible. Not when I
had appendicitis, or when I fell out of my grandma’s tree and broke my arm. I
was eleven years old, and Daniel had dared me to climb to the top. He was a
cute boy, so of course I had to prove myself, and then proceeded to fall
fifteen feet when a branch broke underneath me. My mother had yelled at me for
the whole thirty minutes it took to ride to the hospital, telling me that young
ladies did not climb trees and break their arms. That was for boys, and I was
most definitely not a boy. I didn’t climb a tree again after that. In addition
to the cast that I had to wear for six weeks, I also had to get twelve stitches
on the back of my head, and three on my eyebrow. I still had a scar above my
eye, though I’d perfected covering it up with concealer and powder.

“Mellie.” I could hear my name, but I didn’t know where it
was coming from. “Mellie Rose, can you hear me?”

Jackson used to be the only one who called me that, but that
was my name to almost everyone since the premiere. I didn’t like it; not
really. It had been a special name, and I kept meaning to ask Jackson if he
said it on purpose, or if it was just a slipup.

I heard my name again, but I couldn’t tell if it was coming
from my right or my left, or if it was just my imagination. It sounded so far
away, but so close at the same time. The voice was gentle, but it just
contributed to the hammering in my head, like it was going to chip away at my
skull until my brain oozed out. The thought made me wince, and wincing made me
cringe. I was a fucking mess.

I groaned, and the voice called my name again, more urgently
this time.

“Mellie, I know you can hear me.”

It was Jackson calling my name. Nobody ever said my name like
that; only Jackson.

I tried opening my eyes, but the light was too bright. I
squeezed my eyes shut, feeling as if the light had already wiggled its way into
the crevices of my brain. Gross.

“Come on, baby, I know you can do it. Open your eyes.”

He wanted me to open my eyes, and I wanted to, if only so
that I could see him. Maybe he could make it all go away.

“Jackson,” I said. Or, at least I thought I said it. He
didn’t acknowledge that he heard me at all.

I tried again. “Jack,” was all I could get out, but he heard
me this time. Thank god, because I don’t think I could have done it again.

“Mellie, love, I’m here.” I felt him touch my forehead, and
all of a sudden it was all okay. He really was here. I couldn’t leave him now.

“I love you.” I moved my mouth, but I couldn’t hear myself
say anything. My mouth felt dry, as if I hadn’t had a sip of water in days. I
groaned.

“What do you need, sweetheart? I’m here, just tell me what
you need, Mellie.” His voice was exactly what I needed. I felt like just
hearing him say my name was enough, but I knew it wasn’t.

“Water,” I tried to get out, but I wasn’t sure if it worked.
I was too tired to try again; I just wanted to feel his hands against my face
again. And water.

“Of course, love,” he said, but his voice sounded farther
away this time. I whimpered at the distance, suddenly feeling exposed, as if
his absence was going to make it hurt again. Before I knew it, however, he was
back. “Here, drink this.” I hadn’t opened my eyes, but I felt something at my
lips, and I opened my mouth willingly.

I almost cried at how good the water felt sliding down my
throat. It took the thirst away, of course, but made my head feel slightly
better too. I let myself stay in the darkness for a few more moments before
trying to open my eyes again.

I was more successful this time, but I instantly regretted
the attempt. There were fluorescent lights right above my bed, and they bored
directly into my head. I winced.

“Too bright,” I mumbled, and turned my head into the pillow.
My neck was stiff too, but I needed to get away from light.

“I’ll get the lights, sweetheart,” Jackson said, and a few
seconds later I heard a click. I risked opening my eyes again, and was relieved
when I realized that the lights had been turned off. It wasn’t completely dark,
but it was better.

I turned my head in the other direction, to where Jackson’s
voice was coming from. I had to squint, since even the little light in the room
made my head ache, but I could see him. He was really here, wherever
here
was.

“Where am I?” I asked, trying to take in my surroundings.
Everything was white: white walls, white ceiling, white floors. The room wasn’t
big, but I noticed a few chairs sitting in the corner.

“The hospital,” Jackson said.

As soon as he said it, I felt myself panicking. So it was
real. Everything I remembered happening in my apartment with Collin had
actually happened. Those few minutes had played out over and over in my head
for I don’t even know how long, but it just felt like a terrible dream. A
terrible, explicit, real dream.

I wanted to cry. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. I was
supposed to be with Lucy, eating an expensive dinner and drinking fancy
champagne and dancing at an exclusive club. Even if I hadn’t wanted to at the
time, it was what I wished for now.

Lucy! I had called her when it happened, told her not to come
up, but had she listened? The last thing I remembered was Collin hitting me,
and then falling toward the bathtub. I prayed that she hadn’t come to the
apartment and gotten hurt too.

“Lucy,” I said, trying to pull myself up, but Jackson had his
hands on me, holding me down.

“Shhh,” he said. “Lucy is fine.”

“She didn’t come up?” I asked, though I knew she couldn’t
have, not if she was okay.

“Don’t worry about that,” Jackson said, and I felt his hands
stroking my face. I strained to open my eyes a little more so that I could see
him.

As soon as his face came into focus, it was like a weight had
been lifted off my chest. He was all I needed to feel strong. To feel safe.

“You’re here,” I cried, reaching up so that I could touch
him. Realizing what I was trying to do, he leaned forward so that my hand could
find his cheek. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, and I was instantly reminded of
Collin’s uncharacteristic scruff. I had to tell myself to breathe, that this
was Jackson. He smelled like Jackson, if a slightly riper version of Jackson,
and he had Jackson’s soft, melodic voice; the voice that had put me to sleep so
many nights.

“I’m here, baby,” he said, leaning forward a little more so
he could press a kiss to my forehead. I felt better the moment his warm lips
touched my cool skin. He really was here.

“I was so scared,” I said, and knew I was whimpering. I
really hoped there was nobody else in the room, but I couldn’t open my eyes
enough to see.

“I know,” Jackson said, and I could hear the fear in his
voice too. “But you’re safe now. I’m here, and I won’t let anything hurt you
ever again.”

I felt myself nodding, but drifted off as he pressed his lips
to my forehead once again.

My head didn’t hurt so much the second
time I woke up. When I opened my eyes, the lights were still off but I knew
instantly that Jackson wasn’t next to me anymore. It felt so much colder in the
room without him. When I turned to look where he’d been sitting before, I was
surprised to see someone else. I wasn’t sure what else I was supposed to feel.

“Mom.”

She was here. Sitting next to me. In my hospital room. I
hadn’t seen my mother in almost a year, but she was here now. As far as I knew,
she’d never even been outside of Kansas, let alone all the way to California.

She was giving me a look I knew very well, but it felt
different this time. She was looking at me harshly, scrutinizing me, forcing me
to feel all the disappointment I had caused her. But now, even here in this
unfamiliar hospital room, it didn’t affect me the way it used to.

“Melanie,” she said. I could hear the coldness in her voice.
It was the same coldness I knew growing up. She was always distant, but there
was something else there now. I don’t know if I’d never noticed it before, or
if it had just never been there before.

Fear. It was unsettling.

“Why are you here?” I saw her wince slightly, before
returning to her typically indifferent demeanor. I didn’t mean for it to come
out like that. I was glad she was there, in a way. She was still my mom, and it
meant that she cared, even if it was in her own fucked up way. “What I meant
was, you’re here.”

“Of course I’m here, Melanie,” she snapped, but then her
voice softened. “My daughter was attacked and nearly killed. Of course I’m
here.”

“I’m alright, though,” I said, really only to myself. I
needed to reassure myself that I really was okay. My muscles still ached, and I
felt like I’d swallowed an entire bag of cotton balls. I could feel all my toes
and fingers, though just moving them felt like I was performing some incredible
feat.

“Yes, the doctors say you’re going to be alright. You broke
two ribs and bruised a few more. There was some internal bleeding, and a
concussion, but you should be okay to come home in a few days.”

Good god, all that couldn’t have happened to me. Could it? I
knew I felt like shit, but what she was describing didn’t sound like it could
have happened to me. That kind of stuff happened to other people, not normal,
boring me.

“How long have I been in here?” In some ways, it felt like it
all happened decades ago, but it still so fresh in other ways. It was strange.

“Three days. Josephine called me on Thursday morning, and I
flew out later that afternoon.”

“Oh,” was all I said. I knew I shouldn’t have been surprised
that she was there. Even if she was disappointed in me, I was still her
daughter, and she still loved me. Or I hoped she did, at least.

“Can I see Jackson?” I asked, turning my gaze toward the
ceiling. My neck was starting to hurt from turning my head in her direction,
but of course my mother didn’t see it that way.

“You’ve just woken up, and all you can think about is seeing
your boyfriend? Always so selfish, that’s what you are, Melanie. Did you even
think of how all of this would affect us? There have been reporters back home
for days now, hoping to get a statement out of your father or sisters. Not to
mention that they’ve completely taken over your cousin’s café. Josephine hasn’t
been able to open her doors since the attack. Have you thought of any of us?”

Josephine hadn’t been able to open the café? Well, now I felt
like shit, and my mother knew it. She always knew exactly how she made me feel.
It was why she did it in the first place.

But it pissed me off too. For years my mother didn’t give a
rat’s ass about Josephine, and now she was using her as a weapon. She still
didn’t care about my cousin, but she knew that I did. It was just another one
of her manipulative tactics, and I tried hard not to let it get to me.

“I want to see Jackson,” I said again, my voice firmer this
time. Even if I felt bad for bringing this shitstorm on my family and friends,
my mother didn’t have the right to make me feel this way. Not anymore.

She laughed, in her condescending way. “You’re not going to
see him, Melanie. As soon as the doctors release you, I’m bringing you home
with me. It’s time that you’re done being so childish. You obviously can’t take
care of yourself here. Not to mention, Daniel misses you and you need to come
home to him.”

Daniel misses me. Of course she brought that up too. She
didn’t know half the story, but she would use what she did know until the end
of time, making it feel like it was all my fault. Like leaving him somehow
disgraced our family and made me a terrible daughter. It was why I didn’t even
bother telling them the whole story; either they wouldn’t believe me, or they
just wouldn’t care.

I turned my head back toward my mother. My neck screamed in
pain, but I ignored it. “I’m not going back with you. My home is here now, with
Jackson. There’s nothing you can do or say that will make me go back to
Kansas.”

My mother smiled, and I instantly felt sick to my stomach.

“I knew you would say that. Don’t worry, I came prepared.”
She leaned down to the ground, reaching for something next to the chair. I was
too high up, I couldn’t see what it was until she brought it up in front of me.

She nearly shoved the magazine in my face, forcing me to read
the headline even though I refused to take it from her.

Jackson Traver seen in New York City with old flame Sophia
Lewis.

Right under the caption was a picture of Jackson and Sophia,
holding hands and laughing.

I knew what she was trying to do. She was an expert at
manipulating her family, telling us all what we should feel and when. All of
our lives had gone according to her plan, up until I packed up and moved to
California, at least. This was her way of taking back that control and forcing
me back into her plan. She wasn’t forcing me physically; she was manipulating
me emotionally. The Devlin family did not have feelings; not ones that we expressed,
at least. We were submissive, quiet, complacent. We did what we were supposed
to do, when we were supposed to do it. This was my mother’s way of showing me
that my own way, my needs and my wants, were wrong. They would hurt me; that
being dutiful was more beneficial to me than being independent.

A year before, I would have gone back to Kansas. I would have
listened to my mother and gone back to my old room in my parents’ house. I
would have lay in bed at night, trying desperately to get the tears to come,
but knowing that they wouldn’t; not while my mother still had control over me.

It didn’t matter if the headline was true or not, though I’d
learned (the hard way) not to believe any of the stories that the tabloids
published. She wouldn’t win this. Sometime in the last eleven months, in the
fear and anger and hurt that I’d felt, I’d found myself. Maybe it was because
of these things that I finally knew who I was, and where I belonged. To be
honest, it didn’t even matter
where
I belonged, just that I didn’t
belong
to
anyone. Not unwillingly, anyway. I’d chosen Jackson, and I belonged to him. But
it was my choice.

Sometime during that internal monologue, my doctor had come
into the room, Jackson with him. He smiled at me, and I knew. All I could see
in his eyes was concern and love; not resentment or disappointment or any of
the other things that oozed from my mother. I wasn’t afraid of being hurt by
him. He would never hurt me. I’d never been so sure of anything in my entire
life. And I loved him for it. It was just one of the thousands of reasons why I
loved him.

I smiled back at him, and I barely even noticed the pounding
in my head or the pain in my neck. All I felt and saw was Jackson. He was
everything to me, and he looked at me like I was everything to him.

Even that didn’t matter. What mattered was that through him
I’d found myself. He was the one that let me be me, tears and all. It was why I
never felt at home in Kansas; because I was never allowed to be myself. I was
always told who to be and what to do. Not here. Never here.

“Ms. Devlin, I’m glad to see that you’re awake. How are you
feeling?” the doctor asked. I hadn’t seen him before, but he looked nice. And
Jackson looked as if he trusted him, which made me feel instantly better.

“I’m alright, thank you,” I said. My voice was quiet, but it
was strong.

“That’s good to hear. We’re going to be doing a few more
tests, just to make sure there was no permanent damage, but I would say that
you can go home tomorrow, if you’re feeling up to it.”

“That would be fantastic. I’m ready to go home.” I don’t know
that I’d ever spoken truer words in my life.

“Now, I wouldn’t recommend that you go back to living on your
own just yet. The officers that were in here earlier were concerned about the
security of your apartment, as well. Do you have someone that you can stay with
for a while, at least until you’re back to one hundred percent?”

Before I could respond, the two other people in the room
answered for me. I didn’t even have to open my mouth.

I looked at my mother, who was watching me with her mouth
set. Nobody ever questioned her authority, or went against her decisions. Her
eyes were hard; there was no warmth there. And I knew; going home to Kansas
would be like going back to some empty hotel room, void of any affection or
love or even concern. Some people could live like that, I knew. It was easier,
in a way. Emotion was an all or nothing thing, and it was just too hard to feel
sometimes.

And then I looked to Jackson, who was standing at the foot of
the bed, watching me with completely different eyes. All I could see was
concern and love, nothing cold or empty. His eyes smiled, as if he knew exactly
what I was thinking.

He was home. He was always going to be home.