Breathe for Me (5 page)

His words draw me out of my fog. At least he's being sensible. Unlike me, who is way too distracted by the cleanly shaved edges of his strong jawline.

I snap my eyes down to the table, slipping back into my seat. “Sure. Um, we need to decide what to write on, since we didn't get that finished in class today.” I grab my pencil and open to a fresh page. “I was thinking we could each pick our top three ideas and then go from there.”

We write in silence for several minutes. The gurgling water sounds from the fountain ease my tension, and my shoulders relax. I jot a few notes down, then glance up. “Okay, what did you write?”

He runs a hand over his dark hair, smoothing it back, and lifts his notebook up to read from it. “Um, I focused on time periods and locations. I'm interested in the Great Depression in the Thirties. I like studying the medieval period in England. And I'm fascinated by ancient Rome and Greece.”

“Really? What interests you about that?”

He tilts his head, thinking for a moment. “I think Alexander the Great was an interesting guy. Not that I agreed with his methods, but he made things happen. He wielded great power in his time, and the effects of his campaign are still with us today. He's a legend.”

“I'm drawn to strong people too,” I say, leaning forward in excitement. “Especially heroic women. Like Queen Elizabeth, obviously, and Joan of Arc. People who fight for what they believe is right and forge their own paths, regardless of what others think.”

He nods. “You strike me as a person like that, Isabel. You're quiet, but I can tell you have a strong will.”

I bite my lower lip, remembering my childhood. How carefree I was, so full of life and the desire to make a difference in the world. “I was once, but I'm not like that anymore.”
Careful. Don't say too much
. I'm surprised by my desire to talk to him, to spill my feelings to this stranger who wants to listen and know me better. “Anyway, I think you're a stronger person than I am.”

“And obviously I'm very smart, since I paired up with you.”

“And humble, too,” I say with a chuckle.

“Isabel,” he says, his eyes suddenly serious and dark blue. He pauses, just staring at me for a moment. The fountain continues to splash water over its tiers and into the round pool at the bottom. “I think I like you.”

“You
think
you do?” I say before I can stop myself. Why would I ask him that? I should be discouraging him, not asking questions and sounding like a flirt.

He smiles. “That came out wrong. What I mean is, I want to get to know you better. Can I ask you a question?”

I nod, afraid to speak.

“Why do you cover yourself up? I heard you're sick. Is that true?”

After drawing in a steadying breath, I force myself to say the now-familiar lie that is my life. “I have a fairly weak immune system, to the point where I can sometimes get ill by being in contact with others because of the germs on their bodies. Therefore, I keep myself covered. It's my compromise so I can still be around people.” The last sentence I speak is painfully true.

“So you can't touch anyone?”

“No, I can't.”

“I'm sorry,” he says. His voice is filled with empathy, as if he understands my struggle and how hard it is to be so isolated from others in the most primal, most basic sense. “That has to be hard to deal with.”

Tears sting the backs of my eyes at the unexpected wave of emotion that crashes into me.
What is going on?
I turn my focus to the fountain for several moments, swallowing, then swallowing again. “I'm sorry. I'm suddenly not feeling too well,” I say, the frank honesty of my words thickening my throat. I blink rapidly to keep from crying in front of him and embarrassing myself.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just…” I suck in a shaky breath. “Sorry. It's been a strange day.” Between worrying about that bird and letting down my guard with Dominic, my self-control is crumbling away bit by bit. I fumble along the top of my notebook with thick, clumsy fingers. “I saw a bird this morning that was dying, and I couldn't help it. I guess it shook me up more than I realized.”

“I'm sorry—I hate seeing animals suffer too.” His voice is gentle.

I lick my lips, barely resisting the impulse to lean close to him and grasp his hand, take what I can of his quiet strength. There's something magnetic about him that makes me want to dig deeper.

Wait, what am I doing? From out of nowhere, that old, familiar panic wells in me. What if Sitri sees us together? He sometimes drops by unannounced. Maybe this wasn't the best idea after all.

“I…should go,” I say, standing up. “How about you pick the topic for us?”

“Oh. Okay.” His tone is low, quiet. “Hope you feel better, Isabel.”

“I'm sorry. I know you came out all this way.” Unable to face him and see the disappointment I'm sure is there, I turn and head to the stairwell. But even as I leave, some hypocritical part of me hopes he won't freak out at my unsteady emotions and withdraw his friendship from me.

chapter four

“C
AN
WE
T
ALK
?” I whisper to Samantha during lunch on Friday.

We're outside, enjoying the gusts of breezes that find their way to our little corner of the world. The sun spreads its warmth throughout the courtyard, heating up the pavement below where we sit.

“Sure, what's up?” Her eyes follow, with obvious pleasure, some hot guy strolling across the grass.

I swallow, trying to figure out how to start. All last night I wrestled with how to handle Dominic. Do I push him away and maintain my safe distance? Or do I give in to the temptation to get closer to him? After hours of tossing and turning, I decided to give up my silence and seek advice from Samantha. Luckily, Dominic is nowhere to be found out here, which calms my uneasiness a bit.

“Well, I'm working on a school project with a guy, and I feel a little…unsure of how to handle it. We have to work together closely, and it intimidates me.” Not to mention the fact that we're writing a poem together, which to me is like ripping out my soul and baring it for all to see. But even worse, for
him
to see.

She raises an eyebrow, then scoots her back against the brick wall to make herself more comfortable. “Is that because you like him?”

“I think I do. But I'm scared. I don't feel ready for this.” I clench my hands in my lap, smoothing one gloved thumb over the other. The gesture calms me down a bit. I drop my voice down lower and force the next words out. “It's Dominic.”

Her eyes widen. “Really? Oh, my God. He's so cute. Good for you!”

A hot flush slips up my throat, over my face. “I need help. What should I do? I'm freaking out.” I'm scared to hope, to dream that something bigger could exist between us. Because even though I spend most of my free time researching a way to get out of my bondage with Sitri, there's always the risk I won't find the answer in time. And it'll hurt even more to leave if I let myself fall for him, knowing Sitri will probably take pleasure in wiping everything from my memory when he dumps me somewhere new.

A patient smile creases her face. She pats my hand. “It'll be okay. If he likes you, he'll take things slowly until you feel comfortable. And if he doesn't… Well, let's just say he won't live long enough to regret it.”

My heart swells at her protective words, and I grin. I wish I could hug her to show her how much she means to me, but I can't take the risk. So I settle for squeezing her hand. “You really are a great friend.”

“Yeah, I'm the best.” Samantha giggles. “Anyway, I'm just glad I could repay the favor. I took your advice and got Rick alone this morning. I told him how I felt, but I did it really matter-of-factly so I wouldn't look desperate.” She presses her free palm to her chest. “Isabel, he asked me out! We have a date tonight.”

“That's wonderful!” I cry out. If anyone deserves to be happy, it's Samantha. And I'm glad to see her bravery paid off. I wish I could get the same results for being courageous. I wish I could tell Dominic my budding feelings and know I had the same fighting chance with him that Samantha did with Rick.

Shaking my head, I push those thoughts away. This moment isn't about me; it's about her. Focusing on
my
situation isn't being a good friend.

And right now, that's the only sure thing I have to give.

I slip into English class right as the bell rings, going straight for my desk. Dominic has taken his spot beside me again. His crooked smile makes my heart thud hard in my chest, and I offer him a shaky one back.

“You feeling better today?” he whispers. “Sorry if I upset you last night.”

Shame washes over me. I feel like a heel, the way I lost control of my emotions and ran off. It was immature and rude of me. “No, it's not your fault at all.
I'm
sorry.”

“Well, I'm now even more sorry that
you
feel sorry,” he says, his tone deadpan.

It takes me a few seconds to realize he's teasing me. Some impulse makes me respond similarly. “Well, I'm sorry that you're sorry that I'm sorry,” I say, swallowing back a chuckle.

“Okay, class,” Mrs. Scott says as she perches her backside against the front of her desk. “We're going to do group work again. You should have a tentative topic picked out by now, so start brainstorming how you're going to divide up the work and what angle you're going to take.”

Dominic edges his desk closer and pulls out a sheet of paper that has writing all over it. Lines are scratched through, doodles drawn in the margins. He thrusts it at me, pointing at the bottom. “You said for me to pick a topic, so I did. I hope this one's okay—I know it's not what we originally discussed, but it just came to me.”

I take the paper from him, my hand shaking slightly, and read what he wrote in block letters:

DESTINY

My stomach flips over itself. “That…that topic should provide lots of material,” I finally say after a minute, my voice faint. He couldn't have picked a more appropriate subject to my life if I'd handed it to him directly.

“I figured we could alternate lines, or each of us take a stanza.”

“I really like the stanza idea,” I reply as I hand the paper back to him. I draw out my own clean sheet and grab a pen, scribbling in the corner to get the ink flowing. “Maybe you could write the first one, and I'll write a reply. Or vice versa.”

He nods. “That'll work nicely. And it's a good distribution of the work, which should make Mrs. Scott happy.” He glances at her as she leans over another group's desks, pointing to their paper.

I turn my eyes to my blank page, suddenly afraid to look at him. Samantha's words about her honesty with Rick tickle the back of my brain, and I push it away. I'm not her. I don't have her freedom to be more than friends. I should be satisfied with what I do have, with the time I get to spend here in this city. With these people. And yet, every day, I find myself wanting more.

“You okay?” Dominic asks me.

I look over at him. His brows are bunched together, his irises dark. He reaches a hand toward mine, then stops and pulls it back. I can't interpret the look in his eyes.

Disappointment at his withdrawal creeps through my veins. “Yeah, I'm fine,” I say. Inside my head, I scoff at my stupidity. How quickly I forget who I am when I'm around him. I force my attention back to my paper. “Let's just concentrate on our project.” My words have a strong bite to them, one I don't try to hold back. It's better this way, anyway.

He sighs, turning away from me.

For the rest of the period, we work in silence. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him writing furiously.

I wish I could say I'm productive, but my mind is blocked. No words will pour from my pen. I feel mute, silenced by my own emotions, by the heat from his body that warms my side. The soft scratching sound of him writing on his paper is absorbing, and I close my eyes and just listen, shutting out the world around me. Opening up my heart for one moment in the only safe way I know.

The bell rings, jarring me out of my fog. I gather my books and stand quickly, edging away from my desk.

Dominic grabs my hand.

The gesture stops me in my tracks. The warmth from his palm seeps through my glove, absorbs into my skin, fuses with my cells and tiny hairs and molecules and veins.

I turn to face him.

He rises from his seat, still gripping me. “Please don't run from me anymore,” he asks, his voice raw. His eyes are wide, piercing mine with a tiny sliver of hurt and…some other emotion. It seems a little familiar, but I can't quite figure it out at the moment. I'm too distracted by the sensory overload of him.

“I'm sorry,” I say, pouring earnestness into my voice.

He shakes his head slowly. His eyes swirl with shades of blue, and he peers down at me with no disguise or veil to protect himself. In this moment, I can see everything inside him. I recognize that emotion in his gaze as desire.