Breathe for Me (9 page)

Several hours later, a hard pounding on my front door wakes me from my bed. The room is dark—it was still light out when I fell asleep. I swipe my hand under my eyes, which are swollen and sore, and stumble into the living room. A quick peep in the eyehole shows me Dominic's distorted face.

I press my forehead against the doorframe, sucking in a ragged breath. “I don't want to see anyone right now,” I say.

“Can I come in?”

At the soft tone in his voice, I look through the peephole again. A bead of sweat slips down the side of his face.

“I just want to make sure you're okay,” he continues.

I pause for a long moment, debating. I'm a mess, not fit to be seen by anyone. Not ready to smile and pretend everything's just fine and dandy. But if he wants to see me, the real me, he should see all sides, including the not-so-pretty ones. Besides, I'm going to see him in school tomorrow anyway. I unlock the door and swing it wide open.

He comes in, stopping in surprise as he takes in my tank top and shorts. His eyes quickly darken, and he glances away.

A flush crawls up my throat. I completely forgot how unclothed I am. He, on the other hand, is covered from head to toe; it's as if we have traded places. Odd. “Sorry. I wasn't expecting company. I'll go slip on—”

“No,” he says, his voice husky. He turns his gaze back toward me, and I see him swallow hard. “Make yourself comfortable. I promise not to hurt you. I don't want to make you sick or anything.”

His gentle words about my lie, his armor of protective clothing so he can't get me ill, almost undo me. My stomach twists. How can I do this anymore? I am so tired of living a constant falseness. But it's not like I can tell anyone the truth. Who would possibly believe me?

Wary, I nod and sit on a chair, pressing a throw pillow against my stomach. “Have a seat,” I say.

He slides onto the couch, then stretches his long legs out in front of him. His eyes cast around the apartment, taking in my piles of books, the abandoned homework spilled across the coffee table. I couldn't concentrate long enough to work on it earlier this afternoon, so I gave up and went to bed, crying myself to sleep.

We sit in silence for a long minute. I sniffle and blink back the burning in my eyes. Tears threaten to spill out. I close my eyes, press my face against the top of the pillow. All I can see in my mind is Mr. Morris's pale face, his chest frozen and unmoving. And me, unable to help him in any way.

“You okay?” Dominic asks. His voice is quiet, not carrying any edge of judgment toward me.

I nod slightly, not lifting my face from the pillow.

I hear a rustling sound, and then a hand touches my hair. I freeze, pull away in horror.

Dominic lifts his hands up to reveal a pair of black cotton gloves. “Sorry. Figured if I wore something, it'd be okay. You looked like you needed comfort.”

At his words, I unravel. The band around my chest lightens, and I gaze up into his eyes. “There wasn't anything I could do,” I say, my voice shaky. “I was watching him die right in front of my eyes, and I couldn't help him.”

“I know. Don't worry about it. He's in the hospital and doing okay. You found someone who could give him CPR. You saved his life.”

“He could have died because I couldn't help him.”

Dominic slips his gloved hands into mine and squeezes. The sensation is so unusual that I pause. I'm unused to my bare hands touching someone else. The soft cotton slides across my skin, and I feel the heat pouring off him.

He tugs me out of my chair and, without saying a word, guides me to the couch. His hands are light, barely touching me, as if he's taking all the care in the world to respect my need for distance. “Lie down,” he says. There's a slight hitch in his voice, and his eyes are dark, heavy-lidded.

My throat closes tightly, my heart racing in my chest. “I can't.” He knows I can't.

“Trust me. Please.”

Those three words break through the last of my reserve. I know it's stupid, I know it's selfish, but I so desperately need to relax and let go of all this tension. Of this wall I've had to build between me and the world. For a few minutes, I want to feel like everyone else. Like a normal girl who can acknowledge her growing attraction to a boy she could fall for. And who could fall for her back.

I stretch out along the couch and rest my arms at my sides.

Dominic reaches toward me. I flinch instinctively, and he pauses, giving me a small smile. “I promise my skin won't touch yours. I would never hurt you.”

Hurting me isn't the problem, but I bite my lower lip, nodding. Everything in his eyes shows me he means it. He doesn't want me to get sick. And because of that lie, he can remain safe.

I push my guilt aside and relax as he strokes the tops of my hands. My skin hums under the sensations of his touch, coming alive for what feels like the first time. Everywhere his fingers move leaves behind a trail of delicious pleasure. He brushes my knuckles, the tops of my fingernails, then flips my hands over and runs his thumbs across my palms.

I want to close my eyes and fully soak in the moment, but I'm afraid to. So I leave them open and watch him. He kneels at my side, his lower legs and feet beneath the small coffee table at his back. His gloved hands knead their way up my lower arms, the thumbs sliding along the muscles in long strokes.

I swallow, almost drowning in the heady sensation of falling under. In this moment, I am frozen—Dominic offers me a freedom to simply enjoy the moment without fear of harming him. It's the most generous gift I remember ever receiving in my life.

Heat pours from his palms, from his strong fingers, as they massage their way up my arms. They curve over my shoulders, and a tingle spreads from my lower belly through my torso and limbs. My body hums under his hands. When he brushes his fingers across my collarbone, I can't stop the slight arch of my back, the hunger in my body to bring him closer. I am hypnotized by his touch.

His eyes turn toward mine, and he stares at me. Through me. He can see me at my most raw, my most vulnerable. And it's strange, but I'm not embarrassed. He smiles, his eyes crinkling in the corners. Wordless still, he slides his right hand across my belly.

I gasp, swallowing hard as the tingle in my lower abdomen explodes into a throbbing ache.

He stops, pressing his big hand against me, and we remain silent. I can hear him breathing in as I breathe out.

“You are beautiful,” he tells me. His words are simple. The impact echoes.

I bite my lower lip. In this moment, I would give anything in the world to kiss him. To be able to feel that mouth against mine.

Reality pours back into me, and I sigh. The moment is broken. “Thank you for the massage,” I say.

He nods, his eyes shuttered—disappointment at my pulling away. Guilt twists my stomach. He pulls his hands away and stands up. “Glad you're okay. I was just worried.”

I sit up on the couch, my heart crying out a futile wish that the moment could have lasted longer. I already feel his absence. But it cannot be, and we're all better off if I don't let myself fall over the edge. “I'm fine.”

He takes the seat beside me, then wraps his arm around the back of me and pulls my head onto his lap. His hand strokes the curls away from my face.

I feel myself tugged into a deep comforting place. The tension in my body unwinds, leaving behind a blissful silence. Every stroke on my hair brings me closer to sleep, until I finally succumb.

When I wake early in the morning, I am alone on the couch. I blink the sleep from my eyes and stretch, trying to recapture the sensation of Dominic's warm body against mine, of his hands caressing my bare skin. It felt like sin, like tasting temptation, and I should let it go. But I don't want to. Besides, Sitri will wipe it from me soon enough.

I sigh, filled with a swell of anger at him. Why me? Why must I be trapped in this endless cycle? One mistake made in haste. Centuries of suffering. There has to be a way to end it. Because after last night, there's no way I can leave here, leave Dominic. My course has been set, and I will follow it through to the end.

Everything has changed. I opened myself up, and Dominic has edged his way into my heart. There's no denying it.

I think I'm falling for him.

chapter seven

A
S
I
WALK
TO
my locker on Wednesday morning, I notice more than a few sympathetic looks in my direction. A couple of people even awkwardly pat me on the shoulder, a gesture of comfort that isn't lost on me.

Awareness blossoms in my chest, unfolds into glorious realization—they aren't rejecting me. Maybe I'm not an outsider to them anymore.

Maybe I belong.

Samantha makes her way through the hall toward me. Her face is etched with concern. “Are you okay?” she asks once she reaches my side. “I heard about what happened yesterday. So, how scary was that? Are you still freaking out?”

“I'm fine,” I say, offering her a smile. “I'm just glad Mr. Morris made it.”

“I heard you were a hero, that you got a teacher to help him out.” She pauses, pressing a hand to her chest. “I don't know what I would have done. I probably would have just stared at him in horror. I tried to call you last night, but I think you were conked out.”

My brain is still whirring over her first sentence. A hero? People think I'm courageous? “But I couldn't give him CPR,” I say. “He could have died because of it.” My throat closes up, and a swell of emotion sweeps over me.

I shouldn't be happy—it took a near-tragedy for me to be fully welcomed in the school. It's wrong for me to be so pleased about the consequences, given how deadly it could have turned out.

Alexis comes over, her face soft and eyes filled with empathy. “Hey, Isabel. I heard about Mr. Morris.” Her eyes are wide, earnest, and there's none of the reservation that usually lingers in her interaction with me. “You shouldn't even have to come to school today. You saved his life. Everyone's talking about it.”

Samantha nods eagerly. “She's right. Everyone knows you did what you could. And that you would have done more if you could have.”

Their words are a balm on my guilty soul. A tremulous smile breaks out over my face. I can't stop the glow, the warmth that fills my heart and pierces to my inner core. “Thanks, you guys.”

I grab my stuff out of my locker and head to my first-period class. A new sense of resolve has taken over me. My bones become steel. My heart is solid, heavy, beating hard in my chest. My skin is strong and firm.

There's no way I'm giving this place up. It's time to come up with a plan, now. I will not go back to Sitri. One way or another, I will be my own person.

He will own me no longer.

During lunch break, I eat quickly, then duck into the library, grabbing a random book off the shelf and pretending to read it so I can think without being disturbed. I spent most of the class periods today brainstorming a mental list of options on how to break the curse. Unfortunately, the list is scant.