Breathe Me (A 'Me' Novel) (11 page)

Too scared.

“Harley?” He ducked his head so that he could look into my eyes. His probing eyes were silently willing me to tell him.

“No, I’m okay.” I forced a small smile, trying to throw my shields back up and stamp down the urge to trust him. As much as I wanted to tell him, I knew it wouldn’t do any good. No one could save me from my life. It was always going to be this way. What was I expecting him to do about it? We had kissed, he wanted to get in my pants, but that didn’t mean he wanted to sign up to take on a lost cause.

A weakling.

What would happen when he found out? He would be disgusted that I was so weak and stupidly fearful to allow myself to live this way. That I would allow this to happen to me. I knew what he would feel because it was what I felt every moment of every day.

He didn’t say anything, just nodded and tried again to tug me forward. I tried to take it slow, but even that one step sent fire across my back, causing me to let out a small cry through my clenched teeth. Shit, that hurt.

“What the hell, Har?” He whirled on me, his eyes accusing. I had little time to soak in the fact that I liked my name on his lips. And that I was stupid for slipping up.

“It’s nothing. I had a little fall yesterday.” I laughed what I hoped was a carefree laugh and waved my hand dismissively. “I’m a total Bella.” Then I cursed myself for making that stupid reference. He obviously wouldn’t have read that book. He was way too cool for that.

“A fall.” He mumbled as he let go of my hand and studied me for a beat. In that short time, I had gotten used to his touch enough to miss the heat of his hand in mine. He ran his hand over his close-cropped bark-colored hair. It was cut so low I couldn’t get the exact shade.

“Look, I know you don’t know me, but what’s up? You one hundred, really?” He looked so sincere, and I was so tired of pretending of living this lifeless life. Tired of the fear ruling me, consuming me so completely that I didn’t know who I was, never did. I wanted to beg him to kiss me like he did last night and make me forget about it all because that moment was the single most best one of my miserably sad life. I wanted to tell him that every time she hit me, kicked me, punched me, or told me she wished I had never been born that it was another pill added to my stash, another piece of my heart that dulled. That I was broken beyond repair.

You can’t fix me.

I didn’t tell him any of this. The fear that when I did it would be the last I saw of him locked the truth in my throat like a hard-to-swallow pill. Instead, I focused on his eyes, memorizing them and stamping down my wavering shield, and gave him an eye roll. “You sure you don’t have a uterus? That was dangerously close to sounding like a chick,” I said, then arched an eyebrow and, just for shits and giggles, flicked my eyes down pointedly.

His intense gaze wavered for a fraction of a second before a muscle ticked in his jaw and he smiled arrogantly, then replied smoothly, “I do actually. It’s so large it hangs down my thigh. Want to see?”

“Please,” I scoffed, shifting to keep my aching back from locking up. “I’m sure I’d need glasses to see it. With a magnifying lens.” I almost sounded like my normal, fake self.

“If I’m sure about anything in my life, it’s how untrue
that
statement is.” His eyes dared me to inspect the truthfulness of his words. With a smirk, he leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, revealing his thick biceps threatening to pop out of his T-shirt, and just stared at me, consuming me with his eyes but not like before. His eyes seemed to roll over me slowly, searching this time, instead of the sensual slow dance he normally did. It was as if he was looking for a chink in my armor, a flaw. I couldn’t let him look too closely, so no matter how much pain I was in, I forced myself to move, to act as though nothing was wrong and my back wasn’t protesting with sharp pains every move I made.

“Look, as awesome as this little stare down is, I have to get to work.” I walked around him and started down the sidewalk, each agonizing step making me hiss through my teeth. There was no way I’d make it to work on time now. That asshole ate up my walking time. Even if I ran, I’d still be there late. And I wasn’t running anywhere. Shit.

“I thought you said that asshole didn’t hurt you?” He barked out and I froze, mentally double-checking that I hadn’t spaced out and missed the part where the asshole touched and hurt me. It hadn’t been him. When I turned around, Deklan was a few steps behind, bringing his hand to touch the small of my back. I stiffened my spine with anticipation as his fingers lightly brushed the small of my back.

“You’re bleeding,” he said. He held his hand up to show me the small amount of blood on his fingertips.

Shit, shit, shit.

“I told you I fell. I must have not noticed I scraped it.” That sounded lame even to me, but I had no other explanation. I could feel my palms getting sweaty by the minute, the crushing weight consuming me, the panic. “You know, I’m really running late. I have to get going. Thanks for…you know.” I made a move to leave, but he quickly walked around to block my path on the sidewalk. Dammit.

Forget all the other times he stared into my eyes. This time, this look that he was giving me now seared me deep inside. It got under my skin and burrowed a hole, making itself nice and comfortable, and touched me where no one had ever touched me before. I tried to look away, or look tough and reproachful, but I just…couldn’t. I pleaded with my eyes for him not to say anything, because if I had to talk, to explain what was so obvious, I would cry and never stop.

I expected him say something, anything, but was surprised when he reached down and threaded my hand with his and guided me to walk, not saying a word. I was insanely aware of the way he glanced over at me every few seconds, like he noticed the small beads of sweat that broke out over my forehead or the way I was grinding my teeth against the pain. But he didn’t say anything. Nothing. The silence was so loud. What must he be thinking?

We finally came to his car, where it was parked around the corner, and I realized he must have passed me while driving. Had the asshole not been all up in my grill, I was sure I would have noticed Deklan. He didn’t open the passenger door when he let my hand go, like they do in the books I’d read. Instead, he just slipped in the driver seat and looked at me expectantly.

Fuck, how do I ease in without crying out against the pain? I hadn’t intended to
bend
today. I wanted to tell him never mind, that he could drive away and let me walk the rest of the way, but I didn’t. Instead, I made what had to be the slowest descent into a car seat ever and eased on my seat belt, sitting up stiff as hell so that my back wouldn’t touch the seat. I waited for him to start the car, but when a few seconds passed by and he didn’t, I chanced a glance his way and found him glaring at me, again not saying a word, those steel eyes of his just watching me, assessing. For a frightening minute, I thought I’d gotten blood on his seat and he was two seconds away from blowing up in my face, but he reached over me, his scent filling my nostrils and clouding my head, and adjusted the seat to a reclining position, making it easier for me to relax and not worry about getting blood on his seat. Then he finally threw his car into gear and pulled away from the curb.

I remained silent.

He knew, I knew he knew, and I wanted to say something witty or try and explain it, but my bestie, fear, threaded herself in my throat and I was stuck. Besides, the pain from each bump we drove over was like getting hit with the belt again. I also didn’t speak because I liked his presence invading me. Even in his eerie silence, he was like a salve to my wounded soul. I knew how crazy that sounded. I’d only known him a short time. I mean, I didn’t know him, but yet it felt like I did. My soul knew his. Clearly, I needed to stop reading romance novels because I knew,
knew
that shit like that didn’t exist in real life. My real life anyways.

And if I admitted my torment, it would be gone. He would be gone. So we silently drove down the road, and all the while I was controlling my breathing and fighting the urge to look over at him, to reach over and run my hand along his hard jaw that had a light stubble to it, just because. A song came on, and I was drawn to the way his Adam’s apple moved up and down as he hummed along. I wanted to run my tongue over his Adam’s apple. The thought caught me off guard, so I tamed my thoughts and stared out the window.

For most of my life, I had always been drawn to music, a haunting melody or tune, of how it made me feel, the lyrics and the emotion in the voices as they flowed through me and brought out emotions that I didn’t know how to fully express. Before I could read, music was my reprieve from the constant ugliness of my life. I would let the lyrics flow over me and wrap me up in their safe cocoon, shielding me. Lyrics are one of the first things that I fell in love with, words. The song flowing out of Deklan’s car stereo stopped me from fantasizing about what I would do to him if I were someone different.

The words to the song called to me, like the song was made for me. Without thinking, I reached over and turned up the volume, getting lost in the melancholy lyrics and the raspiness of the woman’s voice as she belted out at the top of her lungs:

I think it’s time that you should know all the damage you’ve done to my soul

Everything is in the names that you call me (every hurtful thing you say)

Everything is in the things you do (how could you be so cruel?)

I was so lost in this hauntingly accurate song that I didn’t realize we passed by Bookwormz until I noticed the store go by in the passenger-side mirror.

“You just passed my job,” I said, looking over at him.

“I know,” he said, and kept driving, leaving no room for argument.

What the hell?

Chapter 16

Deklan

I was pissed. No, pissed wasn’t even the correct word. I was fucking lit, so much so I needed to take a motherfucking minute to calm down before I went the fuck off on someone. Before I went off on
her.

And this morning was going to be so promising, too. I woke up to the sun fucking shining and birds chirping and shit with a plan in my head to smash and dash, say good-bye to my ma, and ride out. But all that was before I was headed over to see Mom and saw some fucknut all but dry-humping Harley.

The fuck? How had she been kissing me like she was last night and then all up on this dude? Nah, didn’t think so. I parked around the corner and got out, creeping and shit, intent on blowing up on her on the spot, but when I turned the corner and saw the look on her face and that body language, the “don’t fuck with me” mixed with helplessness, and I saw fucking red. This must be the fucker who’s been boxing her up, I thought. But after I popped him in the mouth real quick and heard the little punk all but confirm my suspicion of how innocent she was, I knew it was someone else who she wanted to be free from.

Little did she know how hard she was making me by trying that tough-girl act on me when I knew that was all it was, an act. It was like her words and attitude had a direct line to my dick, and I fucking loved it. Let me tell you how quickly that shit changed when I knew she was in pain and I saw a piece of her raw-ass back. That shit propelled me back in time so quickly I had to blink rapidly to bring me back to the present. Royce used to dole his “lessons” out frequently, but not so frequently that the king of dry cleaning raised any eyebrows. And what with all the “fights” I would get in at school, my bruises were easily explained. This was twice now that I had seen glimpse of Harley’s back, and each time the fucking bruises looked fresh.

What kind of asshole did something like that to someone like her? She was no more than a buck fifty and had the demeanor of a scared puppy, at least around me. Royce may have been, and still is, a prick, but he never laid a hand on Ma, and if the man who did this to her was ever in the same room with me, I’d show his ass what’s up.

I knew she was nervous about where I was taking her. I could tell by the way she kept wringing her hands together, and to be honest, I had no fucking clue what I was doing. I just knew that I had to do something, take her somewhere to get her checked out or some shit.

“Can you just tell me where you’re taking me, please?” she asked in such a defeated voice it almost made me stop the car and demand she tell me what the fuck was up with her. But the only thing I did, because I was still so fucking pissed, was drive faster to nowhere.

“Deklan? I’d like to get out,” she said firmly. “Can you pull over? Please?”

“No can do, babe,” I said. This wasn’t how this was going to go. I wasn’t about to go about my business and pretend I didn’t hear my gut telling me Harley needed help. And the fact that she wasn’t talking, yelling that shit to the world, was pissing me off.

“Look, I don’t know what—” she started, but I cut her off.

Without taking my eyes off the road, I said, “Look, you know I don’t what? Give a shit that you’re hurt because I don’t fucking know you? Can turn a blind eye when I know good and goddamn well that under that shirt you’re covering up more than a great pair of tits?” I paused to glance at her somewhat surprised face and noticed her cheeks stained red. If I wasn’t so pissed, that sight would be like foreplay. “You need to get checked.” I gripped the wheel and tried to rein in my shit. She didn’t need me to flip the fuck out on her.

“What…what do you mean ‘get checked out,’ like a hospital?”

She sounded…scared. Why the fuck is she scared? At best she can report this dude, and she has a good reason to leave him or get a restraining order or some shit. Not be scared.

“Yeah, like a hospital, clinic. I really don’t give a shit as long as someone checks you.” I busted a right and headed south, with a destination in mind now. Out of my periphery, I saw her put her hand over her heart and then blow out a silent breath.

“Please, just take me to work. I can’t go to the hospital or clinic or anything. Just please take me back to work.”

I stopped at a light and leaned back in my seat, assessing her. Her lower limp trembled and her eyes were darting from my face to the steering wheel to the window, like she was trying to find a way out of the front seat.