Page 103 of Breathe Like Hell

“I want drive-thru breakfast. A breakfast sandwich.”

“I’m not sure how to feel about the bossiness, but I can arrange for a breakfast sandwich excursion.” I ran my fingers through the loose hairs around her face, curling the strands behind her ear.

“I’m sorry.” She blushed and hid her face. “I’m, like, ravenous. For some reason.” Her voice was slightly muffled in the pillow.

“I don’t think you had dinner.”

Dakota was quiet while she contemplated this. I’d picked her up right around dinnertime, and I never fed her. Then she went to bed early.

“Oh. Yeah, I didn’t.” She frowned slightly, probably remembering the events of the previous night.

“Alright. Let’s get dressed, then. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled.

We both got ready, then went out to my truck in the garage.

Dakota cranked the knob for the heat as I pulled out of the driveway, tucking her legs up on the seat. She was wearing some soft sweatpants and a big sweatshirt with the hood pulled up over her head. She looked cute.

I let her mess with the radio while we drove to get the food, then parked in a gravel pull off overlooking the ocean. Rain pattered on the roof of the truck, streaming down the windows.

“This is my favorite beach,” she said, unwrapping her sandwich.

“I know. I’ve been here with you.”

“Oh. Right.” Dakota took a bite of her breakfast, staring out the rainy windshield while she chewed. The clouds over the ocean were dark, and I could see whispers of lightning in the distance. “I wish I could see Heaven.”

“Why’s that?” I unwrapped my own sandwich, watching her side profile.

“I’ve just been thinking about it recently. I wish I knew more. I’d probably be happy there, you think? Like if I could be an angel living there.”

“I don’t know,” I answered, my gaze falling to my hand crinkling the wax paper.

“Why do you say that?”

I swallowed.

“Bad things happen in Heaven, too.” My fingers trembled as I tightened my grip on my sandwich, forcing myself to eat more of it.

“Oh,” she breathed, quiet for a minute while she considered this. “What does that mean? A bad thing happened to you?”

I almost choked on the bite I was chewing.

I can’t tell you. I’ll never tell you. It doesn’t matter how much I love you because these are words I’m never going to utter aloud for the rest of my life.

“No. I didn’t say that,” I said, clearing my throat.

“Okay.” She looked away, biting the corner of her lip while her fingers played with the edge of her sandwich wrapper.

“I just wanted you to know that it’s not some perfect, idyllic place. Not all of it.”

“Can you tell me more?”

I could see all the nervousness in her posture, hear it in her voice. Her fingers kept twisting her silver locket on its chain around neck, clicking it open and shut. She was afraid to ask me things about myself or my life, afraid to even show her own care for me, and that was my fault. But she’d slipped between my ribs and lived so close to my heart now that I knew telling her anything would be enough to kill me.

To me, I want to know you felt just like show me where to hurt you.

I could survive many things, but being truly known was not one of them.