Page 109 of Breathe Like Hell

Sucking in a shaky breath, I stared at the screen, my trembling thumbs hovering just above the glass. What could I say? What did I want to say? Where were we going from here? There wasn’t much more ground left for us to cover before I ended up dead. Was I ready for that?

The choice was in my hands.

I didn’t want to give in to him so easily. He was getting worse than ever before, and I needed to fucking breathe for a second. Remembering how I felt in the bathroom waiting for him to break the door down made me nauseous. He was too violent. Too scary.

But he was mine. Wasn’t he?

God, I’m sick in the head.

I tapped out a message, then sent it, chewing my lower lip anxiously.

Me

I’m at work.

He didn’t start typing right away, which made me nervous. But wasn’t this what I wanted? Space to breathe? A second to myself?

No.

Come back.

I don’t want to be alone.

I swiped over to my messages with Micah, making a mental note to take a picture of him later to set as his contact photo since it was still blank.

Me

Are you busy?

It was a stupid question, because I knew he was busy. I just…felt off. All my bad memories wouldn’t leave my head, nor would all the sick thoughts that accompanied them. I hated the way I processed the things happening to me.

Micah

I’m still in the lab. What’s up?

Me

Nothing. Sorry

I was biting my lip obsessively now, scraping my teeth over pieces of dry skin, circling my fingers around my phone even tighter.

Micah

I’m going to swing by in a few minutes. Need to pick up some lunch. Is that alright with you?

Me

Yes. That’s fine

With the trembling of my hands lessening, I set my phone down and sat on the stool behind the register. I liked how Micah did that. Sometimes, he just told me what he was going to do, instead of asking if I wanted him to, soothing me with some false excuse. I’d gotten much better at accepting his care, but this practice was a relic of my instincts to refuse help.

A minivan pulled into the parking lot, three children emerging with bedhead and neck pillows on. They complained and stretched their legs while their mom gathered up fast food trash from the backseats. It made me think about Ivan and Ekaterina again. She’d gotten her abortion now, but there’d been a time when this could’ve been her life. I wondered if the mom corralling her three tired kids outside the gas station would’ve picked this life if she had the chance to go back.

Then I wondered how my own mother felt.

She probably wouldn’t have picked to raise a daughter in a shitty trailer with an abusive husband, but she probably didn’t get much choice. If not my father, then another man. If not me, then another child. I didn’t want to end up like that.

I was determined not to.