Breathe For Me

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.”

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.

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:

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 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The air whooshes from my lungs. The stirrings of my own longing match his, slamming to the surface of my skin in a heated fervor. My pulse speeds up.

“No more apologies, Isabel,” he says, then loosens his grip on my imprisoned hand, his thumb sliding down the center of the covered palm.

I shiver at the sensation, exhaling a shaky breath. “I… Okay.” I can barely think, barely move. I am captured, locked in a state of perfect being. Frozen in one perfect moment.

I remain in my spot for a moment, holding on to this feeling. Tucking it safely away in my mind, where I can experience it over and over again for as long as possible. I force myself to take several slow breaths to focus my mind, slip the note into my pocket for when I can read it in privacy. Then I head to my next class, carrying secret thoughts of Dominic with me.

In the solitude of my patio that evening, I finally dare to open the note Dominic gave me. The rest of the day at school, it sat heavy in my pocket, beckoning me. But I wanted to read it at home, where I could focus and absorb his words without the distraction of people around me.

I cross my bare legs and drape them over the small ottoman, unfolding the paper. Anticipation freezes the breath in my lungs. I read:

I want to know you, but

The armor that shields you

Holds you in, holds

Me out

There is something behind your eyes, an

Ache of sadness.

Secrets that want to spill.

Who are you?

You are a puzzle, a

Rhyme, a riddle with

No answer. But you are here,

Just the same.

I reread the poem and the phone number several times, memorizing and absorbing his words, letting them saturate me. Of course he’s a poet. I should have recognized a kindred spirit.

The last sentence of the poem has a sense of promise. A sense of understanding. Does he want me to call him?

I swallow, carefully fold the poem and slip it into my shorts pocket. The last thing I need is for Sitri to discover it. I should toss the paper. Or even better, burn it. But Dominic opened himself to me without even a promise of me doing the same. I can’t make myself get rid of it.

So for now, I will keep the poem close, where Sitri can’t get it. I will have something sacred that is just for me.

I reach for my cell, my hand trembling. Before I can change my mind, I dial the numbers on the paper.

My heart smashes against my ribcage. For a split second I worry that I can’t do this. But Samantha’s words from earlier in the day soothe me. She’s right—he’s respecting me, giving me space to take the lead. I can overcome my fear and take this small step.

“Sure, hold on a sec.” I hear the phone being set down and the person’s voice hollering for him.

I glance at the pile of homework on my desk. Normally I finish Friday’s homework that day, but there’s no reason it can’t wait until tomorrow. “No. Why?”

He chuckles. “Wouldn’t you rather be surprised?” His voice is husky, and it stirs something inside me.

We hang up. I frantically run to my closet, trying to pick out the most flattering outfit I can find. Nothing satisfies me. Finally I just pick a pale blue top and jeans, then go to the bathroom to apply a little makeup.

Once done, I slip the note into my pocket, grab my purse and cell phone, and head down the stairs. I force myself to walk slowly, to stay calm and relaxed. This is just a friendly get-together, nothing more.

According to his poem, he wants to know more about me. I scour the scant memories of the last few months for things I can tell him, things that won’t give too much away. I’m surprised by my eagerness to connect with him. Surprised, and a little afraid.

But this evening is not to be one of fear. I will find that courage within myself. Because something in me won’t let him go. Won’t let me push him away.

I murmur a quick prayer that Sitri will stay away for the evening and walk into the courtyard. Dominic is already waiting for me. The dark blue of his shirt brings out the color of his eyes. His hair is slightly unkempt as always. It looks soft and wavy. I clench my fists at my side to keep from sweeping a hand through it.

I nod and follow him out the gate onto the sidewalk. We stroll in companionable silence for several minutes. I suspect Dominic is giving me time to relax, to acclimate to him. But I promised I wouldn’t run away anymore, and I plan to keep my word.

“Uptown. Not too far from the Garden District.” His words are comfortable, easy like his slow gait, and I fall in place right beside him. “My mom grew up in New Orleans and always wanted to move back, so we finally did a few years ago.”

“I haven’t lived here that long either,” I say, trying to weigh my words. “I just moved here about five months ago.”

I force my eyes ahead and look at the cracks in the sidewalk as I pace forward. “They died a long time ago. I live…with my uncle. He’s out of town a lot.” Half truth, half lie. The best I can give right now.

I shake my head in mock sadness. “Memory loss is usually the first symptom of an aging brain.” The words are flowing from me easier now, even though I still feel a little self-conscious.

“So I’ve heard. Guess I’d better watch myself around you. I’m forgetting things I should already know.” A smile teases the edge of his face.

I turn my gaze back to the sidewalk, trying to swallow down the flush that climbs up my neck and across my cheeks. As we walk, the pinky of his hand brushes the side of mine. My heart rate doubles instantly at the unexpected contact, and I dare to let my own finger reach out in response.

He doesn’t push me any further, and I am content for the moment to feel this intense, albeit brief, moment of connection. Then I pull back.

“I figured. I’m a frequent visitor here too. Let’s go inside.” He opens the door for me, and I head in, wondering what else I’m going to learn about him. And how hard he’s making it for me to think of him as just a friend.