Breathe for Me (17 page)

Even in the dim light, I can see the pain and sorrow etched on his face. “I'm so sorry,” I whisper. “I can't imagine how badly you must be hurting right now.”

He nods. “Ever lose someone close to you?”

I shake my head. While I did technically “lose” my parents and sister due to Sitri whisking me away, I wasn't actually there when they passed.

I hope Dominic gets his farewell.

“What else do you remember?” he asks me. “I mean, about your past.”

“Occasionally I'll get these small flashes of what feels like déjà vu. I think when that happens I'm getting some kind of…sign that I've done that action before. I get it in class at times. Or when looking at pictures of certain cities. It's part of the reason why I have so many books in my place. I'm reading a lot to see what memories I can trigger. You know that massive Jesus statue in Brazil—the one called Christ the Redeemer?”

His face scrunches up as he thinks. Then he snaps. “That large one with the arms spread wide, right?”

I nod. “Every time I see that, I get this weird feeling. That I've been there before. So Sitri must have taken me at some point in my past.”

Now that I think about it, when I asked Sitri to free me, I didn't get that unusual sensation in my gut, that brain hiccup. Could this really have been my first time? How did I make it this long without aching to be liberated?

I drop my head back onto his chest. “It's so weird. Weird and awful.”

He resumes stroking my hair and shifts lightly under me to carefully drape his other arm across my back. “I can't believe you don't have any family. You should come over and have dinner with us.”

I sigh. “I'd like to, but…”

“My mom won't judge you, you know,” he says. I hear his heart rate pick up again—is he nervous? “She's so happy I'm seeing someone that she'll be thrilled to have you around. We'll keep up the pretense about you being sick.”

“You told her about me?” Now my heart's the one pounding fast.

“She wants to meet you. When she last saw Grandpa, he gushed about how beautiful and sweet you are.”

I swallow. “He…said that? He thinks I'm beautiful?”

His chuckle rumbles against the side of my face. “Like anyone could think otherwise. But it's not just looks. You have this… deeply caring soul. It makes people want to be around you.” He pauses, shoots me a crooked grin. “What do you think about walking around a little? We can keep a safe distance. But I want people to start seeing you the way I do.”

I stare up at Dominic again, his eyes piercing straight into mine, to my soul. “And how is that? How do you see me?”

He remains silent so long I start to feel awkward. Maybe I shouldn't have asked. Then he says, “As the girl I'm falling for.”

The rest of the night, I can't stop smiling.

chapter thirteen

I
END
UP
SPENDING
the remainder of the weekend alone. Dominic's family has been pretty much staying at his grandfather's side around the clock since something happened to Amos early Saturday morning, and I don't want to intrude on these last moments. He texts me as often as he can, keeping me updated on the status of things. But it's not looking good—Amos is getting weaker and weaker.

Samantha texts me, too. Her dinner with Rick went perfectly, and her family loves him. Her messages overflow with exclamation points and hearts, so I'm assuming she's thrilled. I want to ask her to come over so I can tell her the truth about me, but she's so happy right now. I don't want to ruin that for her.

Monday. I'll tell her then.

I turn my attention to homework late Saturday morning, finishing it all except the English poem. I'm still stumped; the words aren't flowing. Destiny. What can I possibly say on that? I can't venture a guess as to what my destiny is. I feel scared. It paralyzes me.

I nudge it aside and turn my computer on. It's been a week since I've done curse research—all this stuff with Dominic has kept me occupied. I dig into my saved folder to open a page I'd flagged for future reading.

Scanning the first few sentences to make sure it's the one I want—an interview with a woman who broke her own curse—I slow down and soak in the text. Apparently, the housewife was cursed a number of years ago. She'd been afraid her husband was cheating on her, so she turned to a demon in hopes of being more beautiful and appealing to him. He made her so, but the twins she had during their “reunion” ended up being sick and weak, growing more so each day.

The woman then found out why—the demon was going to take the babies as payment for what he gave her.

I pause in my reading, shivering with the realization of how that must have impacted her. Everything comes with a cost. At least my curse doesn't directly injure or hurt anyone else, so long as no one touches me. I can't imagine the guilt she felt, realizing her desperation to hold on to her husband's attention was going to claim the lives of her kids.

The woman first tried praying for the curse to be broken. No such luck—the demon actually laughed at her. My stomach turns at this. Sitri would laugh at that, too. Her next step was to visit a voodoo shop and talk to a practitioner, who told her she'd need to make a sacrifice.

My skin tingles with sudden awareness when I hit that word, and I stop, frozen for a long minute. Aggie said the same thing to me. This must be what she meant.

So the woman did as the priest ordered. She went out, slaughtered a live chicken and said the appropriate words. The demon left her alone after that—but as soon as he went out of her life, all her beauty and appeal went with her. Her husband left her shortly thereafter.

At the end of the article, the woman warns that the priest told her that, with some curses, a small animal might not be enough. Some curses call for large animals, like cows. Some even call for human sacrifices.

I let the words sink in and try not to emotionally react to the sinking sensation in my stomach. How could I possibly sacrifice an animal so my curse will break, much less a person? There's no way. I couldn't let something or someone take the brunt for me. That's murder, plain and simple, and I'd never be able to forgive myself.

There has to be another way. I just need to find something Sitri wants badly enough that he'll take it in exchange for breaking the curse. But what does he want? What can I give him that would entice him to let me go?

My mind is coming up with no answers, and I need a break from the intensity to let this roll around in the back of my head. Surely the answers are in there—I just need to give them space to cultivate. So I open
Jane Eyre
at the spot I left off and dig in, forcing my attention to the storyline.

After a while, I feel the tension easing from my shoulders; the worries slip from my mind as I escape into the past. Mr. Rochester is a fascinating man, if not a little mean. But I like how Jane doesn't take any flack from him. Her outspokenness and insistence on being treated fairly is encouraging. And while Rochester is still maintaining his cool distance, I can see him being drawn to Jane, bit by bit.

With a smile, I press the book against my chest and breathe in the scent of old pages. My sister would have loved this story. A die-hard romantic, she would see that spark of good in Rochester that made him worth pursuing.

That spark isn't so hard to find in Dominic. My cheeks burn hot as I think of him, and I press the back of my hand to my bare skin. In fact, it's not so much a spark as a roaring fire. The goodness pours out of him like no one I've ever seen before. How is it possible? How is someone like
him
possible? He's never played games with me like Rochester does with Jane, leaving her unsure as to his affections.

No, Dominic's been honest from the start. Unlike me, who was forced to weave such a thick net of lies from which I now struggle to free myself.

And yet he stays, a boulder of strength in my quicksand world.

Sunday afternoon, I'm down in the courtyard with my notebook, still struggling for inspiration for my poem—the measly progress I made before didn't feel right, so I scrapped it. Birds are chirping as they flutter around the heady scents of flowers. It's been kind of nice to have a little bit of time to myself, if only to clear my mind of my current stresses and focus on homework.

Spending time with Dominic on Friday night, learning more about him and sharing more about myself, was intoxicating. He's seen all of me. He knows my truths and he's not backing off. It's more than I ever expected. Ever dreamed. I refuse to let it go.

My cell rings. It's Dominic.

“I wasn't expecting you to call,” I say with a smile, then instantly sit up straight in my chair. “Wait, is everything okay? How's Amos?”

“He's hanging in there,” he says. Tiredness bleeds into his voice, breaking my heart. Poor guy.

“Have you slept at all?”

“Not much. I can't…can't just leave him alone in there for long periods of time.”

“I understand.” I shift the phone to my other hand and close my notebook, moving back to my apartment. “Anything I can do?”

“Come by the nursing home?” His voice is quiet, yet I feel the need pouring from it.

“Of course. I'll get a cab.” I burst through my front door, then scan the room for my purse.

“No, I'll come get you. I just wanted to…I wanted to spend some time with you. And for us to spend more time with him.”

“Of course.” I'm touched. The backs of my eyes burn. Impulsively, I head to my side table and grab the Christina Rossetti book. Maybe Amos would like for us to read him some of her poems. I flagged my favorites. “I'm ready when you are.”

We hang up. After I change into public-appropriate clothing, I pace the room back and forth, back and forth, stopping to check my reflection every few laps to make sure I still look okay. Poor Dominic. I wish I could help him feel better.

Finally, I get a text:
Out front. Meet me?

I dash out the door, down the stairs to the front of the building. Dominic's standing outside his car, his back to the driver's door. His smile is tired, his skin pale with the faintest hint of bruising underneath his eyes. I bite my lower lip and offer him a careful hug, which he accepts. I hear him sigh against the top of my hair, his body relaxing in my embrace.

“How are you?” I ask.

“Better now,” he says, and I smile.

After a long moment, I pull away from him. “Okay, let's get going.” I move toward the front of the car to pass around it, but he grabs my upper arm.

“Here you go,” he says, thrusting the keys into my hand.

“Um…what?” I stare at him, confused.

“You're driving.”

“I don't know how.” I thought I explained that to him before, but maybe I didn't. Or maybe he forgot. He must be more exhausted than I realized.

“I know. I'm going to teach you.” Dominic finally smiles as he takes the book out of my hand. “You should learn.”

“Isn't this illegal?”

He shrugs. “Probably. But it's only a few minutes away, and we're taking side roads. It'll be fine, I promise. And it would be a good break for me, too.”

I suck in a deep breath, trying to maintain my sense of calm. But I'm nervous. Beyond nervous, actually. And yet, a small part of me is excited—
driving
. One of the staples of true independence… freedom. I slip into the driver's seat, and Dominic makes his way to the passenger's side, folding himself into the car.

This feels strange. I've seen people drive before, of course, but the steering wheel and all its levers and knobs are intimidating.

Dominic points out and explains the functions of the different gears and pedals, making me practice finding and using them before I even put the key in the ignition. After a few minutes, I finally start to feel a little less skittish.

“Okay, put the key in and crank it forward.”

I do as he asks. The auto whirs to life, its steady hum vibrating through my seat.

“Now, put your foot on the brake, and pull the car into drive. Just take it nice and slow. You have all the time in the world.”

My heart jumps in my throat.

“Breathe, Isabel,” he says in a calm tone. He must be able to sense my skittishness. “I won't let you get hurt, okay? I'm right here, ready to take over if needed.”

I nod. “Okay.” I pull into drive and slowly move my foot from the brake to the gas.

The car lurches forward, and he chuckles. “It's okay. You'll get the hang of it. Promise. You're doing a good job so far.” He turns around to look behind us. “Traffic's completely clear. Pull out into the street.”

We spend several more minutes with him teaching me how to navigate the car as we circle the block a few times. I finally start to get the hang of it and even ease up on my fingers digging into the steering wheel. So this is what it's like, driving. It still feels awkward, but I'm less scared now.