Breathe for Me (20 page)

My home. Even assuming I can make Sitri break the curse, everything is still screwed up.

Frustration simmers hot under my skin. “You wouldn't get it,” I tell her. “And besides, I don't want to bring you down right now. You have so much good going on in your life.”

“Wait, are you getting sicker?” she asks, fear creeping through her voice. “Did the doctor tell you something?”

I blanch. Poor Samantha—every right to be mad at me, yet she's concerned about
my
health. I don't deserve her. The temptation to lie and blame it on my “illness” is right there, but I can't do it.

“No, it's not that,” I finally say. “I just…I can't talk about it. I'm sorry.”

“Oh. Well, I bet you have no problem talking to Dominic about whatever's bothering you,” she says, her tone flat with anger and hurt.

The barb hits home.

“We're friends, Isabel,” she continues. “Or at least, I thought we were. But friendship doesn't work like this.”

“I don't want things to be like this,” I say, tears welling. “I'm sorry. I just…I'm so confused right now.”

Samantha is silent for a while. Then she says, “I tell you everything that's going on. I trust you with all my secrets, even the ones that make me the most vulnerable. I wish I felt like you trusted me.”

“I want to,” I say as I move away from the patio and flopping on my bed. “But there's just so much… My life is so complicated right now. Please don't push me about it.”

The phone is silent for several long moments. Then she sighs. “I don't know what to say. I should go.” She hangs up.

I stare at the phone for a long time, letting the tears roll down my face. Samantha is fading away from me, and I'm helpless to stop it. Everything is spiraling out of my control. What good is it to get attached to people, to make myself at home, when all I do is hurt everyone?
And
hurt myself?

I don't know how long I remain on my bed, crying. But a loud knock at the door jars me. I tiptoe to the door and peek through the keyhole.

It's Dominic. He's looking down at his feet, so I can't read his face. My heart slams in surprise. What's he doing here? I thought he was going to call.

I unlock the door and open it, knowing this will be my last time seeing him. A bittersweet rush of fresh pain sweeps over me, and I bite my lower lip; my gaze pours over the top of his messy hair, the angles of his face, the slim line of his body. Committing it all to memory.

Dominic looks up at me. His skin is impossibly pale, eyes red, hazy with sorrow. Grieving Amos. Seeing his hurt makes my heart hurt for him.

I shove aside my own worries and stresses. “Are you okay?”

He shakes his head. “We need to talk.”

chapter fifteen

I
MOVE
ASIDE
SO
Dominic can come in, pointing him toward the couch. My hands shake, so I quickly tuck them behind me. “Have a seat.” I know what's coming, and the anticipation is making me sick. My stomach is a mass of butterflies. “Um, can I get you anything?”

“Did my grandpa kiss you?” he asks me bluntly.

The air whooshes out of my lungs, and I collapse into a nearby seat. I want to run away. I don't want to face his piercing, knowing eyes, so full of mixed emotions. But he deserves the truth—it's the only thing I can give him now. “Yes.”

He closes his eyes, his brows furrowed. “I don't understand.” He rests his elbows on his knees, then drops his head into his hands.

I swallow, carefully choosing my words. “Amos was in a lot of pain. He…he asked me how long he had to live, and I—”

“How long?”

I don't want to answer this question but feel helpless to deny him. “A couple of weeks at best. He was really sick.”

He exhales. Inhales. Exhales again, then lifts his face, tears streaking from his eyes. “He left without a word to me, to anyone. How could he do that?”

Everything in me aches with the need to hug him, but I'm too afraid to move any closer to him. “I'm so sorry,” I manage to say. “I don't think he was thinking about that. I think…I think everyone was suffering and he was ready to let it all go. Help you guys move on without him.”

I don't say anything about Amos's soul. Something tells me his grandpa wouldn't want him to suffer with that knowledge. Besides, when I bargain with Sitri for my freedom, I'll insist his soul be released, even if I remain cursed—if nothing else, I
will
make that happen for Amos, no matter what. Then the man can truly have peace. The stakes are too high for me to fail now. I won't let Dominic or Amos down. My heavy guilt eases just a fraction.

“I was so angry with you,” Dominic says. He stands, moves in front of me.

I stand too, afraid to look into his eyes. Afraid not to look. “I know,” I whisper. “I'm
still
angry with me. And I wish I could take it all back. I wish I'd never told you. Because Amos would still be alive right now if I hadn't.”

He shakes his head, looking down at me. “You can't blame yourself. Grandpa was his own man. I don't understand why he chose to die that way, but he did. I have to forgive him for that. It just hurts so much.” He presses his forehead against my shoulder.

I freeze for a moment, wanting to reach out and hold him, petrified to do so. But my heart won't allow me to stay distant, to make him suffer in this alone. I gingerly wrap him into my arms as he sobs against me. His whole body shakes with the force of his agony. “I'm so, so sorry,” I whisper over and over again.

After several long minutes he moves away and wipes his face. His eyes are glassy, rimmed red. “I feel like everything is crazy right now.” He moves back over to the couch. “I feel lost.”

“I do, too,” I admit. Selfishly, I want to live in this moment with him forever. But it's time for me to pull away. To save him from being hurt anymore. “Dominic, I can't… We can't do this anymore.”

He blinks. “What?”

“It's my fault Amos died,” I say as I clench my fists together. My nails dig into my palms. Courage—
cruel to be kind
, I remind myself, feeling like the worst kind of heel right now, already aching from missing him. But Sitri's danger is all too real. “Being with me is just going to hurt you. We can't do this anymore. I'm sorry.”

“You're breaking up with me?” Dominic stands again, jaw tight, eyes flashing. “When are you going to learn, Isabel? These walls you keep up—” he waves his hand at me, “—they're not hurting anyone but yourself.”

I shake my head. “That's not true.”

“It
is
true. How many people are you going to shut out of your life? Why won't you let me in?” His voice shimmers with anger. I've never seen him like this.

“I
did
let you in. And look where it got us. If Sitri—”

“I don't care about Sitri,” he spits out, raking a hand through his hair. He blows out a frustrated breath. “I care about you. But I'm so tired of chasing you around, waiting for you to love and trust me.”

I get right up in his face and stare into his eyes. “I do love you. You just don't have any clue what we're up against. Sitri threatened to…” I swallow. “He'll hurt you. Hurt us. He's too powerful.”

“The only power Sitri has,” he says in a low voice, “is what you give him. And right now, you're giving him the power over everything.”

He's right, in a way. I know he is. But he just doesn't get it. “There's a reason Sitri has power over everything. It's because he controls my life.”

With a sad shake of his head, Dominic says, “No, he doesn't. He doesn't control you or your heart. But until you learn to trust in love, have faith in others, you'll never get out from under his thumb. You didn't even give us a chance. A real chance.”

I bite my lower lip. There isn't a thing I can say right now to make things better. I want to promise to come back to him when—if—I break the curse. But my promises are worthless right now.

“Thanks for helping my grandpa not suffer,” he says quietly, then turns around and heads to the door. “Oh, and I wanted to give you a copy of this. I stopped by school earlier to pick up my homework.” He digs in his back pocket, produces a folded-up piece of paper. “Not that it matters much now.”

Then he walks out of the door.

I take several gasping breaths, fighting the urge to throw the door open and run after him. But he's safer this way, away from me. With shaking hands I unfold the paper and read. It's my poem. And he added his own stanza underneath.

I read the words over and over. Then, clutching the paper to my chest, I cry myself to sleep.

I call in sick from school again the next day. Because they believe in my “illness,” they excuse me without too many questions. It's stupid and pointless to let myself indulge in this pity party, but I can't seem to stop it.

I spend the morning in bed, reading Dominic's poems. I think about Samantha, wondering what she's doing, if she misses me. I think about love, sacrifice, trust—all these intangible yet profoundly impactful words that have placed a stronghold over my feelings. Over my life.

I write in my journal. I read more Christina Rossetti poems. I cry over Amos. I cry over myself. Wishing I had a clear sense of direction. Afraid. So tired of being afraid.

By late afternoon, I start to grow stir crazy. My spirit is tired and in need of something positive. Of hope. I throw on some clothes and make my way toward Aggie's store, wanting to see a familiar face. Wanting someone to talk to, even if I can't fully explain what's going on. Her soothing presence will give me the courage to face my problems head-on instead of wallowing in fear and pity.

Because tonight, I'm going to contact Sitri and end this, once and for all.

The walk to the French Quarter is long but peaceful. Groups of people, of families weave in and out of buildings, across streets, bearing bags and food and cheer.

I have a sudden, stabbing longing for my parents. That resentment I had regarding the arranged marriage is long gone. All that's left now is a hollow ache of sorrow. Of wishing I had more time to explain why I didn't want to marry Mr. Baker. So many things I'd do differently, if only I had the chance.

The door dings as I enter, a familiar sound that makes me smile.

“Isabel!” Aggie says as she emerges from the back room. When she sees my face, a frown creases her features. “What's wrong?”

I dig into my pocket. “I came to make an offering. I need some courage. Which statue should I go to?”

She shoots me a curious glance. “Come this way, child.”

We go through the hallway back into the shrine room. Aggie leads me to the back corner, digging around on a shelf that holds all kinds of small, colorful cloth bags with black cords. She pulls out a red one. “Ah-ha. This is a
gris gris
,” she says, then drapes the cord over my head. The knitted bag rests firmly against my chest. “It's a good-luck charm and has been blessed with holy water. It'll give you courage and protect you from evil. The last time you came in, I had a sense that I should make one for you.”

I give her as big a smile as I can, wishing I could hug her for her thoughtfulness. “Thank you.” I dig into my pocket to grab money.

“No, no,” she says. “Keep your money.” She leads me into her reading room, the beaded curtains rustling as we walk through. She sits across the table from me and rests her hands on the table. “I didn't want to tell you before, since that boy was with you, but I know time is running out. I feel it in the air. Take action quick, while you still can.”

I swallow hard and nod. “I plan to. But I'm scared. If my plan doesn't work—”

She clucks. “Oh, dear. You're so tired. I feel it in your bones. It'll work out, one way or another. I see a bright flame in you.”

Impulsively I clutch her hand, squeezing. “I've already lost the people I love the most.”

She cups her other hand over mine. “If they love you, they'll understand. You have no faith, Isabel. Who do you believe in, the devil? Why, he's just as fallible as anyone else. The only control he has is what you give him—and your heart, your soul isn't his.”

Her words echo the same sentiments Dominic had said. Maybe they're right. If I don't believe in my own innate power, why should he let me go?