Just Remember to Breathe (Thompson Sisters)

sleep.
    “I’m late. To go running with Dylan.”
    “Oh. I must be dreaming. It sounded like you said you’re going running. I’ll talk to you later.”
    Her words faded into a mumble, and I finally found some shorts, a sports bra and a halter top. Where the hell were my sneakers? I searched for them, and finally stumbled over them and nearly hit my head. Oh, God. I was being such a spaz.
    At 6:05 I sent Dylan a quick text message:
    Running Late. There vry soon.
    Then I ran out the door. I hoped he’d get the text. I hoped he’d wait for me. I hoped he wouldn’t hate me. Oh, God, why was I putting myself through this?
    It was ten after six when I finally ran across 114 th Street, past the Butler Library and onto the field. At this time of the morning, the campus was virtually deserted, though there were a few early risers out there running in the darkness.
    I came up short when I saw him, my breath caught in my throat.
    Dylan wore grey cotton shorts and a t-shirt with the word ARMY emblazoned on it in large black letters, and he was in the middle of doing pushups when I saw him. His broad shoulders and thick biceps were clearly used to this form of exercise. The muscles in his neck and shoulders were tense, bulging as he worked himself up and down.
    “I’ll just be a minute,” he said to me. He was hardly winded.
    That’s when I realized I’d just been standing there, staring. For how long? I didn’t know. Quite a while. Was my tongue hanging out?
    Stop that, I thought. Bad Alex.
    I looked away, because that was the only possible thing I could do, then looked back. Tearing my eyes away from those arms, I could see the damage the bomb did to his right leg. Thick, ropy scars covered his entire calf. Another ugly looking red welt, sewn back closed and healed like a dark red zipper, ran from below his knee right up his thigh and under his shorts. More jagged scars covered his entire right thigh. His right leg was noticeably less bulky than his left: the left was well defined, with powerful calf muscles.
    “Got your text,” he said, as he finally stopped doing pushups. He pivoted on his butt, pulling one leg in close and stretching out the other. He leaned forward, reaching for and grabbing his left foot. “Sorry I didn’t answer. Limbering up. Last thing I want to do is get out there running and freeze up.”
    I’d carry you home if you did. Right up to my room.
    Oh, for God’s sake , I thought, get a grip . He’s your ex-boyfriend. The asshole who left you to grieve, not knowing if he was alive or not. The guy who broke your heart, without any warning, without any explanation.
    “It’s okay,” I said.
    I wasn’t exactly an athlete any more than he had been before the Army, but I did understand the importance of stretching. I sat down across from him and tried to mirror his actions, stretching out as far as I could, taking hold of my left foot, then switching to the right.
    “So, um… I don’t do this often. Or rather, I never do this.”
    “What’s that?” he asked.
    “Go running,” I answered.
    “You might find you enjoy it. I used to run with the boxing team in our battalion sometimes… they’d go out for fifteen, twenty miles every morning.”
    I gaped. Then noticed the pack of cigarettes rolled up in his left shirt sleeve.
    “You did that and smoked?”
    “Yeah, well, everybody gets some vice, I guess.”
    I didn’t know how to answer that. I put both my feet directly in front of me, facing him, and stretched forward as far as I could.
    I literally heard him stop breathing, and I sat up quickly. He averted his eyes, and then I realized, holy shit, Dylan was looking down my shirt!
    I felt the heat rise on my face, so I averted my eyes and stood up.
    “I’m all stretched out, I think,” I said.
    He chuckled, then said, “Um… I’m sorry. That was… totally uncalled for. And… unintentional. And… I better shut up while I’m ahead.”
    “You’re an ass, Dylan.”
    He nodded, frankly, with just the hint of a smile curling up on the left side of his mouth. “It’s true.”
    Okay, he thought it was funny. He really was an ass. I frowned, said, “It’s not funny. I’m going home.”
    His face instantly dropped the joking expression. “Wait… please don’t go.”
    He looked so wounded, I stopped in place, and he said, “I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget, that’s all. I know about the rules and all that, but you’re still the…”
    He trailed off, and turned away.