Just Remember to Breathe (Thompson Sisters)

ask you to.”
    He sighed, and his shoulders slumped. He looked defeated, his face and eyes turned to the floor. For a second, it looked like he was going to say something else, but he stopped. Then he turned and left.
    And just like that, I was all alone again.

CHAPTER TWELVE

    I’m sorry I got your kid killed (Alex)

    Sherman caught up with me about two blocks away from Dylan’s apartment. I heard him calling, but kept walking. I was too caught up, too angry to stop.
    He finally reached my side and matched my pace. He didn’t say anything at first.
    It was a chill afternoon, a little dark, and a few leaves were scattered here and there. It matched my dark mood perfectly.
    I finally came to a full stop. Sherman took two more steps before he could halt his momentum, then spun around and said, “You’re taking this well.”
    “I could kill him,” I said.
    “Anger is good,” he replied.
    “I can’t do any more crying, all right? He’s made his stupid decision.”
    “You want to talk?”
    “Not really.”
    “Humor me.”
    I took a deep breath, and closed my eyes. I couldn’t zero in on my emotions. There was an empty hole there. That scared me, more than anything else I’d experienced. How did Dylan have the power to just… take away a part of me like that? I knew it was a matter of time before the pain came. And when it did, I didn’t know what I was going to do. Maybe just fall apart entirely.
    I gave a firm nod. “All right.”
    So we turned and walked to the coffee shop.
    “Let’s sit outside,” I said.
    He nodded, and we went in and got our coffee, then sat down in the seats closest to the street. He ostentatiously slapped a pack of cigarettes against his hand several times, then ripped off the cellophane and lit up a cigarette.
    I said, “Can I have one?”
    He blinked, then passed a cigarette over. “I didn’t think you smoked.”
    “I don’t. Let me have a light.”
    He shook his head. “Seems like everyone I know is making stupid decisions today.”
    “Fuck off,” I answered, then took his lighter and made an attempt at lighting the cigarette. I took a long drag from it, feeling it burn down my throat, then coughed.
    “Didn’t Bloomberg ban outdoor smoking, too?”
    “Fuck him, too,” I said. “God, that’s nasty.”
    “Yeah, well…”
    I took another drag. God, I was getting lightheaded.
    “Look, Alex… would it help if I said this is probably temporary?”
    I looked at him, and said, “No, not really.”
    He frowned, then slumped in his seat.
    “It won’t help, because it’s not temporary. He might change his mind tomorrow or the next day or next week, but he’ll still have the same issue. Thinking he’s not good enough. Hating himself.”
    He sighed, and I took another drag off the cigarette. Now I was really buzzed. “Do you always get buzzed when you smoke?”
    He shook his head. “No… that’s only for people who are smoking for the first time, or who only rarely do it.”
    I think I grunted. That was disappointing. What was the point in smoking, then?
    “What are you going to do?” he asked.
    I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
    He nodded, and took a sip of his coffee. He was slumped in his chair, staring at the traffic. “I hope it isn’t selfish to say, I hope you won’t give up on him. Dylan’s a good guy. He’s just … a little fucked up right now.”
    I nodded, then stamped out my cigarette.
    “I don’t know why you smoke those things,” I said, putting my head in my hands. “I feel woozy.”
    We were silent for a little while, the traffic just passing by. I was calm. Steady. Unnaturally so. I was relatively sure that once I sat down and let myself actually feel something, that would be the end. I wasn’t ready to fall apart. Not yet.
    I looked up at the sky. “No, I won’t give up on him. But I won’t… I won’t be fooled, either. I love him. I really love him, Sherman. I don’t even know what to think anymore. How can he be so damn stubborn? What if he comes back around tomorrow? Do I take him back, and just get hurt again next time he’s down on himself?”
    “God, I need a drink,” Sherman said.
    I nodded. “Me, too. But I missed all my classes today. I’m going to need to keep it together tomorrow.”
    He nodded, then said, “If it helps any… Ah, shit. Dylan will not appreciate this. But fuck him. I’m sending you some emails. From last March, when he first got to Walter Reed. I think you need to read them. If