Just Remember to Breathe (Thompson Sisters)

I’ve ever seen. They looked at you… with your build, your angry face, your scars, and they looked at Randy Brewer, spoiled rich kid, and they jumped to absolutely the wrong conclusion.”
    I shook my head. “All right. I don’t really care about all of that. I just want to make sure I’m free to travel, and that Alex is safe. Nothing else matters.”
    Ben nodded. “For what it’s worth, Dylan… even though the circumstances are horrible, I’m glad they got the guy.”
    The hearing was an anti-climax, taking all of fifteen minutes. Unfortunately, it looked like it was going to take a couple days to free up my bail money. Whatever. I had places to go, and people to see, and still a few thousand dollars in the bank. Time to spend some of it.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

    It’s about me (Alex)
    When the alarm on my phone went off at 5:45 a.m., I quickly rolled over in bed and silenced it. I didn’t want to disturb the rest of my family. With any luck I could be out and back before anybody else woke up.
    I slipped into sweats, and, perversely, put on Dylan’s grey Army T-shirt, which hung like a tent on me. I’d appropriated it from him a couple weeks ago. Something about having it here was comforting.
    Then I tied on my running shoes, put my hair in a messy and quick pony tail, and slowly made my way down the five flights of stairs to the front door, trying desperately to avoid waking anyone.
    It was dark and quiet outside, but not the bitter cold I’d grown accustomed to running in. For a second, as I stared out at the darkened street, I felt a tinge of fear. I was used to running in the dark with Dylan. I didn’t realize until now how much safety that afforded me. Safety to run through a city park before the sunrise. Safety to feel free, not afraid of a random mugger or rapist or other dangers in the dark.
    As I stretched on the sidewalk in front of our house, I pondered the fact that I’d never felt that kind of fear before. And the irony was, it wasn’t a random stranger who had attacked me. It was someone I’d known since middle school. That’s what the statistics say, of course. The person most likely to rape a woman is always someone she knows.
    But the reality was far different from the statistics. The reality was confusing, frightening. It was being too drunk, feeling almost sick, and having someone hold you down while they stuck their hand up your shirt. It was feeling hot, unwelcome breath against my neck. It was the stink of alcohol on his breath as he said, “You know you want it, why are you struggling?”
    I didn’t want it. Not from him. Not then, not ever.
    I set out, running first up 23 rd Avenue to Fulton Street, then along the edge of Golden Gate Park. There was little traffic this early in the morning, especially during a holiday week.
    I worked myself up to a good pace, keeping an eye out for dark corners, places people could hide. Because like it or not, Randy Brewer had changed the way I looked at things. I was making a lot of progress, learning self-defense from Dylan, but I still had a long ways to go. I was going to get there, though. With him or without him.
    One thing I knew for sure. I was done being a victim. Never again would anyone hold me against my will, not if there was anything I could do about it.
    As I reached the end of Fulton Street, I ran toward the beach, then down the sand to the water. The waves were coming in, loud, and I turned and ran along the sand. I’d never run at home before. There was something freeing about it, something that made me feel bigger than I’d ever been before.
    It was in Dylan’s hands now. I loved him. I knew what I wanted: to spend my life with him. I wanted us to move forward, together, into a life that we could have together. But I needed to know that he was ready to do that. Something in him always pulled back. And all I could do was hope and pray that he’d move past that.
    If he didn’t, though, I was ready to accept it. I’d always love him. I’d alway care for him. But if I had to say goodbye, I was strong enough to do it now.
    I ran for an hour and a half that morning, only finally slowing down a dozen blocks from my parents’ house, coming to a walk two blocks away. I was drenched in sweat, my hair running wet down my back, and I felt absolutely fantastic.
    Quietly, I unlocked the front door and went up the stairs.
    As my foot touched the landing, I heard my mother’s voice. So much for an unobtrusive entry.
    I sighed,