Ten Tiny Breaths (Ten Tiny Breaths #1)

No text. No call. It’s like he’s dropped off the face of the Earth.

I go back to Penny’s on the third night with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. The music’s dull, the lights are blinding, the customers’ annoying. It’s not the same without Trent and Storm there and I’m miserable. I can’t even force a smile while concentrating. I know Storm will be back in a few days. Trent though, I feel his absence like a knife in the center of my back. It’s painful, I can’t reach it to pull it out, and I’m sure it will be my demise if it stays as is.

Trent being gone eats at me all week. It makes me grouchy and snappy and generally unpleasant to be around. I’m well aware of it, and I don’t care. It makes me start fights with Livie on my one night off over what to watch on television. It makes her start to cry and call me a bitch. Livie never does that. It makes me lurk through the commons every night, casting furtive glances at 1D. The end result is the same. Darkness. Where ever he went, Trent’s not back.

What if he’s never coming back?

***

Day Five.

I scream in horror as I watch my parents’ Audi sink into the river, my eyes locked on the person trapped behind the wheel.

Trent.

I’m a sweaty tangled mess in my sheets when I come to, gasping. It was just a dream! Oh, Thank God! It takes me a good fifteen minutes to shake the image scalding my mind. Only now I can’t shake the idea. What if Trent did get into an accident? No one would call me. I’m nobody. I haven’t had a chance to be anybody yet.

I harass Storm to give me Dan’s number. Then I harass him to check the police reports of a ‘Trent Emerson’ in an accident. He tells me he can’t abuse his position like that. I snap and slam my phone against the counter. Then I call him back and apologize, and he concedes to bring his laptop so I can search the news, the obits. Anything.

It’s well into the night before I accept that Trent is probably alive and well. He’s just not with me.

***

Day Nine.

Wandering past Trent’s apartment door on my way to the gym, I freeze. I’m sure I just caught a whiff of something funky.

Ohmigod.

Trent’s dead.

I run to Tanner’s door and hammer on it until it flies open. Tanner’s standing there with his standard Batman pajama pants and deer-caught-in-the-headlight eyes. “Come on!” I grab his arm and yank him out. “You need to open 1D right now!”

Tanner uses his weight to resist me. “Wait a minute. I can’t just open—”

“I think Trent’s dead!” I shriek.

That gets him moving. I wait behind him with itchy feet as he fumbles with his giant key ring, his hands shaking. He’s bothered by this. Of course he is.

When he opens the door, I shove past him, not even considering what I’m rushing in to see. It’s dim and tidy inside. Sparse, even. I wouldn’t know someone lived there had it not been for a laptop sitting on the desk, Trent’s navy sweater hanging over the back of the couch, and the smell of his cologne lingering in the air.

Tanner moves past me, and does a quick sweep of the bedrooms and bathroom. He even opens the closet door. When he comes back to face me, it’s with a glower. “Why exactly did you tell me Trent was dead?”

I swallow, averting my gaze. “Oops.”

“Okay, get out of here.” He ushers me toward the door none to gently with a hand on my shoulder. I hear him as he lumbers away, grumbling something about drugs and hormones.

***

Day Thirteen.

Kick. Punch. Spin. Kick.

The bag takes my punishment without complaint. I slam and pound against it, all my anger and anxiety coming to a head. Trent has another life. That has to be it. A tanned, blonde, unbroken woman. They probably have two perfect little kids together who say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and haven’t learned to swear like sailors because of their mother’s incessant profanity. He must have run away to Miami and had a quarter-life crisis affair. I am nothing but someone’s quarter-life crisis and I fell for it like a mindless sap.

Kick Pivot. Spin. Kick.

This feels good.

I feel like I’m gaining control again.

Later, at Storm’s house, I sit on the couch and watch an episode of Sponge Bob with Mia. Lying next to me on the cushion is a dark-haired Ken doll. It kind of reminds me of Trent. I give serious consideration to stealing it, painting ‘Trent’ over its chest, and taking a lighter to where its man parts should be.

***

Day Seventeen.

“Was he real?” I mumble, staring at the phone in my hand. I didn’t buy this for myself, did I?

“What?” Livie asks, looking up at me in surprise.

“Trent, was he real? I mean, I could understand if he wasn’t real. Who could be that beautiful and sweet and perfect and want someone as fucked up as me?”

There’s a long pause and when I look over at Livie, she’s staring at me like I swallowed a bag of broken glass. I can tell she’s worried about me. Storm’s worried about me too. I think even Nate is worried.

***

Day Twenty.

Kick. Punch. Punch. Kick.

I’m raging against the bag.

Trent used me. To what sick end, I can’t decide. He obviously has a twisted fetish. He found a damaged woman and targeted her weakness with his dimples and his charm. He broke through my shell, wormed his way in to melt the ice over my heart. Then he abandoned me after uncovering just how fucked up I really am. But not before getting laid, of course.

And I let him in. It’s my fault! I’m the idiot.

I pound away on the twenty pound bag of sand. I love the sand. It absorbs all my emotions without disapproval and lets me use it without expectation.

“Angry about something?”

I whip around to find Ben standing behind me with his arms folded over his chest and a knowing smirk on his face. I turn back and execute a perfect kick. “Not at all.”

Ben walks around to catch the bag. He gestures as if to tell me to continue while he holds. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

I hoof the bag extra hard, and in a way I know Ben isn’t expecting. I hope it hits him square in the balls, just for bringing up Trent. It doesn’t, but it does earn a grunt. “What boyfriend?”

“The one who’s always at the bar.”

“Have you seen him at the bar lately?” Punch.

There’s a long pause. “No, suppose I haven’t.”

“Well, then, Lawyer Boy, what would you deduce from that? Or are you not able to? You’re not going to make a very good lawyer if that’s the case.”

Another kick to the bag. Another grunt from Ben.

“So you’re unattached again?”

“I’ve always been unattached.”

“Right. Well, then, how about we go out tonight?”

“I’m working.”

“So am I. Let’s grab an early dinner and head over together.”

“Sure, fine. Whatever,” I say without thinking. I don’t want to think.

Ben’s brow arches. “Seriously?”

I stop kicking now and wipe the layer of sweat from my brow with my forearm. “Isn’t that what you wanted to hear?”

“Well, yeah, but I was expecting a ‘drop dead’ answer instead.”

“I’m good for that too.”

“No, no!” Ben quickly answers, backing away from me. “I’ll come get you at six?”

“Fine,” I say, flying through the air with a perfect round house.

***

“What did I agree to?” I ask myself as I stand under the hot water, staring up at the showerhead, imagining another red serpent there to scare the daylights out of me. If I screamed loud enough, would Trent magically appear? Would he break down the door again? I wouldn’t let him leave this time. Not a chance.

I run into Livie in the kitchen. We’ve hardly talked since our fight. “I’m sorry, Livie,” is all I say.

She ropes her arm around my waist. “He’s a jerk, Kacey.”

“A stupid jerk,” I mumble.

“A big stupid jerk,” she answers. It’s a game we used to play when we were little. It drove our parents batty.

“A big stupid smelly jerk.”

“A big stupid smelly jerk with hemorrhoids.”

I slap my forehead. “Oh! And she pulls out the ’roids for the win!”

Livie giggles. “Where are you going?”

I slide out from her grip to put my shoes on. “Out.”