Page 7 of Breathe Like Hell

Something felt wrong about the way I’d woken up. A knock, even if it startled me, wouldn’t make me this unsettled.

I was hardly breathing as I waited, perfectly silent, completely paranoid. If it was somehow either of them, they would knock again—or pick the lock and come in without my permission. My fingers gripped my comforter tighter, a bad feeling in my stomach.

I looked around the room again, squinting through the dark.

Shadows pooled and stretched in my bedroom, splayed over all my dirty clothes on the floor and the half-empty plastic water bottles lined up on my dresser. Dim silvery light glinted off the glass bottle of vodka still lying on its side on the carpet. I hadn’t touched it since the night Micah came over and found me trying to drown myself in it. I’d been so upset that day, so fucking overwhelmed by everything; my brother texting me, the fact that Mason and Micah were angels—fallen angels, the general declining state of my life.

I hated thinking about it. Hated thinking about Micah watching me cry so hard that I threw up on the carpet in the hallway.

I reached for my phone on my nightstand, yanking it off the charger and powering it on, the dim screen glowing through the darkness. The notifications on my screen only served to make me feel worse. More late assignments, more texts from my lab group I’d never responded to, more reminders of all the ways I was letting everything slip through my fingers.

My thumb flicked over the cracked screen to turn on the device’s flashlight, and I shone it around the room for good measure. As suspected, there was nothing. No figure crouching in the dark corners or hunched over behind my dresser. The door to my bedroom was closed, but I couldn’t see any light on the other side, couldn’t hear any sound.

After another minute of sitting there staring at nothing, I turned the flashlight off and laid my head back on my pillow.

Not ten seconds after I’d closed my eyes, I heard something. Footsteps.

On the roof.

My eyes snapped back open and I instantly was crawling out of my bed towards my bag hanging on the doorknob, snatching my knife with a shaky grip. The footsteps were moving towards my bedroom, ominous and loud above my head. Heavy boots on metal, rubber thudding on the flat surface.

I couldn’t think of any reason there would be a person on the roof of my trailer in the middle of the night—at least not any good reasons.

I fumbled with my phone as I laid flat on my stomach and slid my body under my bed.

There was enough room under my bed for me to lay underneath it relatively comfortably, even though I was surrounded by dusty unpaired socks and more plastic water bottles. The footsteps halted and my eyes instinctively flicked upwards, staring at the corner of my ceiling, tears starting to sting my eyes.

How mad is Micah? Too mad to come help me?

Is Mason mad?

Thinking about Micah’s words in my ear made me feel a paralyzing sort of shame. He’d known about me and Mason the entire time, known all the ways I’d been unfaithful to him.

So I decided to take my chances with the latter, pressing on Mason’s contact and hitting the button to call him. Trembling, I held my phone up to my ear, turning the volume all the way down so I would be able to hear any other sounds coming from the roof.

It rang…and rang…

Voicemail.

My heartbeat stuttered, chest clenching tight. It was dead silent in my bedroom again, so quiet I could hear myself breathing, hear the sound of my hair dragging on the carpet as I maneuvered further under my bed. I stared at the corner of the window I could see, watching the pitch black sky through the gap on the side of the broken blinds.

I called Mason again.

It rang…and rang…

“Dakota?”

“Fuck,” I choked out, barely a whisper, feeling lightheaded with relief. “I need you to come to me.”

“Okay. I’ll be right there. What’s happening?” he asked. I could hear some rustling on his end of the call, then the sound of a door shutting.

“Something is wrong.”

“What is it?”

I sucked in a breath as the footsteps started again, right over my bed. Tears welled in my eyes and tipped over my cheeks. I gripped my knife tighter in my hand, flicking the blade out with my thumb.

“Someone is on the roof,” I breathed, shaking.