Ten Tiny Breaths - Excerpt

Ten Tiny Breaths - Chapter Two

TWO

A hissing sound . . .

Bright lights . . .

Blood . . .

Water, rushing over my head. I'm drowning.

"Kacey, wake up!" Livie's voice pulls me out of suffocating darkness and back into my bedroom. It's three a.m. and I'm drenched with sweat.

"Thanks, Livie."

"Anytime," she answers softly, lying down beside me. Livie is used to my nightmares. I rarely go a night without one. Sometimes I wake up on my own. Sometimes my screams send Livie running to my room. Sometimes I start hyperventilating and she has to dump a glass of cold water over my head to bring me back. She didn't have to do that tonight.

Tonight is a good night.

I stay quiet and still until I hear her slow, rhythmic breathing again, and I thank God for not taking her from me too. He took everyone else, but he left Livie. I like to think he gave her the flu that night to keep her from coming to my rugby game. Congested lungs and a runny nose saved her.

Saved my one ray of light.

I get up early to say goodbye to Livie on the first day at her new high school. "You have all the paperwork?" I ask her. I signed everything as Livie's legal guardian and made her swear that I was if anyone asks.

"For what it's worth . . ."

"Livie, just stick to the story and everything will go smoothly." To be honest, I'm a little worried. Depending on Livie to lie is like expecting a house of cards to stand up to a windstorm. ­Impossible. Livie can't lie if her life depends on it. And it kind of does in this case.

I watch her finish her cereal and grab her school bag, pushing her hair back behind her ear about a dozen times. That's one of her many tells. A tell that she's panicking.

"Just think, Livie. You can be anyone you want to be," I offer, rubbing her biceps as she's about to head out the door. I recall finding one shred of solace when we moved to Aunt Darla and Uncle Raymond's-a new school and new people who knew nothing about me. I was dumb enough to believe the break from pitying eyes would last. But news travels fast around small towns, and soon I found myself eating lunches in the bathroom or skipping school altogether to avoid the whispers. Now, though, we're worlds away from Michigan. We really do have a chance to start over fresh.

Livie stops and turns to stare at me blankly. "I'm Olivia Cleary. I'm not trying to be anyone else."

"I know. I just mean, no one knows anything about our past here." That was one of my negotiating points for coming here: no sharing our past with anyone.

"Our past isn't who we are. I'm me and you're you, and that's who we need to be," Livie reminds me. She leaves, and I know exactly what she's thinking. I'm not Kacey Cleary anymore. I'm an empty shell who cracks inappropriate jokes and feels nothing. I'm a Kacey imposter.

■ ■ ■

When I searched for our apartment, not only was I looking for a decent school for Livie; I needed a gym. Not one where ­pencil-thin girls prance around in new outfits and stand near the weights, talking on their phones. A fighter's gym.

That's how I found The Breaking Point.

The Breaking Point is the same size as the O'Malley's in Michigan, and I instantly feel at home when I step inside. It's complete with dim lighting, a fighting ring, and a dozen bags of various sizes and weights, hung from the rafters. The air is infused with that familiar stench of sweat and aggression-a by-product of the fifty-to-one male-to-female ratio.