Don't Hold Your Breath

Chapter 8

I woke up the next morning to the light streaming in from the window and a dull pain in my shoulder. I groaned slightly as the events from last night came back to me, causing Zeke to shift and open his eyes.

"Are you alright?" he asked worriedly.

I smiled and tried to sound assuring as I answered, "I'm fine."

He seemed a little doubtful but didn't say anything else.

"I really don't want to get out of bed, but we should leave." He sighed.

I closed my eyes for another moment, trying to soak up the joys of being comfortably stretched out, before throwing the covers off and getting up.

"You sure you're ok if we get back in the car?" Zeke asked as we got dressed.

"Yes, I promise." I tried to suppress a laugh at his insistence.

He twisted his mouth slightly but nodded anyways and threw the bag over his shoulder. As he went to put things in the car, I grabbed us some bagels from the kitchen for the road. By the time we were ready, Dan still hadn't come downstairs and Zeke didn't seem keen on waiting around any longer. We ate in silence as he maneuvered his way back onto the highway once again. Once we had settled in a bit, Zeke finally broached the subject that I knew was coming.

"So you'll tell me anything I want, right?"

I confirmed his statement with a nod, he seemed satisfied.

"Then explain what you mean yesterday when you said you are 'desensitized'."

I bit my lip. I hadn't lied, I fully intended to be as open and honest as I could, but I was still finding it difficult.

"Remember when I said that Jeremy was my hero?" Zeke nodded once, encouraging me to continue. "Before I answer your question, I want you to understand how close we were. He was seven years older than me, so it was a little unusual with our age gap, but he was my best friend."

I took a steadying breath and Zeke reached a hand over to grab mine. It was odd how comforting I found the small gesture.

"Jeremy fought a lot with our parents. He was hard to control and wild, getting into fights at school and refusing to listen to anyone. He was obsessed with the idea of being strong and said he wanted that for me as well. It started small and innocent enough, like throwing me into a dark closet for hours to cure me of my fear of the dark. I was around seven when it started escalating. It was a painful game; the rules were that one of us would try to make the other cry or scream. The person being hurt won if they didn't react."

Zeke's hand tightened around mine and his jaw tightened. "What did he try on you?"

I shrugged, "He tried a number of things. Digging a pencil into my arm, burning me with candle wax, that sort of thing.

"What the fuck?!" Zeke hissed. "And you didn't tell anyone?"

I shook my head. "I told you, I trusted him when he said it was to make me stronger. I already knew not to mention anything about him to my parents because of how terrible their relationship was. Anyways, that's what I mean when I said 'desensitized'. When I was in the orphanage the girls would sometimes bully me and I used the game as a coping method, I suppose you could say. No matter what happened, I wanted to stay strong and wouldn't cry. It's just a habit by now."

"That's messed up." Zeke shook his head angrily. "Do you still love him, after all of that? After he killed your parents?"

I grimaced. "It's strange, but yeah I do. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely hate him. He did a despicable thing, took advantage of my trust in him, and destroyed our family, and those are things that I can never forgive him for. But I also can't help but remember him from my perspective as a child. It's complicated I guess."

"Do you know why he escalated it to the point of the fire?"

I shook my head. "I can only guess it's because his relationship with my parents had gotten to the breaking point. They were going to send him away to military school."

"If you were as close as you say, I'm surprised he did it with you in the house." Zeke said carefully, as if trying to find a way to express his thoughts without upsetting me.

"I wasn't supposed to be home." I smiled grimly. "I had a sleepover at a friend's house but got scared and her parents drove me home. When I opened the door, they didn't notice, too busy screaming at each other. I snuck upstairs to my room but shortly after I smelled smoke and went to the stairs to investigate. By that point, the fire had already begun to spread. I saw my mother at the base of the stairs surrounded by flames and screamed for Jeremy. He heard me and came running to grab me and carry me back down through the fire. He set me by the front door, kissed me on the forehead, and told me to leave. Then he ran back into the house. I couldn't move, though. I just stood and stared at where he had left, hoping he would return. The firemen arrived shortly, but the fire had already burned my legs and killed my parents by then."

"I'm so sorry." Zeke said, his voice sounded lost. It was comforting to know that he was also in unknown territory with this conversation and was confused as to how to act. "The article said your brother died as well."

I bit the inside of my cheek. "The neighbors had heard the screaming so the cops were able to guess that my brother was the one that started the fire, but I never told them about how he helped me or that I saw him running to the other side of the house where there was a back door."

Zeke inhaled sharply at my words. "You think he's alive."

I shrugged. "They never found a body. It's not such an unreasonable guess."

I let him digest everything I had said in silence until he was ready to speak again. "What would you do if you ever met him again?"

I considered his question; it was one that I had forced myself to stop asking years ago. The very idea of seeing him again was torturous in many ways.

"I don't know." I finally answered. "I hope I never have to find out."