Out of Breath (Breathing, #3)(45)

‘Are you sure this is what you want to do?’ I knew it was her way of begging me to change my mind.

‘You don’t have to stay,’ I told her, opening the door.

‘Yeah, I do,’ she replied, her voice resigned. ‘I’ll check us in if you want to grab your bag out of the trunk.’

After she returned, I followed Sara up cement stairs with a rickety metal railing and allowed her to open the door to Room 212, with the second two slightly askew. The room smelled of chemicals, stale cigarettes and … age, like it’d been festering for too long within its decaying walls.

Sara yanked back the thick dark blue curtains to let in the sun. It didn’t really matter; the room still felt dark. It shrank away from the light in permanent shadow. I didn’t mind. I felt an instant connection with its darkness, preferring it to the bright May sunlight outside.

I sat on the bed furthest from the window and removed my shoes, contemplating lying down to recover from the fog that floated through my head.

‘I’ll be back in a little while,’ Sara promised, standing by the door, inspecting me. ‘I’ll bring back food too.’

She hesitated, conflicted about leaving me alone.

‘I’ll be fine,’ I said, providing the assurance she needed to walk out the door. She smiled faintly and left. I stared at the closed beige-metal door.

Emma, I’m so sorry.

I blinked away the feel of Anna’s arms around me and the image of her red teary eyes.

You look so thin.

I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, fending off the voices. Fragments of my time at the funeral home were surfacing now that I was sobering.

Rubbing the grogginess from my eyes, I pushed off the bed, walked over to the large window and looked down at the pool with the plastic lawn chairs scattered around it.

We picked out pictures to display tomorrow. Do you want to look through them to tell us what you think?

Your mother requested to be cremated … Which urn would you prefer?

I shuddered and wrapped my arms tight around my chest, shaking my head violently, not wanting to hear them, to see the shiny boxes and the ornate vases.

Where would your mother have preferred to have her tombstone?

‘Stop!’ I yelled, clutching the sides of my head. ‘Shut up!’ I slammed my hand against the glass, and it shook under my palm.

A small shack across the street drew my attention – faded cardboard signs propped up in the windows advertised beer and liquor.

I breathed in heavily through my nostrils with my teeth clenched, trying to hold it together. But I knew it wouldn’t be long before I lost it completely. I eyed the liquor store again. A place like that probably wouldn’t card, but I didn’t want to risk it. I needed a sure thing.

I scanned the parking lot, and settled on a figure by the pool. A guy in a white tank top and faded jeans sat on a sagging chair, smoking a cigarette, wearing oversized headphones. He looked like he was easily over twenty-one. I took in a breath, committed to silencing the noise.

Grabbing my tote bag with my wallet and room key inside, I didn’t bother covering my bare feet. He didn’t seem the type to pass judgement. If anything, approaching him barefoot might win me some points. With that in mind, I clipped my bangs back, shook my fingers through my hair and stripped off my light sweater to reveal a fitted tank top beneath. I flipped a strap so it dangled off my shoulder and allowed desperation to provide the courage I needed to walk down the rough stairs towards the pool.

It didn’t take him long to notice me, and he wasn’t subtle about it either as he scanned every inch of my body, sliding the headphones around his neck. I contained the shudder as he molested me with his eyes.

‘Hey,’ I smiled flirtatiously. ‘What are you up to?’

‘Not much,’ he responded, running a grease-stained hand through his mop of sandy blond hair. ‘You?’

‘My friends and I are throwing a party in our room later,’ I explained, trying to sound as flighty as I could, ‘but I can’t buy. I was wondering if you could help me out? You can invite your friends over too if you want.’

‘Oh, yeah.’ He grinned, licking his lower lip. I swallowed the bile rising in the back of my throat. ‘I suppose I could help you out. What do you want?’

‘Vodka,’ I said, almost too quickly. I grimaced, hoping he hadn’t picked up on the desperation in my voice. I dug in my wallet and produced a handful of twenties from the cash Charles Stanley had provided me earlier while we were at the funeral parlour.

‘Nice,’ he said admiringly. ‘You want the good stuff?’ I shrugged indifferently as he took the bills, his fingers sliding along mine in the exchange. I fought the urge to pull away. ‘Do you want anything to mix it with?’

‘Uh, not really,’ I responded, knowing I needed it as potent as I could get it if I were going to survive the next couple of days. ‘How about a couple of limes?’

‘Sure thing, sweet cheeks.’ He winked. ‘I’m Kevin by the way.’

‘Well, thanks a lot for helping a girl out, Kevin,’ I responded, trying my best to flutter my eyes – as pathetic as it felt.

‘I’ll be right back,’ he assured me, swatting me on the ass as he passed. I released a small yelp that made him laugh.

In his absence, I filled a bag of ice and found a couple of wrapped plastic cups. I returned to the pool just as he strutted across the parking lot with a paper bag teetering on his arm.