Out of Breath (Breathing, #3)(47)

I froze. My eyes steadied on her. Sara’s face paled when she realized what she’d just said. ‘Get out.’

‘Emma, I’m sorry,’ she cried. ‘I didn’t mean that.’

‘Get out!’ I screamed, making her jump.

Sara brushed away a tear and nodded slightly. Taking the room key and her purse, she moved towards the door. She gave me a sorrowful glance before closing it behind her.

My whole body quivered. I fell onto my side on the bed and folded the stale white sheets around me. I stared at the wall as the room swirled around me. Everything inside remained quiet. Eventually, I closed my eyes and succumbed to the nothingness.





15


Different


I STOOD IN THE CORNER OF THE MAIN parlour in the funeral home, withdrawing from the mourners swarming around me. A shimmer of light caught my eye across the room. I stared out at the soft blue sky and wisps of clouds as they drifted past the small rectangular window at the top of the wall. The clouds appeared so white against the pristine sky, floating as if carried along a river. A bird fluttered across the scene occasionally, making me wish I was soaring alongside it – away from the whispers, the consoling words, the hands that jostled me and arms that clutched me to unfamiliar bodies. I needed to escape the sorrowful faces and teary eyes.

Did you hear she hanged herself?

I blinked, my blissful retreat interrupted. I scanned the room filled with faces. Faces that wouldn’t stop watching me.

‘Emma, I am so sorry.’ A slender older female stood before me, startling me. I pressed my lips into a tight appreciative smile. She hugged me. I stiffened against her. ‘I worked with Rachel, and she was always so happy. I’m going to miss her.’

I nodded absently. ‘Thank you.’

Tied the rope around the banister and jumped. Broke her neck instantly.

My eyes jumped from face to face, looking for the source of the whispering. Pain catapulted through my head with the movement, repercussions from the poolside vodka. My vision blurred slightly. I raised my hand to my head, convinced I was hearing things.

‘Emma, have you eaten?’

‘Huh?’ I jolted to attention. It was the first time I’d heard Sara’s voice all day. We hadn’t spoken since she returned to the motel room sometime in the night.

‘Emma?’ Sara inspected me carefully. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Um … nothing.’ I tried to breathe evenly. ‘I think … I think I need a break.’

‘You should eat something,’ she encouraged. ‘My mom’s fixing you a plate in the kitchen.’

I nodded absently, my eyes still twitching from face to face. I felt like I was losing it. My head was in so much pain, I could have heard anything and not understood a word.

I tried to slip through the bodies, but was stopped with hugs and words of condolence along the way. I’d perfected ‘thank you’ so much so that it slipped from my mouth automatically, without truly hearing the sentiment that prompted it.

You’ve never thought about anyone other than yourself my entire life! You’re not a mother, you never have been!

They didn’t know the truth about the woman they were mourning. I knew too well, and seeing the captured seconds of happiness displayed around the room was enough to put me over the edge.

I slipped into the kitchen at the end of the hall unnoticed. I found a tall glass and filled it with ice before retreating back into the hallway and easing open the door to the office I’d been in yesterday. Behind the large desk was a closet, and in that closet was my tote bag, which contained the only thing that could cure my headache and erase all of these people from existence.

I unscrewed the bottle and tipped the vodka into the glass, taking a few sips with a shudder. With a small tin of Altoids in my pocket, I left the room clutching the glass firmly, slinking back to my corner and setting it behind me within reach. I remained there, staring out the window, uttering ‘thank you’ to the droves of people gathered to pay tribute to the woman who had never been my mother.

I didn’t want to be here. I probably didn’t want to be here any more than she did. But I wasn’t here for Rachel Walace. I manoeuvred through the crowd when we entered the funeral home filled with pictures and flowers. I didn’t give the images a second glance, trying to blend in, to stay out of her sight until I was ready. I wasn’t convinced that would be any time soon.

‘She’s in the other room.’

I looked down to find the kind face of Ms Mier in front of me.

‘Hi, Ms Mier. It’s nice to see you.’ I smiled warmly at the woman who had always taken the time to understand, and often understood more than we realized.

‘It’s nice to see you too, Evan. I wish it were under better circumstances. I hope you’re doing well at Yale.’ She patted my arm, and just before she passed me, she said quietly, ‘She’s in the far corner in the other room. You should talk to her.’

‘Thank you,’ I replied, nodding appreciatively.

I did want to talk to her. I’d been waiting for two years to talk to her. But I knew this wasn’t the place to do it.

‘Evan –’ Sara confronted me with a stern look on her face. ‘What are you –’ She released a heavy breath. ‘I know you had to be here. Really, I do. But she shouldn’t see you.’