Breathe

| chapter four

LOGAN BRADFORD | CHAPTER FOUR

It was funny how my mind planted tricks on me in the darkest hours of the night while at my most vulnerable state of mind. The sleep that I used to find comfort in was more of an unconscious Hell that I would never wake up on time from. In these hours of the night, my mind would flitter to the thoughts of Haven when she was alive. Or if she was alive.

The memories of Haven alive and healthy would run marathons in my brain. She would be so close, almost in reach, but once I held a hand out to hold her and pull her back into reality with me, she would disperse. And I was stuck with the cold hard fact: she was dead.

These dreams—nightmares, actually—would plague me even after I woke up. I couldn't help but reminisce back to the days of when she was breathing. Best friends forever, Haven would always say. But I'm not sure anymore by what forever meant to her.

I had another nightmare.

My body was trembling, perspiration heavy on my forehead. Unexpectedly, I felt myself suffocating under the insane amounts of blankets. Slipping from the duvets, my eyes began to adjust to the darkness of the room. The clock read that it was almost dawn.

Briefly, I shut my eyes and tried to focus on my heavy breathing. Why did the dreams feel so real? My mind was a myriad of unanswered inquiries and I was itching to find the truth. But the thing was, I couldn't. The answers were buried along with my best friend.

+

"Rise and shine," the sun's rays were bright in my room, the velvety curtains were ajar. My dad stood next to the drapes, a sympathetic smile sweeping his caring features. He was wearing another one of his many suits; a simple black tie suit.

I squeezed my eyes shut, deathly gripping my covers over myself. He chuckled loudly, and I began to hear his footsteps nearing my bed. All too soon, my sheets were ripped from my grasp. When my eyes finally opened, adjusting to the lights, I saw him holding my duvets in his hands, smiling innocently.

"I hate you, dad," I grumbled, tossing a small pillow at him.

Laughing, he dodged and took a seat at the edge of the bed. I felt myself relax a little just hearing him laugh. Times like this between us were rare. His laughter simmered down and soon his smile faded. He extended his hand out to grab mine. Our hands clasped together and he pulled me up, closer to him.

"I know you don't want to," he began, "but could you, at least, try out therapy? For me?" He had a solemn expression, optimistic eyes staring at mine.

I hadn't even realized it was Tuesday, and I really didn't want to spend however long indulging the topic of my deceased best friend with a complete stranger. Even though my dad and I don't spend much time together, I still loved him. Though, I wish we could be closer and have that father-daughter relationship that you see on the TV, but reality is a bitch.

I felt a pang of guilt under his expectant scrutiny. It felt almost impossible to say no.

"Of course," I forcefully smiled. His eyes lit up, not really expecting me to give in so easy. He hauled me in for a tight embrace, which I gratefully returned.

Pulling away, he gave me one last grin and sauntered out of my room. Once he was gone and my door was shut, I let out a heavy sigh that I didn't realize I was holding in.

This really wasn't how I saw my summer going.

+

Even though I have already gotten my license (and begged my dad to drive me instead), I was trapped in a matte black vehicle with the devil. She was driving me crazy with her constant ranting and snappy tones; I was two seconds away from throwing myself out the car.