Breathe Me || Completed

18.1

18.1 - Away

The moment the phone rings, Samantha shoves the door open and pushes the washing machine out of the way with all her might, ridding us of the barrier after only two strong pushes.

We tumble out of the crawlspace one after the other, all breathing hard and sweating through our shirts. My entire body is numb and buzzing, my heart slamming so hard that it feels unhealthy, feels like I might have some drug in me that I can't remember taking.

Samantha tosses our backpacks and Chris's duffle bag out of one of the cardboard boxes the police had just seconds ago been unstacking. Thank god they chose to look in the washing machine, not in there.

I am collapsed on the ground behind the washing machine, too shaky to stand. Samantha makes it look so easy. She's ready for action again, just like that.

But, thank god, she decides not to ignore me. Samantha sinks to her knees in front of me, her arms held out like she's offering me a hug. There she is in her black skinny jeans and black t-shirt and black hair, dark angel of death coming to carry me home.

I brace myself against her arms and stand.

"Alright, Sally. Alright," she mutters as I throw my arms around her, sobbing so hard that my hiccups are nearly choking me. "Stop it, Sal. We have to go."

I hug her tighter. I almost lost you, is what I want to say. But she knows it, doesn't she? I can see it in her anxious eyes, in the way she hugs me back instead of instantly shoving me away. She lets me bury my face in her neck. "Let's not fight," I whisper. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said."

Samantha does shove me away, now. "We don't have time for this," she says. Her eyes hardened again like candle wax left to dry. "C'mon. Put on a hoodie, Sal, cover your face. We're gonna take a shortcut through the woods to Main Street, then it's off to Hoosick."

"Are you sure about that shortcut, Sam?" says Chris. "It's not in the d--"

"Can you both just shut the fuck up and follow me?" shrieks Samantha. Her eyes are wild, panicked, fiery. She grips the basement doorknob and rips the door aside, ascending the short concrete steps with quick, nimble steps.

So Chris and I shut the fuck up and follow her.

Samantha lifts up one of the metal flaps covering the cellar door from outside and we tumble into the fresh air with the sealed-shut eyes of newborn kittens who have never seen the sun. My whole body hurts: my legs and arms and back are tight, my eyes are itchy and raw with salty tears, my stomach is roiling with hunger and anxiety, and my heart feels like it's being squeezed in half by a tight rubber band. Oh, Samantha, don't do this. Don't lay down the basement door and pat it back into place. Lay me down in the grass, tell me . . . tell me something. I feel so small, so cold.

But no time to stop and sulk, now. Samantha takes off running across Sydney's backyard and Chris follows, leaving me to straggle behind, trying hard to catch up on my still noodly, trembling legs.

Samantha tears into the woods behind the house without a second thought. Chris hesitates a second and then dives in after her.

How long would it take them to notice if I didn't follow? Would they come back for me?

I decide not to test it out. Following in Samantha's light, muddy footsteps, I toss myself over the underbrush leading into the woods and trip through the thorny branches and roots that litter the path -- well, "path". Obviously, no one has walked here in years.

My body goes into autopilot, legs and arms pumping without me having to tell them to. My lungs feel utterly depleted and bursting stars dance in front of my eyes, but I don't stop running. Every sound happens three times: Samantha kicks a stone, Chris kicks the stone, I kick the stone. We are one continuous machine, feeding, perhaps, on each other's energy. I know for a fact that if the two of them weren't here, I would have given up a long time ago.

But the fact remains, they're here, I'm here, we're in this together. So we run.

It's exhilarating, in its own sickening way, the woods flashing by like an action sequence in a movie. In the movie, Sally and her friends are trying to outrun the police. It's ridiculous, but that's why you love it.

I let myself digest how insane the past few hours have been. How did we get out of there? When we got that call, I'd thought we were done for, for sure. And yet, we got away with squishing together in a coffin set into the wall, got away with running off fifteen minutes after the police left. I let myself be impressed.

I let myself be a little angry, too. Goddammit, Krystal. None of this would have had to happen if she hadn't spilled.

It's okay. We're free, now. We'll probably never see any of those Camp Latoya kids again. We'll probably never see anyone from Stone Harbor again, either.

I stumble on into the sunny heart of the woods, beginning to smile.