Breathe Me

A Letter

A/N: Short update, I know. I'm already working on the next chapter, so expect that to be out the beginning of next week. To those of you who commented, thank you so much! Feedback means the world to me and usually leads to faster updates! So please, leave comments for me on this chapter so I know whether you're enjoying it or not, and feel free to leave suggestions for what you might want to see/see more of.

If you're liking this, be sure to like and recommend to a friend you think might enjoy this story. Your support means the world and I am very grateful for it.

Now before I ramble too much...

Much love,

c.z.

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There was no more yelling or yelling or even talking for the rest of the day, just silence. We both went our separate ways once we got home- my mom to her office and I to my room. Most people my age would probably like that. It was like a get out of jail for free card. But that's not how it felt to me. Instead, it felt like the worst punishment I could receive because I was left alone for my thoughts to consume me. So, I did the only thing I knew how to do; I began writing.

I'm not really sure when it all started. Maybe it was the moment I took my first breath, or when I learned my first word, or when I learned how to write. Maybe it was far before that, before I even entered the world. the exact moment was irrelevant to me though. In my mind, I had always been a thinker, a dreamer, a writer. It was what made me me, engraved in every coil of my DNA. Without writing, I wasn't much of anything. It's where I drew the small piece of pride I had, where I could let go, where I could accomplish something, where I found my sense of self. I couldn't speak to save my life, but when I touched that pen to paper- well, let's just say magic happened. The world would just start making sense again.

Maybe it was for that reason that even the thought of calling Asher left me feeling paralyzed. Sure, we had spoken before, but that was different. There were other people and distractions and very limited time. But a phone call? Well that meant something personal, usually resulting in a commitment of some sort, whether it was spoken or not. And just knowing the possibility of these things having the chance to occur left my mind preoccupied with how to react and come off as normal as possible instead of just relaxing, letting my mind be free to be who I really was. But, for some reason, I hadn't been too good at revealing myself to people in conversation; my soul rested in my writing. I guess that's why, when I took out my worn, leather journal, I found myself writing to Asher Vice. I mean, I already blew him off once; he deserved something.

I opened my journal to the next clean page, smoothing out the paper by tugging at the binding before carefully ripping the page out. The page just laid there without even the company of a pen as I began second guessing myself. But, after continued contemplation, I settled on the point that last time I kept debating back and forth with myself, bad things resulted; I wasn't about to let that happen again. So, I sighed, still shocked with myself that I was actually doing this. Where do I even begin?

"calm down, dani," I muttered to myself. "It's just a letter. Don't think, just write."

I clicked the pen and put it to the paper, relaxing. I was back in my element.

And so, it began:

Asher,

You're probably feeling a weird mix of emotions right now. Whether you'd care to admit it or not is another story, but I don't see why you shouldn't. Being a guy isn't an excuse for experiencing a lack of emotion. In fact, being human justifies quite the opposite. But that's besides the point. The reason why you would even be feeling this mix of frustration, confusion, and maybe even curiosity can quite easily be traced right back to me.

I'm sorry I never called you. I know it's strange, but that's actually why you're reading this note right now. I wasn't ignoring you. In fact, I wasn't even avoiding you. I was avoiding the phone call. So go ahead, call me weird, we both know you're thinking it. But I just couldn't do it, sorry. I can express myself far better in writing than I ever could speaking. I could have a million things to say but my brain just shuts off and then words are no longer able to escape my lips. But the problem here is I don't even know what to say, and I don't even have the pressure to say anything. See where the problem is? So I guess what I'm trying to say is, not calling you wasn't a personal hit, just an attempt to avoid awkward silences that would have inevitably ensued, which of course leads to boring conversation. Like I said, I'm not really sure what I would have said over the phone. But then again, I have no clue what you were going to say either. If it's about what I said by the buses the other day, forget about it. As you may have figured out already, I'm not exactly what you would call "normal" or "socially adept". I realize that may be a problem for other people and my prospect of having any sort of relationship with anyone besides my mom, but I'm fine with it. I take much pride in not knowing what normal is.

So, as you will be my partner all year, I figured it would only be fair to warn you that our conversation on the first day wasn't the result of nervous rambling, but in fact was just a showcase of who I am. Don't worry though; you won't have to deal with me too much. I already completed the year long project and I'll be sure to edit the document so that your name is on it.

Again, sorry for not calling you and sorry if this letter doesn't quite make up for it. Can't say I'm sorry about being a letter person though. It's a result of having this need to rebel, which I blame both on genetics and on this conformist world. My cause? I'm bringing back a lost art, even if the notes I write never get sent. Unfortunately for you, this one is.

That chick you share a table with during eighth period,

Dani