Read Online Barely Breathing by Rebecca Donovan - Free Book Online
Authors: Rebecca Donovan
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pictures down the stairs. I jumped at her outburst. Glass splintered along the staircase as the frames collided with each step.
"Why? Why? Why?" she bellowed in agony, crumbling to the floor. I remained paralyzed beside her, my back tense. I took in the destruction at the bottom of the stairs, and then the woman who was disintegrating before my eyes.
"It's okay," I whispered, my heart beating frantically. I doubted she could hear me.
She pushed herself up to sit and reached for the bottle to take another swig. She flopped back against the post, barely able to keep her eyes open. The bottle tilted in her hand as she attempted to rest it on the floor. I grabbed for it, setting it down next to me before it joined the carnage at the bottom of the stairs.
"Let me help you to bed," I offered softly. Releasing the stack of frames that I still gripped tightly and setting them on the floor, I slid closer to her so I could put her arm around my shoulder.
"Huh?" my mother groaned, unable to hold her head up.
"There you go," I encouraged, slowly getting her to her feet. "Easy." She wobbled under my support. I focused on the bedroom door and hoped we'd make it inside before she toppled over. I had a good five inches on her, but if she fell, we'd both go down.
I guided her to her bed, and she collapsed face first. She drew in heavy breaths with a slight snore as I pulled the blanket over her. Leaving her in her induced peace, I shut the door behind me.
I stood on the top step and surveyed the mess below, exhaling deeply and shaking my head. Picking up the bottle that had instigated this disaster, my jaw tightened. I blinked away the tears, not wanting to feel anything. With a weight in my chest, I drudged down the stairs and dumped the bottle’s contents down the kitchen sink. I blew out an exhausted sigh before slowly picking up the shattered pieces.
I wasn't exactly waiting for it, but I knew. I wasn't convinced after seeing her sober one night a year ago in front of my school that sobriety was going to take. She may not have had a drink that night , but it didn't mean she didn't every night after. I knew. I knew this was coming... I just hoped it wouldn't.
I picked up the picture of her and my father on the sailboat, and the lump tightened in the back of my throat. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to suppress the storm that was brewing in my chest. I breathed out once more before opening them.
After stacking the photos on the stairs, I filled the trash bag with the broken glass and busted frames and swept up the remnants. When I returned from taking the bag to barrel outside, I brought the memories back to my room, where I tucked them under the sweatshirts on my shelf in the closet. I wasn’t ready to face them either.
I slipped back under the covers and lay staring at the ceiling. The tears silently slid along my temples and were absorbed into my hair. I let them flow, but I kept the lump lodged in my throat, pushing away the pain and sorrow I’d seen in my mother's eyes.
6. Lifestyles
By the time I stumbled out of bed the next morning, tired and bleary eyed, my mother had already left for work. There was a text waiting for me. So sorry about last night. You shouldn't have seen that. Dinner tonight?
I responded with, See you tonight .
But when I arrived home after practice, I found her rushing around, slipping earrings into her ears. She wore a short skirt and a flowy blouse, and her dark hair was flipped and curled in an abundance of volume.
“Hi,” she offered, out of breath, hopping into one of her heels and almost falling over. "Um, I hope you don't mind, but I forgot I had plans tonight. I made them a while ago, you know, before I knew that you'd be here." She stopped, awaiting my reaction with her face scrunched in apology. "But I could cancel them. I mean... I could stay."
"No, go," I encouraged. "I'll be okay, really."
"Are you sure?" she asked again, battling with her decision.
"Yeah, I
"Why? Why? Why?" she bellowed in agony, crumbling to the floor. I remained paralyzed beside her, my back tense. I took in the destruction at the bottom of the stairs, and then the woman who was disintegrating before my eyes.
"It's okay," I whispered, my heart beating frantically. I doubted she could hear me.
She pushed herself up to sit and reached for the bottle to take another swig. She flopped back against the post, barely able to keep her eyes open. The bottle tilted in her hand as she attempted to rest it on the floor. I grabbed for it, setting it down next to me before it joined the carnage at the bottom of the stairs.
"Let me help you to bed," I offered softly. Releasing the stack of frames that I still gripped tightly and setting them on the floor, I slid closer to her so I could put her arm around my shoulder.
"Huh?" my mother groaned, unable to hold her head up.
"There you go," I encouraged, slowly getting her to her feet. "Easy." She wobbled under my support. I focused on the bedroom door and hoped we'd make it inside before she toppled over. I had a good five inches on her, but if she fell, we'd both go down.
I guided her to her bed, and she collapsed face first. She drew in heavy breaths with a slight snore as I pulled the blanket over her. Leaving her in her induced peace, I shut the door behind me.
I stood on the top step and surveyed the mess below, exhaling deeply and shaking my head. Picking up the bottle that had instigated this disaster, my jaw tightened. I blinked away the tears, not wanting to feel anything. With a weight in my chest, I drudged down the stairs and dumped the bottle’s contents down the kitchen sink. I blew out an exhausted sigh before slowly picking up the shattered pieces.
I wasn't exactly waiting for it, but I knew. I wasn't convinced after seeing her sober one night a year ago in front of my school that sobriety was going to take. She may not have had a drink that night , but it didn't mean she didn't every night after. I knew. I knew this was coming... I just hoped it wouldn't.
I picked up the picture of her and my father on the sailboat, and the lump tightened in the back of my throat. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to suppress the storm that was brewing in my chest. I breathed out once more before opening them.
After stacking the photos on the stairs, I filled the trash bag with the broken glass and busted frames and swept up the remnants. When I returned from taking the bag to barrel outside, I brought the memories back to my room, where I tucked them under the sweatshirts on my shelf in the closet. I wasn’t ready to face them either.
I slipped back under the covers and lay staring at the ceiling. The tears silently slid along my temples and were absorbed into my hair. I let them flow, but I kept the lump lodged in my throat, pushing away the pain and sorrow I’d seen in my mother's eyes.
6. Lifestyles
By the time I stumbled out of bed the next morning, tired and bleary eyed, my mother had already left for work. There was a text waiting for me. So sorry about last night. You shouldn't have seen that. Dinner tonight?
I responded with, See you tonight .
But when I arrived home after practice, I found her rushing around, slipping earrings into her ears. She wore a short skirt and a flowy blouse, and her dark hair was flipped and curled in an abundance of volume.
“Hi,” she offered, out of breath, hopping into one of her heels and almost falling over. "Um, I hope you don't mind, but I forgot I had plans tonight. I made them a while ago, you know, before I knew that you'd be here." She stopped, awaiting my reaction with her face scrunched in apology. "But I could cancel them. I mean... I could stay."
"No, go," I encouraged. "I'll be okay, really."
"Are you sure?" she asked again, battling with her decision.
"Yeah, I
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