Read Online Just Remember to Breathe by Charles Sheehan-Miles - Free Book Online

sure you’re okay?”
    He took off his sunglasses and rubbed his hands against his eyes. His hands trembled.
    “Hey,” I said. I leaned forward when he put his hands down, and took one of them in my own. “I know we’ve got our… um… history. But if you need to talk, I’m here.”
    He looked almost as startled as I was when I took his hand. He looked at me, and swallowed. I let go, and you know, it kind of hurt to do that.
    He shook his head, quickly, then muttered, “Brain injury. I’m not sure I’m going to make it through school. I’m not…”
    He tried to say something else, then just stopped. I’d seen him do this several times over the last couple weeks. He’d be saying something, then just clam up. He closed his eyes, emphasizing the dark circles under them, and took a couple of breaths. Then he said, “I’m not… smart. Not like I used to be. Can’t remember things.”
    Oh, Dylan. I had to blink back tears.
    “Maybe I can help,” I said, very quietly. Please, just say yes. Okay, Kelly was right. I still loved him, and seeing him like this, on a bad day, made me want to go quietly somewhere and cry. Please, I thought, let this man heal . And God, please protect my heart, because I can’t take breaking it again.
    He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
    “Well,” I said, sadly. “Think about it.”
    “There is one thing,” he said in a husky whisper.
    “What?”
    “My doc says… I have to start running again. And… well… you’ve seen how I walk. I need a spotter. Basically someone to follow me and call the ambulance when I fall over.”
    “You want me to… run with you?”
    He nodded. His eyes darted away from me, as if he was looking for an escape route, then back. “Look, I shouldn’t have asked. I just don’t really know anyone here.”
    My heart might have stopped. “I’d be happy to go running with you, Dylan. When?”
    “Tomorrow? At six?”
    “In the morning?”
    “Is that too early?”
    Yes.
    “No. That’s fine.”
    Good God. What was I doing?
    My mouth ran off with me again. “Let me get your number, in case something comes up.”
    So, for the first time since we broke up last February, we exchanged phone numbers.
    After we split up, I walked back to the dorm. And I was afraid. Oh, God I was afraid. Afraid I was going to ruin it. Even more afraid that he would. That I’d let myself get close to him again, and that I’d let him break my heart again.
    Last February… it was a nightmare. I’d cried myself to sleep every night. Tortured myself really.
    I was a mess.
    I got back to the dorm and let myself in, then sat down on my bed, my eyes turning to the bottom drawer of my bureau. Don’t do it, I thought. I’d packed everything away, when six weeks had gone by with no word from him, no response from him.
    Feeling like I was going to cry, feeling like a robot with no control over my own actions, I leaned forward and slid open the drawer.
    To a casual examination—for example a nosy-as-hell roommate—there were folded sweaters in the drawer.
    Underneath, however, was a box. I slid the box out of the drawer, sat it on the bed next to me, and opened it.
    On top was an eight-by-ten photo of me and Dylan. He was leaning on the grass on his side, head propped on his right arm. He wore a black trenchcoat and a white turtleneck, and he was smiling. I was curled up against his legs, facing him. In the photo our eyes are locked, faces close together, huge smiles on both of our faces.  
    A tear ran down my face, looking at it. Angrily, I swiped it away, then set the photo to the side.
    Underneath the picture was a thick leather photo album.
    Inside was our own love story.
    There we were, together in Tel Aviv. Holding hands as we walked on the pier in Jaffa. Standing waist deep in the Mediterranean Sea, arms around each other.  
    Sitting together on the tour bus. He was wearing the ridiculous kuffiyah he’d bought in Nazareth. I was wearing a light brown sweater, hair