A Breath Too Late - Rocky Callen

1

Death,

As blackness eats my last sliver of consciousness, I realize I regret.

You aren’t beautiful, free, or romantic like in all of the novels I have read. You are a girl who had no hope left, who realized, too late, she wanted to live. I thought you would save me, Death.

But you are a liar.

Just like everyone else.

2

Life,

You are too quiet. The kind of quiet that isn’t quiet at all. It is the smothering silence that bleeds into everything; the kind of absence that mocks, prods, and stares you down until you are withered to your bones.

I had the worst dream last night, but I can’t quite remember it. I feel groggy. The dream settles into something dim and far away and yet it scratches at me, it curls a finger in my direction and beckons me closer. I ignore it.

The room still looks dark, too dark. My alarm went off, didn’t it?

I rub my eyes and pad my way toward the door. I like to be downstairs before Momma and Father. I blink when I flip the switch in the hallway. Dark. Still dark? Maybe the lights burned out or maybe Momma didn’t pay the electricity bill again. I swear under my breath. I step lightly, leaning my weight on the railing so I don’t make the stairs creak too much. I rub my eyes again. The sleep still must be in them, because nothing looks quite right.

I bump the Alaska snow globe on the side of the vanity next to the base of the stairs and I frantically reach out to catch it, but it sits still in its spot. I blink, confused, and then exhale loudly as I turn the corner and freeze.

Momma and Father are already in the kitchen, sitting in the dark.

I rub my arm with my palm and step inside the kitchen. They don’t look up. They never do. I take the long way around to the cabinets, not going straight from the door to the counters because that would brush me up against Father’s chair. I walk around, squeezing instead behind Momma. Regina. Her name means queen, but you would never know it. She’s a tall thing in a small space, crammed in where she doesn’t quite fit.

I flinch seeing her. Something is wrong, very wrong. She is practically a corpse, quiet, still, black and blue painting her face as if she’s already rotting. She’s not wearing makeup. She never comes downstairs without makeup on to cover up the bruises. Never.

I wish I could hate her, but I can’t.

I brush past her and open the cabinets before sitting. I want to ask why they are sitting in the dark, but I don’t want to be the one to break the silence, shatter it into tiny pieces, because at least the silence can’t hurt you. I keep my mouth shut.

No wonder I like hard-core metal. The band members can scream until their throats are hoarse, while my throat is dry and aching from hardly ever making a sound. Father is sitting at the table, waiting. Watching. Momma’s eyes are cast down.

She whimpers.

I tense. She never, ever makes a sound … not even when I hear the slaps and the pounding through the bedroom walls, not even when the punches slam into her. Never a whimper, never a sound.

I look at her, really look at her. Her eyes are bloodshot. Her skin is red and blotchy, along with the normal blacks and blues and fading yellows. Her eyes are practically swollen shut. I want to reach my hand to hers, but I don’t.

Whatever thing is breaking her, I won’t break too. The thought bites at me even as I feel ashamed. I still watch her from under my eyelashes and see she is clutching something in her hands. I stare at it. It is no larger than the height of her hand. A stuffed teddy bear with an eye hanging on by a thread wearing a tiny T-shirt that says SOMEONE IN BALTIMORE LOVES ME.

She’s been in my room. The bear was on my bed, beside the pillow. I want to reach over and snatch it from her. I almost do, but then she whimpers again, a throaty, gurgling sound following it. She is holding her breath to keep the sob down. She isn’t trying hard enough.

Father looks at her. Rolls back his shoulders in that slow, deliberate way of his and then leans forward across the table. “Oh, Regina.” His voice is smooth, deceitfully soothing. “Stop