I try to slow my breathing while also trying to sit upright, but it’s all useless. Dots blur my vision, and I don’t notice the hands on me until something is shoved in my mouth. My brain picks up on what’s happening—just barely—and I close my mouth around the plastic and push down on the medication.
The puff of medicine doesn’t reach my lungs on the first try, but thankfully it does on the second. I try a third time for good measure.
My body is weightless, crumbled on the floor with a hard mass at my back while I focus on breathing.
One measured breath, then two.
Heaving is the better word. Or gasping. Rasping. All the above.
It gets easier as the seconds pass, with the help of the circles Mickey is rubbing against my back. Though his touch does nothing to take away the ache in my ribs or the claws ripping down my throat.
Leaning my head against Mickey’s shoulder, he shifts so his arms are wrapped around my waist, rocking us from side to side, murmuring something I can’t make out over the rush of adrenaline.
Minutes pass as my breathing evens out, and oxygen slowly seeps back into my brain. I almost wish it didn’t so I can escape Mickey’s questioning.
“Where’s your inhaler?”
Silence follows.
He knows the answer, and I don’t have the energy to think of an elaborate excuse for why it isn’t in my pocket or my bag like it should be.
“Where’s your inhaler, Isabella?” His voice is darker this time, and the tension returns to my tired body.
“At…”
“The next words out of your mouth better not be ‘at home,’” he warns, and his arms stop giving me the comfort they did moments ago. “Jesus Christ, Bella. You can’t keep forgetting.”
I shuffle away from him so we face each other, but my attention trains on my intertwined hands. “I’m fine. It’s only mild.”
I hear his sharp intake of breath before he all but yells, “Do you realize how serious this is? What if you have an asthma attack and I’m not there, huh?” Roman moves closer, so I can’t avoid seeing his anger. “What if no one around you has an inhaler? What then? You could die.”
We’ve had this talk more times than I can count, but he’s never outright said those words. He’s always skirted around the subject so he doesn’t upset me. I can’t call this an innocent mistake anymore. I can’t call it an accident.
Mickey got me more than one inhaler. He got me a goddamn case for it so I can leave it in my bag. He even sends me text reminders to take it. I just… don’t. I have no idea why. Maybe for some semblance of control.
My eyes start to water. I’m not trying to be difficult. I want to be able to breathe. To live. I swear I do.
I think I do.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
God, I’m so pathetic. So this is how it is? I’m going to need a babysitter for the rest of my life? I can’t go anywhere without Mickey, just in case I accidentally kill myself, because I can’t seem to do something as basic as breathing. How could he want that? Why should he want that? He’s trying to help me, and I won’t even help myself.
He rushes to me, holding my face in the palm of his hands. “No, hey. No, I’m sorry. Breathe. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you; it’s just—I—" He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them, they’re softer than I’ve ever seen, yet lined with guilt, grief, and fear. “I can’t lose you. You know those cliché sayings that you’re the first thing I think about when I wake up and my last thought when I fall asleep? It’s true. You’re always on my mind. Constantly. There isn’t a minute that goes by when I’m not wondering what you’re doing, or if you’re okay, or thinking about me as much as I think about you. If you were to—" Mickey squeezes his eyes shut again like the words physically pain him. “I need you to take care of yourself. Bring your inhaler with you. I’m sorry for raising my voice; I’m mad because I’m worried.”
Sniffling, I shake my head. “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. You’re right. It was stupid and reckless and idiotic and—”
“No.” His voice is stern, and he lowers himself so he’s at my eye level. “Listen to me, Bella, and listen to me well. Here’s what you’re going to do: You won’t apologize. You’re not going to cry or say shit like that about yourself. Do you know why? Because you are intelligent and brave and beautiful and kind and fucking perfect, and I don’t deserve you one bit. And I want you to see that in yourself every day, too.”