Breathless 3 (Breathless #3) Read online

  “I thought he had answered your questions about that,” she said, frowning slightly. I explained what I had found, late at night – how I had found the original news article we’d both seen, about the memorial page for Claire White and the implication that a bunch of boys had gone to jail over her suicide. I told her about the anonymous comment about Johnny. Somehow, in my wandering, meandering story, I found myself saying, “And I was reading about sociopaths and they’re really charming at first and they’re not nervous or anything and really smart…” I shook my head and tried to take a deep breath, knowing that I was sounding crazy.

  “Becky, this is… kind of a lot to take in,” Georgia said, smiling slightly. “I get why you’re avoiding him. If I was convinced that my boyfriend was some kind of girlfriend-killing maniac, I’d be a little less than thrilled to be around him, too.” I had told her about my nightmare. “But nothing you’ve found so far is, like…proof that Johnny was actually involved. Maybe the anonymous comment was someone who hates him. You don’t know. And I mean, he’s never been even a little bit mean to you. He obviously cares about you.”

  “But…but…” Georgia shook her head.

  “Honestly, I mean, even if he is a sociopath, it’s not like he’s going to kill you outright for asking him about it. In fact, he’d probably just tell you. And you’ll have your answer.” I laughed in spite of myself. “You owe it to him to give Johnny just a little bit of the benefit of the doubt. Just a little bit. He’s always been good to you. He deserves a fair trial, not a Google conviction.” I smiled weakly. “Just ask him more about the Claire White thing and see what he says.” Georgia hugged me tightly and then we shifted onto the topic of her date the night before; it had been a big success, and she was looking forward to maybe seeing the guy again. I was able to put my misgivings aside, for a little while at least, to think about something other than Johnny and whether he might be a homicidal maniac.

  We talked until I was completely calm once more, but in the back of my mind, I kept thinking about what she had said and about what I had read. She was right; if Johnny really did have some kind of antisocial tendencies, it would definitely show — wouldn’t it? He would probably come up with some way to justify driving his girlfriend to kill herself. If nothing else, I had to hope that he would be willing to tell me a little bit more about the situation. I had to hope that he would be a little more open. Of course, I would have to be careful about how I asked. I couldn’t just flat out go “Hey, so Johnny, are you a sociopath?”

  Gigi and I went to the dining hall and grabbed some dinner. She was compassionate enough to go along with my lingering uncertainty about the risk of running into Johnny before I was ready to talk to him. She agreed to go along with my cover story of being sick. We joked about it a little bit before going down for our dinner, with Georgia coming up with absurd expressions of shock and dismay, over-the-top descriptions of how I had been draped over the toilet, puking my guts out. At least, I thought, if any of my professors asked Georgia about it she’d be able to cover for the classes I’d skipped earlier in the day. I was still tired, still anxious, and still confused about the whole situation, but I had to admit to myself that Gigi was right. I wasn’t going to get the answers to the questions I had from the Internet. I would have to get them from Johnny himself. I would have to trust that he cared about me and that he was willing to tell me the truth.

  The problem was I didn’t know if I could trust him at all.

  Chapter Five

  After dinner, I gave more thought to what Georgia had said. We had talked a little bit more about it when we came back with our food. “It’s pretty obvious to me that he has, like, really strong feelings for you. I think he’ll tell you what’s going on,” she said. I wasn’t sure I could trust to his feelings as much as Georgia thought I should, but I didn’t really have much choice.

  I felt weird — skin-crawly, jittery, nervous — as I walked across campus. I had managed to get a quick shower at Georgia’s insistence and had pulled my long blonde hair back into a sloppy ponytail. I certainly wouldn’t be in any shape or condition to go out, but I wasn’t planning on going anywhere I would need to look impressive. My stomach flip-flopped inside of me as I walked along the pathway, looking around. There was some kind of deep-down paranoia that I’d run into the nasty girl who had poisoned the well of my mind against Johnny. But if she’s right about him, then shouldn’t you be grateful that she told you? But then, I thought, that same girl was obviously into Johnny. She had flashed him, she had flirted with him. Obviously, she was only interested in getting me out of the way so that she might have a chance with him.

  The security lights came on across campus one by one, illuminating little blue-white circles on the pavement. In between, darkness was descending, and I went between not being able to see at all and being able to see my own figure far too clearly. It wasn’t cold yet; it was still late summer. But I could feel the tinge of approaching autumn in the air. I was hyper-aware of everything around me — the sound of some girls laughing on their way back to the dorms on one of the parallel sidewalks, the buzz of a late summer beetle a few feet away from my ear. I caught movement in the corner of my eye and my heart pounded until I realized it was one of the campus police.

  The frat and sorority houses were so far away from the dorms that I almost regretted walking. But if I had convinced Georgia to drive me over to the Phi Kappa house, it would be weird; and I couldn’t really ask her to stay outside while Johnny and I had some lengthy discussion. It was better by far that I had walked the distance, no matter how nervous it made me.

  Frat row was weirdly quiet and for a moment — caught up in my own paranoia and anxiety — I felt like I was a walking horror movie trope, the girl going down the dark, quiet street, just ripe to be snatched by some psychopathic killer, some slasher out for revenge on the world because some girl turned him down for a date or something. You’re being ridiculous, I told myself. If there was a serial killer on campus killing girls, then there’d at least have been an alert about it.

  I finally came to the Phi Kappa house and took a deep breath. Somewhere inside the sprawling place, Johnny had to be sitting around, doing something. It occurred to me to wonder that there were no parties going on; the frat looked so different when it was quiet like this, when everyone was inside, when half the campus wasn’t piling in to drink and dance and make out with each other. I walked up the walkway and climbed up the three steps to the front door. I heard a cheer from inside — shouts, some comments, some laughter. Running underneath that I could hear the dull roar of the TV.

  I took another deep breath and lifted my hand. It felt numb, like a heavy wooden block at the end of my arm. Just get it over with, Becky, I thought firmly. It wasn’t as though putting it off would make me less anxious or get me answers any sooner. I knocked quickly three times, biting my bottom lip to suppress the instinctive little yelp of fear that rose up inside of me. For just a moment, the urge to run away — to dart off of the porch, down the walkway, and try and get down the street as quickly as possible before someone came to the door — came over me. I swallowed against the tight, dry feeling in my throat and told myself that I was being ridiculous. No one answered the door; I knocked again, harder, finally regaining feeling in my hand. My knuckles ached from how hard I knocked. There was a shout inside of someone telling someone else to go get the door.

  My heart was still pounding in my chest when one of the other members of the frat opened the door; for a moment I was disappointed that it wasn’t Johnny himself, but then I realized there were plenty of guys who belonged to the frat. It wasn’t like I could expect him to always be the one to answer the door. It would probably just be whoever was closest or the junior-most members. The boy frowned as he saw me, his head half-turned towards the living room area, distraction plain on his face along with more than a little annoyance. “Hi,” I said nervously.

  “Hi,” he replied, giving me a look as if he was doubtful of why I w
as there or even if I was some kind of weird freak. In fairness, you are at the door of a frat in the middle of the night, I thought wryly.

  “Is Johnny around?” I asked, trying to make my expression as pleasant as possible. “I was hoping I could talk to him real quick.” Something happened inside of the house and I heard a shout rise up from whoever was in the room — some of the shouts delayed, slurred somehow. With the door open, I could smell the unmistakable reek of alcohol.

  “Hey! Johnny! Some chick’s here for you!” The annoyed-looking boy called out over his shoulder. I heard a low-voiced joke, the sound of a bunch of guys laughing, and then Johnny’s voice called out from somewhere within the huge house that he was coming. The boy wandered away, barely even giving me a second glance on his way back to whatever was on TV. A moment later, Johnny appeared at the door, as if out of nowhere. His confusion left his face all at once as his gaze settled on me.

  “Becky! Hey, baby.” He came through the door and kissed me immediately, not even giving me an opportunity to react or to ask him not to. Part of me melted. In spite of my fear and anxiety, I had missed him, missed the way his lips felt against mine. He pulled back, his hands on my waist, looking down at me. “You’re still looking a little off, but I’m glad you felt good enough to come by,” he smiled, looking so genuinely pleased to see me and so happy that I was there, that I almost gave up on my quest. But you have to know. You have to find out. You can’t just let him charm you into forgetting.

  “I still feel a little iffy, but I wanted to come over and talk to you.” I gave Johnny the strongest smile I could manage and he touched my cheek, his bright eyes full of affection and some sweet, gentle look that I couldn’t help but warm to.

  “Why don’t you come in? The game’s almost over.” There was another shout, another cheer from inside and I glanced over his shoulder. The idea of being around all of his other frat brothers was less than appealing, but I told myself that I was on a mission. I had a responsibility to get this over with.

  “If it’s almost over, sure,” I said. Johnny laughed at my doubtful look.

  “I swear. A few more minutes and you can have me all to yourself.” I was determined; we were going to have this conversation sooner rather than later.

  “Lead the way then,” I said, giving him another smile.

  As Johnny led me into the frat house living room, a wave of revolting smell rolled through the air, filling my nose. Every eye of every boy in the house was on the huge flat screen TV; they were in different jerseys, most of them holding either beers or red Solo cups. The entire room reeked of cheap liquor and beer, sweat, and stale Doritos and Cheetos. I crinkled my nose in distaste and resolved to breathe as much as I could through my mouth instead of through my nose; that at least might make it more bearable.

  I couldn’t make anything out about what was going on in the game; it was football, but I had come in, as Johnny told me, towards the end of the game. I had never really had an easy time understanding anything at all about football in general, even with a few of my high school friends playing for the school team. But I sat down in Johnny’s lap when he resumed his seat and obediently glanced at the TV. I noticed that of all of the guys in the frat, Johnny was the only one not drinking something; half of the rest of them were positively tore down.

  I felt a flicker of irritation as Johnny’s attention went onto the game almost completely. He wasn’t as hugely invested in the game as the rest of the guys, but he was obviously watching intently. After a few minutes he glanced back at me. “So you’re feeling better?” his hand on my waist caressed me through my clothes lightly and I was conflicted between feeling a little bit revolted at my surroundings, a little bit afraid of this man whose character I didn’t know, and a little bit irritated.

  “A little,” I said, smiling slightly. The other boys in the frat were talking amongst themselves, debating something — arguing some play or some call by the ref, I wasn’t sure. Johnny’s attention went back to the game, and in spite of the fact that he was still caressing me idly, stroking up and down along my waist and ribs, holding me close, it was obvious to me that I might as well have almost not even been there.

  I heard one of the frat brothers say something in a low voice about one of the cheerleaders as the TV showed a brief flicking shot of them. The boys around him laughed — the drunk, annoying, coughing kind of laugh that a bunch of twenty-something boys make when they’re drunk, and I frowned to myself. The game didn’t actually seem to be ending — it seemed to be dragging on. I had no idea what was going on, but the boys in the frat, Johnny included, were getting more and more excited about it as the timer started to tick down.

  I looked around; the place wasn’t actually dirty, but it reeked. I started to question why I had even bothered to take a shower before coming over. As the other members of the frat bickered amongst themselves, with Johnny occasionally chiming in with a comment, any hope of getting him to myself was totally gone. I sighed. My anxiety was starting to go away, replaced with irritation. Of course, I thought, it wasn’t exactly like I had planned on seeing Johnny. I’d told him that I was sick, that I was going to stay in. He hadn’t been expecting me at all.

  But I wanted to get him alone. I needed to get him alone to have the conversation we had to have. Minutes dragged by and I decided that in spite of my urgency in needing to know, the discussion wasn’t going to happen any time that night. I would just have to get through another sleepless night — and probably have another nightmare — and work my nerve up the next day and find a time to talk to Johnny about everything that was on my mind. I slid out of his lap. “Hey,” I said when he stirred, turning his attention back onto me, away from the game. “I’m sorry, babe, but I need to get going.” I tried to keep the irritation out of my voice and gave him a weak little smile. I leaned in and gave him a quick kiss before turning away to the door.

  Johnny followed me, and I heard someone call out. “Johnny Steel? More like Johnny rubber!” and someone make a whip-cracking sound. Johnny blushed and I cringed.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “I should have called ahead and made sure you weren’t busy.”

  “Don’t worry about them; half of them are drunk, I don’t really care.”

  “Just give me a call when you’re done watching the game,” I suggested. Johnny looked at me sharply, frowning a little.

  “Are you all right? You know you can stop by whenever you want.” I shrugged.

  “It’s okay. I get it.” I smiled as best as I could in spite of my irritation. “You’ve got a thing with them. I’m not going to be that girl.” Johnny glanced at the TV, at the room full of his frat brothers.

  “I mean, it’s an important game in the series, but it’s almost over. If you can just wait a few more minutes you’ll have me all to yourself.” The smell of the room — of the closely-packed, sweating, drunk boys and their stale snacks — was making me as nauseated as anything else that was going on. I shook my head.

  “I guess I’m just not feeling as much better as I thought I was,” I said. “I’m just…ugh. I should head back to the dorm and try to sleep the rest of this bug off.” Johnny leaned in and kissed me on the forehead.

  “Soon as the game is over,” he promised. I nodded, giving him one last little smile before I turned and left. I started back towards the dorms, feeling irritable and annoyed. I knew that he was into the game; I could even appreciate that he’d made plans with his boys. But it did bother me a little bit that he had wanted so much to see me earlier and yet when I came by, he was too preoccupied to talk to me, even when he himself had noticed that I wasn’t looking well. I decided that I would just have to call it a night and hope that he’d be interested in seeing me again the next day, that we could finally have a chance to talk about everything — if I didn’t chicken out.

  Chapter Six

  When I got back into the dorm, there was a note on the inside of the room door from Georgia. Hey, Beck! Achievement unlocked: seco
nd date! I’ll probably be out late. Feel free to look over my notes for Math if you need to, I know yours are almost certainly shit. It was signed in her sprawling, sloppy hand and even if I felt a little disappointed that she wasn’t there, at least I could take vicarious pleasure in the fact that Gigi was enjoying herself with the guy she’d had such a good time with.

  I threw myself onto the couch, sighing. I had been so anxious and worked up to talk to Johnny; it was hard not to feel depressed and frustrated that he’d been more into the game than me. Sociopaths don’t have the ability to empathize… One of the bits from an article I had read filled my mind with suspicion. Good God, Becky, if being into a damned football game is a sign of sociopathy, then every freaking boy in the frat should have his room tossed to see if he’s hiding a corpse. It certainly reeked enough to cover up the smell of a rotting body.

  I shook my head and turned the TV on to have some kind of background noise. I still felt nauseated and in spite of the shower I had taken earlier, I felt weirdly grimy and dirty after the gross smell of the Phi Kappa house. I sat up on the couch and decided that a shower couldn’t possibly hurt; it might actually make me feel a little better.

  I walked into my part of the dorm room and grabbed a fresh towel from my closet. If Georgia for some reason came home from her date early — and I could only think that it would be a failure of a date if she did — it wasn’t like she would care if I was walking around in a towel. I brought my phone into the shower room with me and turned on a Nirvana album. One of my friends in high school, a member of the Creative Writing Club, had turned me onto them. Lisa had been obsessed with Kurt Cobain and had said on more than one occasion, “If there’s ever such a thing as a time machine, I am totally going to go back in time to before he met that bitch Courtney and I’m going to get him to knock me up and then I’ll have a little Kurt Junior to myself.” I was pretty sure she was more than a little crazy, but her taste in music had been worth following; she’d turned me on to a bunch of bands from that era: Mudhoney, The Melvins, Sonic Youth, Breeders.