Breathing Apparatus

Breathing Apparatus comprised of a face mask and compressed air cylinder.

Fuck. I slept over.

Damn.

And another fuck, his bed beats the crap out of Scarlet’s couch. Imagine sleeping on fluffy pillows. Hundreds of them. That’s what this guys bed feels like.

I take a shallow breath, and then another, trying to be quiet and not wake him. There’s a good part of me that wants to wake him for round two, or wait, round three.

But I need to leave because it’s Christmas morning and if I’m late for breakfast, my mother will kill me.

Caleb’s arm is draped over my chest, and it’s heavy as hell. It’s like a weight in itself, kind of like his stare on me last night.

Just the spark of memory, the way his eyes held mine, the way they marked my body, it sends a jolt of adrenaline through me.

I remind myself. I have to go. If I don’t, I’m going to dip my head under the sheet he’s covered with and give him a parting Christmas gift.

As tempting as that is, I can’t.

Picking up his arm, I gently move it from my chest to beside him. He stirs a little, a soft grunt, and my panicked stare darts to his stomach.

I’m going to have to ask Scarlet how she sneaks out of apartments so stealthily.

With his arm off me, I breathe slowly, waiting for the right moment to move. I can’t move too quickly either. It’s gotta be sloth speed.

I kind of wish someone was recording it once I do move because it’s entertaining as shit how slow I can actually move. I perfected slow as a teenager anytime my mother asked me to do, well, pretty much anything other than sleep until noon.

As sloth speed continues out of the bed, I notice how destroyed his room is. His mattress isn’t even all the way on the bed. It’s like a foot off, and his lamp is in pieces on the floor next to our clothes.

Funny, I don’t remember us breaking anything last night. Did I black out?

That sucks if I did because judging by the soreness between my legs and that strange over-worked jelly muscle syndrome I have, I’d say I had a pretty damn good time.

Without waking him, I manage to make my way downstairs and through the apartment. I know his roommates are home. I can see the girl from the bar last night in her room that’s next to the small galley kitchen by the door.

I don’t peek around. Instead, I hurry up and leave as quietly as I can.

The walk outside is somewhat shameful, but not in the ways you’d think. I don’t regret anything that happened last night, and there’s certainly no shame in any of it. It’s shameful because I feel bad sneaking out. I mean, I didn’t even kiss him goodbye.

As the cold of the early morning hits my face, I raise my hands to my lips, lips that feel burned with his touch from this morning.

Crap. I want to see him again, and the thought that I won’t is depressing. I should have got his number at least.

No, Mila. That’s not how a one-night stand works, and you need to concentrate on work and being a badass boss. No time for dick anymore.

There’s another depressing thought.

Caleb actually lives somewhat close to Scarlet, and yes, I check the crossroads of where he lives. You know, just in case. He lives at the Excelsior Apartments on E Pine St and Bellevue Ave.

Perfect. Now if I get really desperate for more, I can stalk him. Or set myself on fire and hope he responds to the call.

WHEN I WALK inside Scarlet’s apartment, I really wish I wouldn’t have come here this morning. I could have easily just worn what I did last night to my parents’ house and not have seen this.

Scarlet’s on the floor next to the couch with nothing on. She’s never been modest, so I’ve seen her completely naked before. Doesn’t even faze me anymore.

It’s the guy next to her that gives my heart a jolt. It’s the guy from the bar last night. Caleb’s friend. And that’s not the part that’s concerning. It’s that he’s buck-ass naked with a pillow, the same pillow I use to sleep with on her couch, covering his crotch.

In a rush, I kick the door shut with my foot, the two of them startling awake. Well, Scarlet. Owen seems to be out cold.

I try not to look at him too much, but I do notice he’s has a similar build to Caleb. That tall yet muscular frame where you can tell they’re constantly doing manual labor and cardio. I imagine being a firefighter has them carrying people down stairs and lifting heavy burning buildings off people. Probably not lifting buildings, but my imagination thinks so.

Scarlet sits up, her wild mess of curly hair looking something similar to Pippi Longstocking. “Hey, did you just get home?”

By the way, still naked and making no attempt to cover herself. The epitome of confidence, this one.

Home? I want to laugh. This isn’t my home. It’s a couch I sleep on sometimes. “Yeah,” I whisper, setting down the cup of coffee I snagged on my way here from a café around the corner, thankful they were open on Christmas morning. There’s no way I’m getting through today without caffeine.

“So . . .?” Her eyes gleam with a brightness I haven’t seen in a while. She never liked Judah, so I suppose she never cared to ask how things went with us when we were together. Now she seems almost excited to hear about my night.

I want to tell her every single detail as I remember it, but I can’t. It’s not like I remember much of it but it comes back in waves, like flashes of memories piled on top of more flashes and I’m not sure what happened when.

I sigh in contentment, even bat my eyelashes a little and I feel slightly like Sandra Dee in Grease and want to break out singing “Summer Nights.”

Instead, I go with, “He’s the hottest guy ever!” which is equally as cheesy, but I can’t help my grin or the pink to my cheeks from forming.

“Are you talking about me?” Owen asks, choosing then to wake up.

I jump, grabbing at my chest and trip over his shoes landing on the floor. “Holy shit, you scared me.”

Owen winks, his arms behind his head but at this angle, from the floor, the pillow isn’t covering too much of him, and I can see his balls. Not the angle I wanted this early.

I stand, rather quickly, grab my coffee and head to the bathroom.

“Want me to tell Caleb you’ll call?” Owen asks.

“No!”

When I’m in the bathroom, my back pressed to the door, I’m sad. I want him to tell Caleb to call me. There’s just something about that guy I can’t shake. But I can’t call him. Not with everything going on in my life. The last thing I need to do is bring him into this mess of shit I call life.

Knowing I need to get in the shower, I finish the rest of my coffee and stare at myself in the mirror. It’s a good damn thing Caleb wasn’t awake this morning. I have mascara all over my face, and my hair looks worse than Scarlet’s. It’s matted on one side, and the other looks like I have I stuck my head out the window during a hurricane.

Just as I’m unbuttoning my jeans, Scarlet opens the door without knocking. “So . . . tell me about Caleb.”

It’s her apartment. I can’t really complain about the lack of privacy. I only just started sleeping over. “I need to shower and get over to my parents’.” All that really translates into is me being afraid if I start talking about Caleb, I won’t shut up. “It’s already ten, and I was supposed to be there by now. Aren’t you going to see your grandma today?”

“Yeah, later. It’s not like she’ll know if I show up or not.” Scarlet rolls her eyes, attempting to get the tangles out of her curly hair, still naked. I think she’s making the knots in her hair worse but I don’t say anything because she’ll ask me to brush it for her if I do. “My grandma doesn’t even know who I am anymore. She thinks I’m the little neighbor kid from her childhood.”

“I still can’t believe your mom up and moved away and left her alone in that nursing home.”

“You shouldn’t be surprised. When my dad was dying, she made sure to up his life insurance and then skipped town when they wouldn’t cash it out to her.” Scarlet gasps from behind me when I have my shirt off and turning the water on.

“What?” I don’t look back at her because I’m half naked and not as open as she is with showing off my goods.

“You lucky bitch, did you get his number?”

I cover my boobs with my hands and face her. “What? Why?”

Did he brand my ass or something?

“Dude, you have bruises all over. Was he rough or something?”

I recall pieces of the night, that parts where he’d pull my hair or when he had me on the floor on the second time around and my face buried in the ground as he slammed into me from behind. Heat spreads through my body and the remembrance of his touch.

Was he rough?

I couldn’t remember his hold being too much. “I guess. Maybe a little.” Twisting around, I wave my hand back at her. “Seriously, I have to get ready or my mother is going to kill me. Then you won’t have a job because you know damn well the only way you’re still working there is because of me.”

In the mirror, I can see Scarlet frown behind me. “You’re right.”

I’M NOT SURE how but I make it to my parents’ house on Elliot Bay about an hour later and they haven’t started brunch yet.

You’d be surprised to know my parents’ place isn’t as fancy as the hotel. My father, Weston, he’s a man of simple tastes at home. And my mother, I think she goes with whatever my dad agrees to. While she makes most of the home decisions, they surprisingly complement each other well and have a relationship noteworthy of a storybook.

They met as kids, married after college, but when it came time to start a family, my mother found out she couldn’t have kids. She’s never had a period. While I envy her on that part, I know how badly it hurt her not being able to feel life growing inside of her.

They never dwelled on it though and eventually when they were in their mid-thirties, they adopted me. I was six months old when I came to live with them. My biological parents were from Hawaii and tried to take care of me, but they were young, really young. I think my mother was fourteen when she had me and my father was sixteen.

I don’t remember them, but I saw a picture once, and from what I can tell, I look identical to my father with my mother’s smile.

“Milena, you’re here, honey.” Mom greets me with a smile when I walk into the kitchen with their Christmas presents. Pushing up the sleeve of my red sweater, I hug her tightly to my chest and then wince when she does the same because, yup, I totally have bruises from Caleb.

And just like that, my thoughts move back to him. Goddamn that controlling bastard wrecking my brain today.

“Hey, Mom.”

We part, and she holds me at arms-length. “Why were you late?”

“Traffic.” That’s not a lie. Traffic was a nightmare getting over here, so I do okay with telling her that part.

She waves toward the dining room where the rest of the family is seated at the table overflowing with food. “Everyone’s gathered at the table. Join us and we’ll do gifts later.”

Nodding, I reach for a glass of champagne on the counter before making my way inside the dining room.

Christmas morning at my parents’ house is an event in itself. Our whole family comes over and most of the family I don’t care for. Mostly because they use my parents for their money and while I know Mom and Dad see it, they don’t say anything because family is the most important thing to them.

It’s sad, really, because they’d rather give gifts to have people come over and celebrate with them than be alone.

Stepping into the room, conversation flows from the table. Dad’s eyes meet mine with warmth. “Kendra,” Dad yells from the table to my mother still in the kitchen filling a plate with bacon wrapped scallops. “Come in here, darlin’. We’re ready to eat.”

They’re sickening with their adorableness.

“Coming,” Mom chimes, her heels clicking against the tile floor as she scrambles into the dining room.

Dad winks at me, his arm around my shoulders as he squeezes me to his side. “Hey, honey, Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Dad.”

Brunch gets started quickly and everyone is talking, loud laughter at the stories my uncle tells, and I think maybe I’m going to get away free without anyone asking where my plus one is. I usually bring someone with me to Christmas. It’s like I can’t go anywhere by myself. Which is true to my personality. I don’t like to be alone. And here you were thinking, shit, this chick’s cool. Well, you found my downfall. Secret’s out. I attach myself to people in fear of being alone.

It’s then with my thoughts on my phobia of being alone, Dad glances around the room and my heart skips a beat. Fuck. I had told them earlier in the week Judah was coming with me and he’s figured it out.

My dad Doesn’t like Judah. In fact, I can’t think of many people who did. “Where’s that guy, James?”

See? Doesn’t even know his name.

“Judah?”

“Yeah, are you still living with him?”

Of all the luck. Why would he ask that? Do I have break-up-post-greatest-one-night-stand-of-my-life face on right now?

In fear of lying to my dad, something I’ve never been able to pull off, I take the biggest bite I can fit in my mouth of prime rib just so I don’t have to speak. And then I nod.

“Where is he, Milena?” Mom asks, cutting into her meat with grace. “I thought you said he’d be coming with you.”

My mother is always so perfect from her well-thought-out clothing choices to her hair and makeup. I can’t ever remember seeing my mother a mess. Unlike myself right now. I look like someone who, well, got very little sleep and took a two-minute shower. I’m pretty sure there’s still shampoo in my hair.

And I know what you’re thinking. How does a girl like me manage a hotel?

Despite my behavior these last forty-eight hours, I do have a handle on my life. Not a good one, but at work I know what I’m doing. I’m completely capable of doing my job. It’s everything else, like existing, that’s somewhat of a challenge for me at times.

“He’s at his parents’ house today.” That’s not a lie. I may not know where he is, but I can guarantee he will be at his parents’ at some point. Dude’s a mama’s boy. He probably still calls her mommy for Christ’s sakes.

We once had a fight over how long you’re supposed to cook spaghetti noodles, and he called her to ask. Then spent the next forty-five minutes telling her all about his week. I swear they talked every day, but for a twenty-eight-year-old drummer, that’s weird, right?

Taking my fork, I push my cheesy scallop potatoes around the plate, my cousin Nick smiling beside me. I don’t like Nick. You’ll see why any second when he speaks.

“Mila, what’s the matter?” Nick asks, his crooked teeth caked with food. “You look nervous?”

Oh look, you didn’t have to wait too long.

I turn toward him, my eyes roaming over his greased-back blond hair to his coked-out black eyes. There’s a reason why I don’t like him, and it has nothing to do with his substance abuse problems and his lack of dental hygiene. It’s the fact that he uses my dad and uncle as his own personal bank and on more than one occasion, we’ve let him stay at the hotel in an attempt to get his life together.

Yet he doesn’t. He’s thirty-one. You’d think at some point he’d realize, wow, I’m going about life the wrong way.

He’s somewhat of an inspiration to me. Like, hey, I’m not as bad as Nick and yet somehow at every family function I’m stuck sitting next to him. Maybe it’s because we’re both the ones showing up late.

“Shut up and don’t talk to me.” I scoot away from Nick and into Aunt Lauren. “Switch seats.”

Aunt Lauren smirks. “No fuckin’ way.”

As you can see, she’s my favorite aunt. She’s also my only aunt, so maybe that’s why, but whatever the reason, she’s cool as shit. Imagine having Amy Schumer as your aunt. That’s exactly how Lauren is. She owns her own hair salon in Bellevue and if you ever want to look like a runway model for a night while lounging at home, let her dress you.

Thankfully, Dad gets into a conversation with Uncle Wayne. He’s the director of marketing at the hotel, so they are constantly having work conversations. I try to stay out of them and focus on the aspects of the hotel I control.

Lauren leans into me and frowns at my hair. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but you look like hell today.”

I stare at my plate. “Thanks. I spent hours on this look.”

“You’re lucky your mom hasn’t made you go change yet.”

Once again pushing the sleeves of my overly large sweater up, my gaze shifts to my legs crossed under the table. I thought I put together my outfit pretty well. Red sweater, black pants, heels . . . “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

Lauren reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair back into my bun. “It’s your hair. It’s . . . all over the place and you still have shampoo in it.”

Shit. See. I told you.

Clearing my throat, I scoot back and excuse myself to the bathroom. I’m standing in there, alone, in front of the sink but I don’t look up right away. I don’t because the moment I look in the mirror, I know the reminder that’s going to hit me.

The reminder of the night, the memories of a man I can’t shake today. I’ll be reminded because he’s the reason I’m late, the reason my thoughts are scrambled and I’m a mess on Christmas.

The moment I raise my eyes, lift them to my reflection, there’s a sharp pinch in my chest. There’s the reminder. On my neck there’re those pink dots, despite my olive skin.

I need to forget about him, but a guy who fucks like that, it’s not possible.

I’m screwed.

Goddamn that firefighter.