Dare to Breathe Read online

  Dare to Breathe

  By: Tina Maurine

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  COPYRIGHT

  Copyright © 2020 by Trient Press

  Cover Design: CI Designs

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of

  $250,000.

  Except for the original story material written by the author, all songs, song titles, and lyrics mentioned in the novel Dare to Breathe are the exclusive property of the respective artists, songwriters, and copyright holders

  Trient Press

  3375 S Rainbow Blvd #81710, SMB 13135

  Las Vegas,NV 89180

  Ordering Information:

  Quantity sales. Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address above.

  Orders by U.S. trade bookstores and wholesalers. Please contact Trient Press: Tel: (775) 996-3844; or visit www.trientpress.com.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data Maurine, Tina

  A title of a book :Dare to Breathe ISBN Hard Cover:978-1-953975-16-4

  Paperback: 978-1-953975-17-1

  E-book: 978-1-953975-18-8

  Dedication

  To my family:

  Thanks for your continued support and love.

  I love you bigger than the universe!

  To Bec:

  You’re eyes were the first ones who read this, believed it was worth sharing, and encouraged me to move forward.

  Love Ya Lady!

  Thank you is not enough.

  XOXO

  Prologue

  I carefully shifted my weight from one butt cheek to the other, shifting my hips ever so slightly so as not to make a single noise, trying to get the blood flow back into my legs. The men on the other side of the wall must have left the classroom seeing as how now the ‘others’ had gone quiet. If I strained my ears with all my might I could catch a couple of voices whispering in panicked and scared rushes. I listened for just a minute before the shear effort of trying to decipher the cryptic syllables I heard took their toll on me and the threat of a headache precariously teetered.

  I rolled my neck in gentle circles trying ever so silently to get a good stretch in while I still had the chance. I bent the slightest forward before my shoulders caught on either side of the duct. I loosely and ever so slightly bounced my knees, trying just to release some lactic acid from my sore muscles. They were starting to cramp up from being cooped up in such a small space.

  What I wouldn’t give to be outside running in the rain! Screw running and it could even be sunny and hot just so long as I made it back outside…again…someday.

  I angrily swiped at a traitorous tear that snuck its way down my sweaty and dust smeared cheek. I shrugged my shoulders trying to relieve the onslaught of tension my thoughts had caused, opening and closing my fingers into tight fists and then stretching them open until they hurt. It had been several hours that I had been too afraid to take a deep breath, or make a sound let alone move. My eyes were adjusting to the lack of light coming through the filter.

  They must have turned the lights off this time?

  I was struggling trying to keep what was going on in my head and the terror that was happening all around me compartmentalized. I had to keep a grip on reality.

  You’ve just got to hang on Rhea. Stay strong. You can do this.

  Chapter

  -12 Hours

  “Rhea, yo’ girlie. You’ve got to get the hell up!”

  I groaned and rolled away from her pulling my covers up over my head.

  “Oh hell no!” Emmory half laughed, half bitched as I felt her lunge onto the bed. Not even a second later she had straddled my back and was bouncing on me as though I were a trampoline or as though she were riding the mechanical bull at our favorite bar ‘Pain & Aces’. “It’s a beautiful kind of pain, it’s a beautiful kind of pain…find the light, find the light, find the light.” Her voice was smooth, angelic and lyrical. I loved the notes that flowed from her soul and as a soul sister, she made mine twirl and dance at the sound of them.

  I bucked her off recognizing the song that featured Emmory’s favorite songwriter and vocalist. She patterned a lot of her musical choices, style and lyrics from a key handful of singers, and she was definitely one of them.

  “Fuck Emm. I’m up already.”

  “Don’t you get all A.M. high and mighty with me— it’s not my fault that you stayed up so late.”

  “Oh come on!” Exasperated I tossed the covers back and threw my nicely shaped, smoothly shaven legs over the side of my futon bed. I knew Emmory and I were the perfect stereotypes for struggling musicians/community college students. She was your typical millennium-hippie, free- loving, folksy musician. I was pretty much the same, but less folksy and more Jennifer Aniston casual if you know what I mean. Other than our love of all things organic, natural, and homeopathic…and our intense partnership as vocalist and guitarist, we were opposites.

  Emmory was tall for a girl at about 5’8”. She was a curvy woman who enjoyed her spaghetti and liberally buttered sourdough bread more than she did her power- zumba classes. Her vibrant blonde waves framed an attractive, sun-kissed face. Her cheeks were round and her always smiling lips plump. She was from Europe somewhere, but with her skin so easily tanned to a golden hue—well, I had to wonder if one of the women in her lineage had had a sexy escapade with a Spaniard at one time or another.

  Now on the other hand, well…let’s just say that I was everything Emmory wasn’t. Where she had the hour- glass curves, mine were understated. Boyish even. Where she came across as buxom and smiling, I was often described as plain and brooding. Perhaps that’s why I had gotten more than my share of tattoos—to drive some interest my way? She was so damn sexy all the time, even as she fluctuated almost monthly from a size 10 to a 14 and back again…sometimes the other way around. The best part was that she just didn’t give a shit.

  Why can’t I be more like that? Why do I say I don’t care what people think, but do so much? A secret I’ll hold to my grave.

  My hair was a deep chestnut color that could even be described as black at times with brown highlights. Coming from Israeli decent; the second generation US born, meant that I was blessed with a trim athletic figure that I didn’t have to work for—in spite of my love for running and swimming. And, I had those eyes. Not exactly the sexy ones that Arab women were getting in trouble with the religious police for having, but exotic enough that I could get away with little or no eye makeup and most people wouldn’t know the difference. Where I did luck out if I do say so myself, was with the color of my eyes. They weren't just enticing,

  but they were nearly a clear blue. I caught men and women staring at me all the time, something that had made me self- conscious as a child and only recently grew to embrace.

  I glanced at the clock on the vanity as I step
ped out of the shower, feeling the pressure of the day weighing me down.

  “Rhea? Hey—you really need to get a move on.”

  I cracked the door to let some cool air in to de-fog the mirror and came face to face with Emmory. “Hey, you can go on ahead—I can take my bike.”

  “Oh hun…you forgot? I have that demo to record in Portland today. There’s just no way to have time to take you to PLCC and then make it back downtown by nine to make my appointment. You know how hard it was to get in.”

  “Yeah,” I sighed heavily and shrugged halfheartedly.

  I had to admit I was envious as shit that she was making a demo without me, but they were using some prerecorded tracks as the background for her vocals. “I know. You’d better get a move on then.” I smiled at her, trying my best to be encouraging. I looked her up and down and she looked every bit the rock star. I called after her as she turned and started down the hall, “You know Emm, you look stunning, really put together today. I just want you to know that.

  That’s all.” Perhaps it was the genuine infliction in my voice, or the sad look in my eyes that my act couldn’t make up for but she came back towards me.

  “You know, why don’t you come? Yeah hun—I want you there. It would be great. Really. So, go get ready!” She waved her hands like a magician would expecting a trendy outfit to just magically appear on me. And, since we know that didn’t happen I rushed past her and halted before my open bedroom door of our small college-esqe flat.

  “Shit!” I spun around and leaned heavily into the wall. “I told my group that we’d meet after class to go over our presentation due next week on socio-economic status and its correlation to test scores. It’s for my Economics 304 class.” I cussed under my breath, “I’d better be there since I set it up. Damn. You go on ahead,” I smiled. “But I want every detail of how cool it was when you get back okay?

  Promise me!”

  She bounced over in her full-of-life way and gave me a brisk squeeze. “Sure thing Chickadee!” With that she turned, grabbed her old, tattered leather jacket and hemp shoulder bag off the hook by the door and the keys for her 1967 Royal Blue Ford Bronco and slammed the door behind her.

  Damn, she’s so cool.

  I fucked around getting ready, my head just wasn’t in the game. I was actually kicking myself for not going—it’s not like anyone in my group would’ve been irreversibly bent out of shape by my rescheduling. But as part of my New Year’s resolution to myself I was trying to be more responsible. Take my life more seriously instead of just coasting along—I was 21 after all. I glanced at myself in the heavy mahogany antique full-length mirror that hung by the door. It made everything reflected in it look beautiful, and how could it not? Its ornate wooden frame was one of a kind, carved by hand and given to my mom by her first and only true love—not, I feel compelled to mention, my dad. The reflection looking back at me made me smile for a second. I liked how my navy ruffled blouse sat at my hips and where my skinny jeans sat cuffed just above my ankles. I liked that my orange Chuck Norris Converse tennies pulled your attention down the length of my slender legs. My straight

  hair hung loosely and for once I looked fairly put together. I

  grabbed my green leather suede Lucky Brand boho bag, slung it over my shoulder and threw my backpack strap over my other shoulder. One final glance at the clock showed it was 7:50. There was no way I was going to make my first class in time.

  Chapter

  -11 Hours

  8:10. I shook my head as I hastily walked to class. I had no idea how in the hell I had five minutes to spare. I walked into the College of Journalism and rushed into my Advanced Layout and Copywriting class, sliding into my wooden desk just as Isaac Matthews walked in. This was one class that I choose never to skip. Isaac Matthews was a Graduate Student, which meant—lucky for me, he was in his twenties. He was my morning tall blonde and sexy that I drank in along with my rolled oat and bran muffin. Okay, I obviously had a coffee too. I lived in the Pacific Northwest. Did anyone drink anything else? I was a creature of habit and had enjoyed this morning ritual most every morning as he’d taught the classes that I needed to graduate this year. I must have moaned my appreciation a bit louder than I’d intended as I caught a curious gaze out of the corner of my neighbor’s eyes.

  “Sorry,” I whispered and received a gratuitous nod. Mr. Matthews after a short review, dove into his lecture on typeface and font-styles and their meanings for a good part of the hour. I shifted my legs, uncrossing and recrossing them.

  Damn it!

  I dropped my pen shuffling my notebook and laptop—yes, I still used both because I liked to draw and you just can’t take those kinds of notes on your computer. I reached down to retrieve it and noticed leather flip-flops standing in the aisle beside me.

  “Ms. Kenzee?”

  Oh Crap! What the fuck did he just ask me?

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Matthews. I didn’t hear what you’d asked me. Could you please repeat it?” I smiled up at him sheepishly.

  Oh come on! It’s not like I am the only girl in here with a crush on you. Lighten up?

  He smiled down at me. “I would, Ms. Kenzee but I haven’t asked you yet.”

  “Oh.” All I could do was nod at him like an idiot. “We were discussing fonts that were used for the

  MontBlanc Fountain Pen ad campaign and I’m asking you now specifically—what font you would use for a Time Square billboard and why.” He smiled down at me and cocked an eyebrow.

  “I, I…well, off the top of my head I would use Segoe Script or Mistral.”

  Isaac Matthews cleared his throat and cocked his head ever so slightly like a dog who was puzzled by his master. “And why Ms. Kenzee would those be your choices? MontBlanc is one of the finest, most luxurious pen companies in the world. Most students in this class—nay in any advertising design and layout class would have gone with a script like French or Freestyle.”

  “While that may be so, Mr. Matthews,” I paused and sucked in a deep breath, “I’m not like most students. I feel the targeted audience for the campaign—the pompous, overindulged, powerfully reckless businessman would appreciate the strength of the lines and the power in those fonts.” My head whipped to the door separating us from the commotion that was going on outside in the hallway. Isaac turned at that same time and in several lithe strides was back down the wooden stairs of the tiered classroom and out the main door. Seconds later he reentered.

  “Alright, everyone up. Take your things—it appears we have a drill of some sort. Meet on the Annex lawn to be accounted for.” He shook his head and then called out, “Ms. Kenzee, a moment please.”

  I lifted my head in puzzlement, but continued to pack up my gear. I stood so the row could get past me, then squatted back down to finish compiling everything. Some idiot had snagged my purse with his boot and the contents had scattered all over the floor. And then I felt a presence, someone close. I heard the classroom door bang shut with finality. Closed-off from the riot outside in the hallway.

  Inside, there wasn’t a single sound. “Rhea?”

  I glanced up and the wind was taken from my sails.

  Isaac Matthews was…well, to put it simply. He was beautiful. Not in the whole big man on campus way or even because he was so well built, but more in a nerdy intellectual way. I was drawn to him and I couldn’t fathom why outside of his good-looks, brains… Fuck! Who was I kidding he just had a certain Je-ne-sais-quoi. An inexpressible something that drew me to him and from the look in his eyes, he felt it too. It wasn’t like it was anything that we’d ever be able to explore. After all I was a senior and he was a graduate student and his Stahlen Fellowship would be at serious risk if he did.

  “Rhea, I just wanted to express my sincerest appreciation for what you bring to this lecture. When you said that you weren’t like most students, which was one of the truest statements that I’ve heard in a long while, I couldn’t have agreed more. I like that you challenge conventional thinking and I just wanted you
to know that I’ve identified you as a PLCC Academic Shooting Star.”

  I felt dumb-struck and a little start-struck too. His pheromones were getting to me—he smelled so, soo good. “Mr. Matthe…”

  “I’d prefer you call me Isaac when it’s just the two of us. After all, we won’t always be confined by the teacher/student parameters.”

  Did he just say what I think he said? Did he just allude to the future—one with him and I in it together? As in together-together? No fucking way?!

  JUST THEN, A SHOT RANG OUT.

  Chapter

  -10 Hours

  Isaac’s eyes only seconds before were warm and inviting, now they were full of panic and fear. He grabbed my hand and jerked me up. I glanced up at the large institutional clock that hung above the door. 9:05, before I snatched my purse off the floor where I had been reassembling it. He strode to the back of the classroom in intentional strides that were driven by fear and adrenaline, then stopped. There in front of us, in the corner of the room was a two foot by three foot screened air vent. He knelt and with his thumb pushed on the spring-release screws in the vent’s corners until they gave—freeing the vent. A black hole was revealed.

  “Get in.”

  I just looked at Isaac and then to the door and back to him. “I, I don’t know if I can get in there. It’s so…dark.”

  A SHOT RANG OUT…CLOSER THIS TIME.

  “Rhea, Jeezus! Get in! Hurry!”

  I was so scared, so panicked that time had ceased to exist. I could hear screaming and men’s voices yelling. If I had had my wits about me I could’ve discerned that the gunmen were sweeping the classrooms. It would’ve registered that if they were close enough for me to hear, it wouldn’t be long before they were here. Isaac embraced me in a full-bodied hug and his lips came down on mine in a soft, gentle kiss. It wasn’t searching at all. It was goodbye.