Breathe The Novel Novels & Stories

I can barely breathe, panting and gasping hard, choking on my tears in my furious rigidity as I strain my limbs to keep him at bay “Please stop, look at me…. We’re not back in Illinois. Sophie, were in Manhattan, you’re in my apartment, baby. You’re safe…. Breathe, slow and steady, breathe with me; listen to me. Focus on my voice and breathe…” His soothing tone comes through the panic once more, connecting to me on some level and I lose all resolve. Fight in me dying as fatigue overtakes me and I realize I am held tight in his arms. His muscles, his strength as he holds me taut, so my body is immobile. Gasping and shoving with all my might and strangling myself with the inability to catch my

The air inside his chest seemed to have been sucked out by him, Sweet Pea was breathing hard, her cheeks were not sure whether because of lack of oxygen or because of being kissed by him, but Sweet Pea couldn't stand it anymore. With both hands pounding on his chest, Brene Brian was clearly still unsatisfied, but fortunately he still had a bit of humanity left, letting her go, Sweet Pea was freed, hastily sniffed to In contrast, Brene Brian was beside her, her breathing was very calm, her face was not red, her heart was not beating fast, her eyes were cold.

Breathing. Safe.

To breathe. Nova pushed the door open and stepped out, the cool night air hitting her, and for a moment, she just stood there, breathing it in, trying to calm the storm inside her. But it was no use. The dam she’d been holding back gave way, and the tears she’d fought so hard to hide came spilling over, hot and fierce.

The love. The breath. Always. The cursed wolf breathed love. The light breathed love. Love was the movement. And it flowed. In the hush. In the fleeting. In the boundless. Always. The manor breathed love. The garden breathed love. The light breathed love. The love was the movement. And it flowed. For the fleeting. For the boundless. For the interval. The story was not spoken. It breathed. Every day. In every rise. In every presence.

One by one. I opened my eyes, gripping the book tighter. For the first time, it didn’t feel like I was ent irely alone. Maybe I could learn to breathe again.

My face in the light of a room that had chosen what to believe. I breathed in. Out. And for the first time in two years, the breath came and went without effort, without management, without the careful controlled technique of someone holding something together. Just breath. Just the room. Just me.

The burn is immediate. It starts in my vein, a white-hot fire that races up my arm and spreads across my chest like wildfire. I gasp. My back arches. Every nerve in my body lights up at once, screaming, poison, poison, poison. But I don't scream. I bite my lip until it bleeds. I dig my nails into my palms. I stare at the ceiling and count the cracks in the stone and refuse, refuse, to give him the satisfaction of hearing me break.