Breathing Pal Novels & Stories

A moment later, he pressed his nose against my neck and took a deep breath in, breathing in my scent the way he always does. Another sound of pure relief slips past his lips as he exhales. A second later, he pressed his nose firmly against his favorite spot on my neck and took a deep breath, inhaling my scent the way he always does.

Those contractions transmitted to his ears like a low-frequency vibration. Her breathing became increasingly rapid, with shorter intervals between each breath. Air flowed in and out of her nostrils and lips simultaneously, creating a rhythmic “ha—ha—ha—” sound. With each “ha,” a stream of hot air was expelled onto her chest, causing a strand of hair at the edge of her silk shirt collar to flutter.

“Everything is fine.” I didn’t even realize I wasn’t breathing until he pointed it out. “Lisa, baby,” he murmurs, his tone filled with gentle reassurance. “You need to stay with me. Just listen to my voice, okay? Breathe. Breathe for me.” He takes a deep breath, demonstrating for me, and I find myself mirroring his movements. Slowly but surely, my breathing steadies. The tightness in my chest loosens, and I can finally inhale deeply on my own.

Halfway there, the first contraction hits. It starts low in my back, like someone pressed a hot iron against my spine, then climbs, wraps around my middle in a slow, tightening band. The pressure builds steadily, squeezing everything inward, making it hard to breathe. My knees buckle a little. I grip his arm hard enough to leave marks. “Breathe,” he says instantly. Voice steady even though his face is pale. “In through your nose. Out through your mouth. With me.” He breathes with me. Slow. Counted.

My fingers hook into her waistband, and I yank her jeans and underwear down in one desperate motion, tossing them somewhere behind me without ceremony. I look. Nothing. No baby. But … something definitely looks different down there. “Is he there?” Mel pants anxiously. “No!” I say quickly. “Breathe … just breathe … like in the classes.” I take a dramatic inhale. “IN … two … three … four …” Then exhale. “OUT … two … three … four …” I try again. “In … two … three … four …” My head starts spinning. Okay. This breathing crap is NOT working. Maybe I’m doing it wrong. I try again. Still dizzy.

“No grunting. No flaring. Good air entry.” His lungs expanded evenly. No distress. No retractions at the base of his ribs. Just small, determined breaths that sounded like quiet sighs. His nostrils barely moved. His mouth opened once in a tiny, offended oval, then closed again as if he had decided the world could wait until he understood it.

He looked calm and steady. "Your breathing is way too fast," Axel noted. He took a slow, deep breath in through his nose to demonstrate. "You are working yourself into a panic attack. I need you to match my breathing. We are going to inhale for four seconds, and we are going to exhale for four seconds." I wanted to argue because my mind was racing with terrible scenarios, but Axel maintained his steady eye contact. He inhaled again. I forced myself to follow his lead. I drew a shaky breath into my tight lungs.

I have both fists buried in his pillow and my face pressed into it and I am breathing the way they taught us in our first year clinical skills module except none of those instructors had this specific situation in mind. “Breathe,” Joshua says behind me. Low and controlled but the control is costing him something, I can hear it. “I am breathing.” “You’re holding it.” I exhale. Long and slow. He pushes deeper and I make a sound into the pillow that I feel in my entire skeleton.

He had not been touched on the face by anyone, I thought, in a very long time. He closed his eyes. He turned his face into my palm. He stayed there. He breathed in for the count of four. He breathed out for the count of six. He did not put his hands on me. I did not put my mouth on him. I held the side of his face for the count of twenty, and he breathed against my palm, and somewhere in the second half of the count I felt his breath go out longer than it had been going in, the way a man's breath went out when a thing he had been holding finally went out with it.