When Breath Becomes Air Audiobook Novels & Stories

I stayed there frozen on my seat, unable to move an inch. “Breather in and breathe out. Breathe in and then breathe out….” I kept chanting those continuously until I could finally calm my nerves. “You can do this, Aiv! You’re a strong girl.” I mentally prepared myself and slowly turned my head to see the “person” staring right through the window at me with its dark ashy green eyes. I felt a chill run down my spine. It was like someone had poured icy cold water on my naked body in winter. Our eyes locked for a second,but before I could come back to my consciousness, he disappeared.

We did not stop until I could not breathe, he pulled away "Breath Zee" urh, how does one do that again? I forgot how to breath… "Urh how do I do that again?" I ask him Niklaus laughs "Inhale count till three... one... two... three... And exhale" I follow he is instructions and I start breathing again I blush, I look down at my hands and stutter out "Thank you... For that" "Don't worry about it" I could hear the amusement in his voice.

His voice continued and for the first time - for the first time in thousands of lives, so many that I got lost, I did. I breathed, my body seemed to respond little by little and my lungs simply inflated with the air I forced them to pull and then let go. Again. And again. And again. And again. I was just breathing. I felt the tears burn in my eyes. I was just breathing... It was my body, my senses, my air. I was there, I was breathing. ⋅• ♱ •⋅

“It’s okay. I’m fine. Look at me, Lyra.” I tried. Goddess, I tried. “Breathe,” he murmured, lowering his face to mine, his voice steady despite the blood dripping down his wrist. “Slowly. Like this.” He inhaled deeply, exaggerating each breath so I could follow. In. Out. In. Out. I clung to the rhythm, to the sound of his voice, to the warmth of his hand. My lungs, stubborn at first, finally obeyed. My breaths lengthened. The ringing in my ears faded.

Air refused to come in. “Savannah… baby, breathe.” Roman’s voice cut through like a hand reaching into water. I felt his palms rubbing my arms, slow and comforting, grounding me. “Breathe for me, my love,” he coaxed gently. “Come on. In and out. Just like that, baby. You're doing great.” I didn’t even realize I’d had trouble breathing until he said those words. My throat was closing. My heartbeat was pounding in my ears like fists on a door.

"That's it. Slow. In through your nose. Hold it. Now out through your mouth. Good. Again. You're doing great. Just keep going." I follow the voice, letting it guide my breathing the way a lifeline guides a drowning person to shore. In. Hold. Out. In. Hold. Out. Over and over, each breath a little deeper than the last, each one pulling a little more air into my burning lungs. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the tightness in my chest begins to loosen. The darkness at the edges of my vision starts to fade. My heart rate begins to come down, still fast but no longer racing like it's trying to break free from my ribcage.

“Breathe, Alex. Just breathe. Relax for Daddy.” I took a deep, shuddering breath through my nose, trying to force my muscles to unclench. He pushed it in again, deeper this time. I focused on my breathing, on the sound of his voice, on the need to please him. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice a low, encouraging rumble. “Such a good boy. You can take it. I know you can.” He pushed it deeper, and deeper, until the silicone head was pressing against the back of my throat. I gagged again, tears streaming down my face, but this time, I didn’t pull back. I forced myself to stay still, to breathe through the sensation.

“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.

I close my eyes. "Breathe with me," he instructs. A sound fills the room—not music, not white noise. It’s a rhythmic, low-frequency thrumming. Like a heartbeat. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. "Inhale," Echo whispers. I breathe in. The air feels cool. "Exhale. Let the day dissolve. Let the stress melt into the mattress." I breathe out. My shoulders drop an inch. "Good. You are safe. You are open. You are mine."

I know what this means the end is near. “Breathe in,” he murmurs, low, intimate. I obey. The air fills only the top of my lungs. He holds me there, and I want to panic, but I don’t. “And out.” As I exhale, his weight presses me down, coaxes the breath from my chest, leaving me hollow, empty.