Breathing Slowly Never Worked For Me

I was in the shower after work almost a week later. Ronnie had finally paid the water bill and I was savouring the hot water while it lasted. I was almost finished washing my hair when I heard the apartment door open and slam closed.

“Ronnie?” I called, closing my eyes tight so as not to let any shampoo wash into my eyes. “Ronnie, is that you?” When I didn’t receive a reply I quickly rinsed my hair, turned off the shower and wrapped one of the old towels hanging by the bathtub around myself. My feet slipped slightly on the floorboards as I walked in the direction of the kitchen, my hair still dripping wet. “Ronnie?” I repeated seeing nothing but his black jeans and belt, his head buried in the refrigerator. I glanced at the clock. “What are you doing home?” It was only half past eight at night; I’d only gotten home from work an hour ago. Ronnie wasn’t usually home until four or five in the morning. He quickly lifted his head at the sound of my voice. His hair was damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead, and his hands were shaking.

“Lindsey,” he said, a goofy grin spreading over his face as he walked toward me and grasped my hips. I held my towel tightly to my chest.

“What are you doing home?” I asked again. He shrugged.

“I missed you. I wanted to see you. I-I-I missed you,” he tole me, falling over his words.

“Christ, where have you been?” I exclaimed, “You smell horrid.” I noticed as Ronnie’s grin grew wider.

“Around,” he replied simply. I narrowed my eyes in suspicion when I caught a glimpse of the counter behind him. Ronnie had taken almost everything in our refrigerator, which wasn’t much to begin with, and lined it up on the bench. I smirked to myself.

“Did you want me to make you something to eat?” I asked, trying to keep the laughter from my voice. Ronnie shook his head quickly.

“I’m not hungry,” he said, scratching at his arm furiously as he looked about the apartment. The slight smile on my face quickly turned to a frown. I glanced at the counter again, the jars, the take out containers. All in perfectly straight lines.

“I can’t believe you,” I snapped, pushing past him and swinging the refrigerator door open so abruptly it slammed against the counter top.

“W-what do you mean?” Ronnie asked, following close behind me.

“What the fuck was it this time?” I snarled, throwing items from the counter back into the fridge, “Meth?” Whenever Ronnie had used Meth in the past he would empty drawers and cupboards and arrange the contents in straight lines.

“Stop moving them,” Ronnie argued, trying to push my hands away and straightening the jars back into their lines.

“Christ, Ronnie,” I groaned, burying my face in my hands as I stepped back.

“It all...it all stays in lines,” he mumbled under his breath as he moved things around the counter top. I shook my head, fighting to hold back tears.

“Get out,” I ordered, pointing in the direction of the door. “Out, get out now.”

“Hey, Lindsey,” he said calmly, reaching for my hands. I shook my head again as my face grew hot.

“Out,” I said sternly. He smirked at me.

“I’m not leaving,” he said slyly. I ran my tongue along the back of my teeth.

“Fine then,” I replied, marching toward the front door, “I’ll go.”

“Lindsey, Lindsey, Lindsey,” Ronnie called after me, “Lindsey, please. Just…just wait.”

“No,” I barked, “You promised me you were finished with all of this.”

“I am finished with it.” I rolled my eyes and, in one sudden motion, I swiped a jar off of the counter and threw it at him as hard as I could, tears rolling down my cheeks. I jumped as it collided with the side of his face.

“Christ!” he yelped, clutching his head. I stared at him, wide-eyed for a moment until I saw the crimson blood spill over his fingers.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” I said, grabbing a towel from the sink and pressing it to his head as I tried to pry his fingers away. “Does it hurt?” I asked. He shook his head and I realised the drugs would probably keep him numb for a while longer. A lethargic smile spread across Ronnie’s face as he reached for my hands and held them in his, the bloody towel falling to the ground between us. “You promised me you’d stop,” I told him, my voice thick with desperation. Ronnie nodded his head quickly.

“I will,” he said, “I’ll stop.” I nodded slowly, not sure what else to do other than lie to myself and believe him. I sniffed, my hair falling into my face as I looked down at our hands, fingers intertwined. “But babe,” Ronnie groaned, letting his head roll back a little, “You’ve got to stop throwing shit at me.” Even though I was crying, I couldn’t help but laugh a little.

Ronnie had been asleep for almost three days like he usually would when he was coming down off of something. I had contemplated leaving just as I had hundreds of times before but I could never bring myself to do it. I was wandering through the apartment after work one night, collecting dirty washing to take to the Laundromat, when Ronnie emerged from our bedroom. His almond-shaped eyes were dull and his black hair was matted. He was quiet and irritable as he slumped down on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket from our bed.

“What are you doing?” he grumbled, pulling the blanket up around his face as he watched me zip around the apartment.

“I’m going to do some washing,” I replied simply, resting my hands on my hips after I’d finished hauling the two large laundry bags to the front door. For some reason, I couldn’t seem to look him in the eye.

“No,” Ronnie said, leaning his head over the back of the sofa so he was staring at me upside down.

“No?” I asked. I glanced in his direction, but only for a second.

“No, stay here,” he continued and beckoned me over to the sofa. I bit my lip softly, hesitant to get too close to him. Eventually, I crossed the room and sat beside him as he wrapped the blanket around me also. I rested my head against his chest. His breathing was slow and his skin was warm, and I couldn’t help but smile as I felt Ronnie bury his nose in the space where my shoulder met my neck. I switched on the television, flicking through the channels before settling on an old film. And, although I still felt a certain uneasiness at the pit of my stomach, I fell asleep in his arms.