Breathing Slowly Never Worked For Me

I refused to go back to the studio after that, no matter how often Ronnie would beg. I’m not sure what it was about what Max said that had me so angry, even a week later. It certainly wasn’t the first time I’d heard it or even realized it about myself. But I tried not to waste too much time thinking about it. With the clinic’s closure drawing near I had busied myself with looking for a new job and, when I wasn’t doing that, cleaning our apartment. It wasn’t until Ronnie actually began recording vocals that I agreed to go back to the studio with him. It was only Bryan, Ronnie and I for most of the morning so it was considerably less awkward than it had been. Ronnie and Bryan even spoke, though only in very brief sentences. It wasn’t until late afternoon when Max and Robert arrived that I began to feel anxious. Things were especially tense between Max and Ronnie and it made me wonder whether either of them had said something to spark an argument. I waited for a moment when I could slip away without anyone noticing but the chance never passed me by. It wasn’t until Ronnie and Max began to fight over the chorus of one song and Ronnie stormed out that I found my exit.

“Lindsey! Lindsey, don’t go,” Max called after me but I ignored him as I pushed the studio doors open in search of Ronnie. I found him down an alley kicking at trashcans with his cigarettes in hand.

“Fucking moron. Trying to ruin a completely fucking genius song with his mediocre pop-punk bullshit,” he muttered angrily not having noticed I was standing there. I took a seat on a wooden crate by the street and wrapped my jacket around me a little tighter as I waited for him to finish. “He wouldn’t know what a decent chorus was if it jumped up and hit him in his stupid fucking face,” he continued, throwing his leg into a brick wall and yelping in pain as he overshot it and his foot collided with the dumpster.

“You’re such a dork sometimes,” I laughed as Ronnie fell to the ground, clutching his foot. He looked up, startled, as he noticed me for the first time.

“Lindsey,” he exclaimed, “What are you doing out here?” I smirked as I crouched beside him.

“What are you doing trying to kick in dumpsters?” I replied as he examined his ankle, tugging at his black jeans so he could see the bruise that was quickly forming above his foot.

“I’m not trying to start something with him, Linds. You’ve got to believe me, I’m not,” he said not once looking up from his foot. I sighed and tucked my hair behind my ears before looking toward the street.

“I know,” I told him and he gave me a weak smile. “Do you think you can stand, tough guy?” I asked helping him to get up.

“Hey, Lindsey?” Ronnie called as he limped along behind me. I turned to look at him and, suddenly, he couldn’t meet my gaze. I waited patiently as he rubbed the back of his neck looking for something to say. “Thanks for coming. I mean, I…,” he said pausing for a moment, “I’m really glad you came.” I tried to bite back my smile but failed miserably.

“We should get back inside,” I replied knowing that Ronnie wouldn’t want to make any bigger deal of it than he already had. He nodded at my suggestion and limped past me to the studio doors. I waited outside for a moment savouring the cool breeze and the smell of rain that rose from the pavement before entering the studio once more. I could tell from the way that Ronnie slumped down on the sofa beside Bryan that he had surrendered but Max was far from finished.

“You’re so fucking weak,” Max spat as soon as he entered the room. I couldn’t be sure but I guessed he had been looking for us.

“What are you talking about?” Ronnie asked, standing to meet him but trying to keep his weight off his left foot.

“Does it make you feel better? Belting the crap out of something, someone that can’t defend themselves?” Max asked shoving Ronnie hard so that he stumbled back onto his swollen ankle causing him to let out a throaty groan, suggesting he was in pain. I climbed over Bryan’s legs, sprawled out in front of him, so I was standing beside Ronnie and grasped his forearm to keep him from falling backwards. He shook me off.

“I’m fine, Lindsey,” he said quietly, guiding me with his hand so I was standing behind him, “Really, it’s fine.” I nodded feebly and held my hands up to my mouth. “Hey, what’s your fucking problem?” Ronnie asked Max once he was sure I was a safe distance from the argument.

“What’s my problem? You’re the one with the problem! You think beating your girlfriend makes you a man? Does it make you feel in control? Does it?” Max growled, his cheeks glowing red with anger. Ronnie shook his head.

“What are you talking about?” he repeated, obviously confused. Max’s eyes flickered toward me as my own flickered toward my wrists. I instantly scolded myself for having taken my jacket off when I came back inside. The sleeves of my white shirt weren’t nearly long enough to hide the bruises that were steadily fading but still painfully obvious. I flinched as Bryan came to stand beside me and peered over my shoulder.

“Christ, Lindsey,” he muttered and reached for one of my wrists, “How’d you do that?” But I didn’t answer him. I couldn’t answer him. Not when I knew what was coming next. Ronnie turned to look at me and his gaze fell to the bruises that I was hopelessly trying to conceal. Of course he had seen them before but his lips parted as he noticed them there once more.

“You think I…,” he began to say, looking back toward Max and finally registering what was happening, “I didn’t do that.” I winced at the honesty in his voice, barely noticing as Robert entered the room.

“Hey guys,” he said, “What’s going on?” Max shrugged and looked down at his feet, scuffing his shoes on the worn carpet.

“I didn’t do it!” Ronnie defended himself, “I wouldn’t hit her, Max.” Max scoffed. I looked helplessly from Bryan to Robert and, when I didn’t receive the reassuring glance I needed, I took a step toward Max.

“He didn’t do it,” I said quietly, crossing my arms tightly over my chest, “I did.” Max rolled his eyes and let his head fall back, exasperated.

“Quit covering for him, Lindsey,” he replied, almost pleading with me.

“I’m not covering for anybody!” I retorted, “I made the bruises. This is all my fault.” Max’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion as he glared at Ronnie and then looked back at me.

“What are you talking about?” he asked as Ronnie took a tentative step so he was standing closer to me. I felt his fingers brush against my side and swallowed hard.

“I don’t know,” I said, my voice suddenly hoarse, “It started a couple months after Dane died, when I was in North Carolina.”

“What started?” Max groaned, frustrated that I wasn’t answering his questions.

“The wrist-banging, the bruises,” I replied quietly. I knew it was useless but I still tugged at my sleeves, attempting to hide the healing marks around my wrists. Max looked confused.

“What?” he asked, shaking his head. Ronnie turned to look at me and reached out, holding the hem of my shirt loosely between his fingers, pulling me closer to him. I knew that a part of him would be feeling helpless. He had asked me about the bruises a few times before but I’d always swiftly avoided his questions.

“It’s no big deal, really,” I said, leaning in to Ronnie slightly as I spoke, seeking some kind of comfort. He stiffly rested his hand on the small of my back, unsure of what else to do. “I was just in a dark place. It made things…it made things feel better.”

“No big deal? No big deal?! Are you fucking kidding me? Does this look like ‘no big deal’ to you?” Max exclaimed, grabbing one of my wrists and holding it up. I squirmed slightly in his grasp.

“Don’t touch her,” Ronnie told him. His voice was quiet and calm and I barely recognised it to be his as he reached forward and gently pulled my wrist from Max’s grip.

“I just,” I began to say, looking around the room, “I just don’t want to talk about it right now.” I wrapped my arms tightly around myself and went to grab my jacket. “Can we go?” I asked Ronnie, tugging at his arm. A look of surprise crossed his face as he looked between Max and I.

“Yeah,” he said breathily, “Yeah, sure.” I walked toward the door without another word and Ronnie followed close behind. More than anything I was embarrassed.

“Lindsey, Lindsey wait,” Max called after me but I ignored him and reached for the door, hailing the first cab that drove past. “Lindsey, come on. Don’t go,” Max pleaded with me and I even glanced over my shoulder at him as I climbed into the backseat of the cab. Ronnie nudged my shoulder lightly and I got into the cab with him taking the seat beside me. As we drove off, Max was standing in the street hoping something would take me back to him. But it didn’t.

When we got to the apartment, I dropped my jacket on the kitchen bench. Ronnie stood awkwardly by the door and watched as I paced the room. I ran my hands through my hair and sat on the sofa. Ronnie waited a moment before coming to sit beside me. He kept opening his mouth to say something but would soon decide against it and close it again. Eventually he reached over and took my hands in his own, running his thumbs over the bruises that had gotten the both of us into trouble earlier that day.

“I think,” he said, frowning slightly as he looked down at my hands, turning them over every so often, “I think that, maybe…maybe you should just go to bed.” I ran my tongue over my lips and nodded. I got up off the sofa and walked toward our bedroom. I waited for him to say something else, but, when he didn’t, I entered the bedroom closing the door quietly behind me. I was always waiting.