Page 147 of PS: I Hate You

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There’s the familiar press of my inhaler against my lips and the slightly sweet taste of the medication as it passes my tongue on the way to my lungs. I’m not the one spraying, so the timing doesn’t line up quite right for me to breathe it all in. But my hands are too busy clutching my brother’s remains to my chest to take over.

“Breathe,” Dom demands as if he plans to reach into my chest and work my lungs for me if I don’t. “In. Out. In. Out. Nod when you need another dose.”

I nod. Dom, whose lap I realize I rest in, brings the inhaler to my lips again. “Pressing in three…two…one.”

This time we get it right, but it’s still a good five minutes and another spray before I’m not gasping like a dying fish.

“Ashes,” I wheeze, knowing we have to get on the plane soon, though my episode might have bought us some time. I don’t want to look over Dom’s shoulder to see if we have an audience.

“Fuck the ashes. Fuck this,” Dom snarls, holding me closer, while careful not to compress my rib cage. “I’m not going to have you dying of an anxiety-induced asthma attack to keep to some arbitrary schedule.”

I blink up at him and spy a scowl that others might interpret as furious.

But I can see the fear.

Look at that. I can finally read his face again.

And I know he wants to control this. But he can’t. All he can do is hold me.

When our eyes meet, Dom gentles his voice while remaining firm. “We can come back here every year for fifty years, if that’s what you need. If that’s how long it takes to do this without it tearing your heart out. You keep that piece of Josh as long as you want. Hell, keep him forever. Leave your own will directing some other asshole to trek up here and spread you two together. But that’s not going tohappen for a long while, because you will keep breathing, and you will not give up on me, Maddie Sanderson. Do you understand? You told me to just keep living. And I did. Without you. And I’ll live as long as you tell me to. But you’ve got to live, too. For me. For you. For Josh, who didn’t get to. Just keep living.”

Dom holds my gaze and cradles my body so close I can feel him shaking.

I stare into his terrified eyes.

And I start crying.

Chapter

Forty-Two

We don’t spread the ashes.

The pilot stretches out our departure another fifteen minutes until I’m breathing at a normal rate. The guy seems mildly concerned, but not overly surprised. Maybe I’m not the only person who’s gone through a panic attack on one of his flights. Dom sets us up in the back row of the airplane, so I don’t have to deal with curious looks from the strangers who wonder what’s up with the weird girl who passed out on the glacier.

When we get back to town, Dom asks if I want to head to our cabin.

But I can’t fathom sitting for the rest of the day, clutching my brother as my mind threatens to sink back into a dark place that makes it hard to breathe.

I shake my head.

“Okay.” Dom pulls our rental car into a parking spot on the main street in town. “Let’s walk around.”

My fingers fumble with the door handle, my nerve endings numb. All of me is numb at this point, and not from the cold. Too many feelings overwhelmed me on the glacier that something in my brain short-circuited. I can feel all that turmoil lingering on theperiphery, waiting for the protective numbness to dissipate so it can descend again.

I make it out of the car and onto the cracked sidewalk. After declaring we wouldn’t be spreading Josh’s remains on this trip, Dom tucked the final container of ashes back into my backpack, which I now wear on the front of my body, arms wrapped around the bag protectively. Dom appears at my side, and when I make no move to choose a direction, he pries one of my hands free, laces our fingers together, and leads me in a slow meander down the street.

“Are you hungry?” he asks.

I shake my head, nauseous at the idea of food.

He doesn’t push, only keeps us moving, but not with any expediency, which is probably odd for a man who always has a goal, destination, or purpose. Probably he’s wondering how he can fix whatever broke inside me up on that glacier.

But there’s no cure. No glue that works on a soul.

After a half hour of directionless wandering, Dom sits me down on a bench, then settles at my side. “Should we take a picture?”