Breathe for Me Read Free

possible. She wouldn’t want me to stay sad.
    I make it to the bookstore door and slip through, inhaling deeply. The musty scent of old books makes me smile.
    â€œI’m in the back,” a deep voice rumbles. Jim. “Be there in just a sec.”
    â€œIt’s just me,” I say with a chuckle.
    â€œOh, Isabel—help yourself. I’m—” pause, then a thumping sound, “—trying to take care of inventory. Gimme just a minute.”
    Jim’s store is cluttered and disorganized. He has his own method for sorting and storing books, one I haven’t quite figured out yet. But it’s an intriguing mystery, and I’m determined to crack it and surprise him.
    I head to the shelf closest to me. A few new books are crammed in, mostly obscure poetry and classics. Jim has a fondness for history, like me. It’s one of the reasons we bonded so quickly when I first came in the store about four months ago. I asked him to show me religious history books, and he was all too happy to assist. Though he’s old, he’s smart and remembers everything. A good resource and a nice person. Surprisingly, his numbers are still relatively high for his age. He’s going to be an old-timer for sure, living well into his nineties.
    Not that I can tell him the truth behind my research, of course. But still, there’s something comforting and familiar about coming here and breathing in the words, escaping my worries and slipping under the skin of a book character’s life.
    A moment later, Jim finds his way to me. “This is a nice surprise,” he says. “What can I help you with?”
    I shrug. “Just…looking for something interesting.” In addition to research, I’ve been doing a lot of general reading. In my apartment I have stacks upon stacks of books I’ve bought here, devoured nightly as I cuddle up in bed. Every once in a while a striking image or phrase triggers a sense of déjà vu in me. Nothing overly important—just snapshots of places I’ve been, things I’ve done before Sitri dropped me in New Orleans and I was born anew.
    It’s become a bit of a compulsion, seeing if I can tease the darkened memories out of my unconscious, piece together my life word by word, picture by picture. Yes, a small way to reclaim power in a powerless situation but the only thing I can do right now. A secret of my own, something I haven’t told Sitri so he doesn’t try even stronger methods to wipe my memory.
    Jim scratches his chin, considering me for a moment. “I think I know just the thing.” He turns around, shuffles over to another shelf. “Where is it?” His fingers and eyes run across each row as he scours the books. “Ah, here we go.” With a gnarled, shaky hand, he withdraws a book and hands it to me, careful to keep his skin distant from mine.
    I glance at the cover. Jane Eyre . I blink in surprise, then look back at him.
    He shrugs, a light flush covering his cheeks. “I don’t deny that I’m a bit of a romantic. Not sure if you’ve read it or not, but Jane’s strength of character is fascinating. She’s strong and opinionated and doesn’t let anyone else determine her future. I think you’d be surprised how interesting and dark the novel is.” He nods at the book. “It’s an early edition as well. Read the forward to learn more about the Bronte sisters.”
    Jane . Her name has been haunting me all day—maybe this is a sign. And she would have loved a book like this. I exhale a shaky breath and smile, clutching the book to my chest. “I’ll take it.”

    â€œDo you have notes from English yesterday?” Dominic appears at my side out of nowhere the next morning, as if brought to life by my near-constant musings about him. While reading last night I couldn’t help but remember the striking blue of his irises, wondering how he spends his