Just Breathe Read Online Free

than reality. More art than fashion.
    Truly, I’m glad I can help her out. She makes me clothes from time to time and those outfits put the rest of my clothes to shame. My ass never looks better than when in a pair of jeans she’s made just for me.
    “So I’ll be modelling a handkerchief dress?” I pass by on the way to my room to change.
    “No, you’ll be modelling a corset dress,” her voice hits my back. I cringe a little, but keep walking. I normally stick to jeans and t-shirts—I’m not generally into vampy clothes. Ah well. I continue through the kitchen and check on Nick’s progress.
    He’s spread the cookies out into the shape of a Christmas tree on the counter. Not sure why, as it’s only September, but it’s never a linear journey when interpreting the artistic mind.
    “Hey, Ellie, what’s shakin’?”
    “Not much. You?”
    “Sold a painting,” he says with a sheepish pride.
    “Dude! That’s awesome! Hey, Kennedy—”
    “I know right?” she exclaims from the living room.
    “Which one was it? The one with the books?”
    He nods and I shriek happily. The painting was sort of my idea. He’d painted a bunch of books that seem to be stacked haphazardly, but if you look closely, the titles of the books make a really beautiful short poem that Nick also wrote. The books are sitting in front of a window, and outside the window is a street view on a rainy day. There are raindrops dripping down the glass, and it’s so realistic it could be a photograph. He made me a print for my birthday; I refused the original because I knew it would sell. And now it has!
    “That’s awesome! Congratulations, Nicky, I’m so happy for you!” I give him a hug.
    “Thanks. Couldn’t have done it without you.”
    “Yeah, yeah.” I wave him off and grab a cookie. “Did they ask for another one?” The gallery he works at part time let him put up a painting and it sold. They asked for another, and now it’s sold as well. People like making money; I can’t see them not wanting more of his work.
    “Nope. They’ve asked for three more!”
    I squeal, and Kennedy comes running in from the living room, and we all start Led Zeppelining. Led Zeppelining came about one day when we were really, really high. It’s a dance move brought into existence by a large quantity of weed one winter’s day. It sort of looks like the chick from Natural Born Killers’ dance style, but less sexy and more slinky, and your feet don’t break contact with the floor. It’s become a default victory dance. I’m really not sure why we called it Led Zeppelining, but we all get the reference somehow.
    “I need to change. Be right back.” I walk down the hall from the kitchen, just past the bathroom to my bedroom. Tossing my purse onto my bed, I grab a pair of yoga pants and a tank top. Stripping down to my undies, I sit on the bed and dig through my purse for my cell. No missed calls. No missed calls from Jason. Not that I expected him to make contact; it was just barely a flicker of a thought, noticing he hasn’t. Bad habits die hard. Sigh.
    “Ellie?” Kennedy calls. Shit.
    “Be right there!” I sling my phone back into my bag, slip into my clothes, and am back in the kitchen with a joint rolled in under thirty seconds. Nick pours me a glass of wine while I roll for them. It helps relax me, and makes me feel like I’m still part of the circle which I especially need after this Jason fiasco, but before then as well.
    My condition sort of isolated me, so when social situations would come up I wanted a way to talk to people without being awkward or smothering them. Kitchens are usually quieter, but get a lot of through traffic—people stop by to get a drink, or snack, then leave. Works for me—I can get overwhelmed by too many voices at a party. This way I get to meet people a few at a time. Plus the counter is better for rolling joints—though that is going to be in my past, other than for Kennedy and Nick.
    It’s like being a