Don’t Breathe.
It was precisely what I was doing, not breathing.
Jeremy chose this American horror-thriller film for our movie tonight. He loved to watch horror movies that would make me sleepless at night when he left me alone in the apartment, and he would laugh at me the next day whenever he saw the dark circles in my eyes, but he would treat me with a good lunch because he enjoyed the movie and my company.
Yet tonight was different. As we sat beside the couch, shoulders touching, I could not concentrate on watching the movie.
“Sai,” called Jeremy as he touched my pinky finger.
“Hmm?” I asked, swallowing hard and blinking at the scene.
“You’re not breathing,” he teased as he intertwined our pinky fingers.
“The movie said Don’t Breathe,” I whispered, trying to crack a joke,
