Don't Forget to Breathe by Cathrina Constantine

Now I’ll have to tell my dad.”
    “Hey, maybe he’ll buy you a smart phone with a data package.”
    “I wouldn’t bet on it, but that’d be nice.” A thunderous clap rocked my chest. “I wish it would rain already. My heads throbbing from the pressure.” My headache was more than likely due to Henry’s tricks.
    “Love thunder and lightning storms. I once stood outside with a steel rod hoping to get hit.”
    “You are one crazy dude, you know that?”
    He snickered and pulled a joint out of his jacket pocket and lit up.
    “Are you serious? Right here, in public?”
    “No streetlights on Tarpon. If anybody drives by they’ll think it’s a cigarette.” He handed it off. “Here take a hit, it’ll relax you. Take away that headache. Then you can finish the tale of Lucien.”
    If Nona found out I was smoking a joint she’d beat me, but she won’t, at least not by me. So fingering the joint, I managed a drawn-out drag. Following a slow exhale, I retold the tragic end of Lucien and Monique. “Lucien’s mind was crippled from booze and morphine. After he murdered her lover, he tied Monique’s arms and legs to their bed like a prisoner and tortured her for days.”
    “What’d mean by tortured?” he interrupted. “What’d he do?”
    “You really like this torture part, huh?”
    “I want to know how he tortured her.”
    Taking another hit, I wasn’t planning on getting into the nitty-gritty. I said, “He raped her.”
    “You can’t rape your wife.”
    “Certainly you can,” I said, eyeing him with cynicism.
    “Okay, I get it. Are you making this up just for me?”
    “I read it,”—vocalizing with a lungful of weed—“I don’t know if it’s all true or if the author took privileges. But it’s a good tale. Do you want to hear more or no?” A discharge of smoke slithered past my teeth.
    He removed his glasses, shaking his head. “Hell yeah.” He scrubbed the lenses with the border of his jacket and put them back on.
    I smiled, taking pleasure in taunting him, especially after he shocked me to death. “Lucien wasn’t done persecuting Monique. He carried her body up to the fourth floor attic while lugging his nifty sword.” An enthralled Henry looked at me with probing eyes. Hooked.
    “Once in the attic, he dropped her to the floor and shattered the window overlooking the front yard. He ordered her to jump. Hysterically crying and screaming, she refused. Wielding the sword, he sliced off her arm.”
    Henry coughed out, “Why didn’t the servants help the poor woman?”
    “Really?” I continued with a smug grin. “Again he ordered her to jump. She tried running away and cut off one of her legs.” Reenacting the scene, I hewed the air with my arm. “Yelling obscenities, he promised to cut her into pieces if she didn’t jump. She managed to drag what was left of her bleeding body to the window.” Overplaying my role, I sagged and scuffed my left leg over the sidewalk, groping with my hands. Playing a drama queen, I whispered, “On the night of the blood moon you can still hear her dreadful screams as she fluttered to the ground below.” I smacked my hands together for effect, pleased when Henry’s shoulders twitched.
    I adored retelling the tale to a newbie. “Lucien then reacted like the devil incarnate by rampaging through the mansion, slicing and dicing the servants. Only God knows what besieging maggot drilled into his brain. It was days later, and it’s written the house reeked when Lucien put a gun to his mouth and pulled the trigger.” Pantomiming, I lifted my hand to my mouth, pulling the trigger. My theatrical performance concluded.
    “What a totally repulsive story,” Henry said. “I love it. How did anyone really know what happened?” We shared the joint until it sizzled to a microscopic butt. He let it sink to the sidewalk and ground it with his toe.
    “That’s interesting.” I swatted at a bug buzzing around my face. “One of the servants had Lucien’s