She Stole My Last Breath

The day before mandatory preseason field conditioning, I turned my dorm room upside down looking for my medical clearance waiver. The letter from my pulmonologist—the one explicitly documenting my chronic, exercise-induced asthma—was gone. I was on my knees, shoving aside shoe boxes under my bed, when my phone buzzed with an incoming group audio call. I tapped the speaker, and Savannah’s shrill, breathless squeal instantly filled the cramped room. "Oh my god, you guys! It actually worked! I got fully exempted from field drills! The medical note Jordan gave me was a total lifesaver!" I froze. A sudden, cold prickle crept up from my fingertips, numbing my hands. My older brother, Jordan, cleared his throat, his tone dripping with dismissive casualness. "Savannah gets dizzy if she’s in direct sun for five minutes. Besides, Hallie, you’re built tough. What’s a few days running drills under the sun anyway?" Bryce, my childhood sweetheart, jumped in with that frictionless, soothing tone he always used when he was about to smooth over another betrayal. "Exactly, Hallie. You’ve always had grit. Look at it as a chance to build your stamina." Savannah chimed in with her trademark breathy coo. "Hallie, you’re the sweetest. If it gets too intense out there, just wave to the sidelines. I’ll run out and bring you cold Gatorade!" I didn't answer. I didn't yell. I simply pressed the red button and disconnected. I scrolled up to the very beginning of that four-person group chat, back to the afternoon Jordan had created it during our freshman year. His first message was still pinned at the top: "Rule number one: Whatever good stuff comes our way, Savannah gets first dibs." The memories hit me all at once, sharp and hollow. The merit scholarship last spring. The single front-row ticket to the winter gala. Every single time I had gathered the courage to say, "Wait, I want that too," and the three of them had turned toward me in unison, their eyes heavy with that quiet, suffocating judgment. I had finally learned how to read their silence. Favoring her had become their muscle memory. And walking away would have to become mine. …… 1 "Hallie? Why’d you drop out of the call like that?" The door swung open, and Savannah swept in, practically buried beneath glossy shopping bags from high-end boutiques downtown. She dumped them onto her desk with a theatrical sigh and glanced over her shoulder at me. I stayed seated, staring at the empty medical folder in my open desk drawer. "Did your battery die?" She walked toward me, casually reaching out to loop her arm through mine. I leaned back, dodging her touch. She didn't miss a beat. Without an ounce of awkwardness, she reached into one of the cream-colored bags and pulled out a sleek, pastel-pink tube of luxury sunblock. "Look at this. Jordan drove all the way to the department store across town just to get it for me. He said he couldn't stand the thought of me getting a sunburn during roll call." Next, she fished out an insulated steel tumbler, pastel mint, with an internal cooling core. "And Bryce got me this. It keeps water below freezing for twelve hours straight." Sunscreen. Ice-cold water. They had mapped out every single contingency to keep her comfortable on the shaded bleachers. And to do it, they had handed away the one piece of paper that kept me out of the emergency room. "Where is my medical waiver, Savannah?" I asked, my voice dry as chalk. She blinked, eyes widening with textbook innocence. "Jordan gave it to me. He said your asthma hasn't flared up in ages, so having that paper just sitting in your drawer was a waste." "A waste." Last month, when my throat seized up at three in the morning and my fingernails turned bruised-plum from oxygen deprivation, Jordan was three miles away, holding Savannah’s popcorn at an IMAX midnight screening. Of course he thought I was cured. He wasn't there to watch me suffocate. A dull, heavy pressure bloomed in the center of my chest, like a fistful of wet cotton wedged beneath my ribs. "That clearance was issued in my legal name. How could you possibly submit it?" "I just told the registrar there was a paperwork mix-up from when I hyphenated my surname," she said, flashing a breezy, guiltless smile. "Besides, you never speak up in class anyway. It's not like the department head actually knows what your face looks like." I drew a sharp breath. A familiar, jagged tension pulled at the base of my lungs. A faint, high-pitched whistle rattled inside my airway. I jerked open the bottom drawer, my fingers frantically sweeping the dark corners for my blue rescue inhaler. Nothing. Bare wood. I pulled the drawer entirely out of its tracks and tipped it forward. Empty. "Are you looking for that scuffed-up blue canister?" Savannah asked, tilting her head. I looked up at her, my vision prickling. She gestured toward the hallway with a manicured thumb. "I did a quick sweep yesterday while you were at the library. That thing was covered in grime, and it expired like months ago, right? I just tossed it down the trash chute." "Tossed it." She had taken my lifeline, the one thing standing between me and respiratory failure, and dumped it down the garbage chute. The panic flared, instantaneous and suffocating. I bolted out of my chair, shoved past her, and sprinted into the hall. "Hallie! What is your problem? It was literally an empty plastic tube!" her voice shrilled behind me. By the time I reached the utility alcove, the custodial cart was already gone. The main bin had been emptied and lined with fresh black plastic. Empty. I slid down against the cold, cinderblock wall, my hands clamped over my knees, gasping for air. The draft in the hallway felt like crushed glass tearing down my trachea. My phone vibrated violently against my hip. Bryce. I swiped the screen with trembling, uncooperative fingers. "Hallie? Savannah just texted me. Did you really just snap at her over nothing?" His voice was smooth as velvet, but beneath the surface lay that familiar edge of tired reproach. "My... inhaler," I forced out, fighting the constriction in my throat. "It’s an inhaler, Hallie. Can you please stop turning every minor inconvenience into a federal case?" He sighed, the sound heavy through the speaker. "Savannah was just trying to help you tidy up your mess. How was she supposed to know it mattered that much? You're frightening her." "Frightening her." I was sitting on the floor suffocating, and his instinct was to shield Savannah from my tone. "Did you... ever tell her... what it does?" I wheezed. "Why would I bring your medical history up to her out of the blue? Look, you’re always preaching about how self-sufficient you are. Flying off the handle over an expired prescription? That’s really not like you." "Not like me." Then who had I been all these years? The memory of my college admission dinner flooded back. Jordan had booked a private dining room at an upscale steakhouse down by the harbor, inviting every aunt, uncle, and family friend to celebrate my acceptance into the honors college. Ten minutes before appetizers were served, Savannah slipped on the wet tile near the restroom, crying that her ankle was sprained. Jordan and Bryce didn't hesitate. They scooped her up between them and sped off to the emergency clinic. I was the guest of honor, and I became the ghost at the feast. I spent the evening standing alone by the host stand, absorbing the pitying, awkward stares of our relatives. Refilling water glasses. Making light excuses for my missing brother and boyfriend. When they finally came home past midnight, Savannah had an elastic bandage loosely wrapped around her foot. Jordan had glanced at the leftover boxes on the counter and patted my shoulder once. "You’ve always been resilient, Hallie. You know how to handle a room." Resilient. Independent. Easygoing. Those were the labels they slapped on me like shipping tags—the currency they spent to buy Savannah whatever she wanted at my expense. "Bryce." "Yeah? Are you ready to be reasonable now?" "My waiver is gone. Tomorrow on the field, they’ll run me until I drop." "Treat it as cross-training," he said lightly. "Savvy’s skin is prone to solar hives; direct heat makes her break out. Just let her have this one, Hallie." "Let her have this one." First it was clothes, then jewelry, then honors awards, then the front-row seats. And now my lungs. My life. "Fine," I whispered. I ended the call. The spasm in my chest eased slightly, but it was a temporary reprieve. I knew what was waiting for me tomorrow under the midday sun. I didn't send another text. I didn't reach out to Jordan. If they truly believed I was made of iron—if they were so convinced I couldn't be broken—then I would let them watch me shatter. When I stepped back into the room, Savannah was holding the insulated tumbler, posing for a selfie in the vanity mirror. "Not mad anymore?" she asked, glancing up with a wide, radiant smile. "Not mad." "I knew you'd understand! You're the absolute best." She leaned over and bumped her shoulder playfully against mine. "Be quiet when you leave tomorrow morning, okay? I’m planning on sleeping until noon." "Okay." 2 The September sun beat down on the turf like an open furnace. The dark synthetic track gave off a nauseating, petroleum stink that made my throat tighten with every shallow breath. I stood at the far end of the third rank, sweat soaking the collar of my heavy gray training uniform. "Hallie Dominic!" The athletic coordinator marched over, a laminated roster clutched in his hand, his expression storm-dark. "Here, sir." "Where is your medical exemption? I gave you until five o'clock yesterday to file the hard copy with the dean." I looked the man in the eye. "I don't have an exemption filed, sir." "You don't? Then why weren't you at kit inspection yesterday? Why were you five minutes late to roll call this morning?" I hadn't been late by choice. Last night, Savannah had tipped a full mug of iced caramel macchiato across my clean uniform. I had stayed up until two in the morning scrubbing the milk stain and drying the fabric under a desk fan. "My fault, sir." "Your fault? Everyone else managed to follow the schedule. What makes you special? Fall out. Three laps around the perimeter. You don't rejoin your squad until you finish." I pivoted and pushed my legs forward, feeling the dead weight in my quads. Halfway through the first turn, I saw them under the shade of the tall oak trees near the pavilion. Savannah wore an airy white eyelet dress and an oversized raffia sunhat. Jordan stood beside her, twisting the cap off an ice-cold bottle of sparkling spring water and passing it to her. Bryce stood on her other side, holding a handheld misting fan aimed directly at her collarbone. They looked like three friends at a private country club. My pace faltered as I ran past them. Jordan caught sight of me, his eyebrows knotting into an instant scowl. "Hallie? What are you doing over here? Did you mouth off to the trainer already?" The disdain in his tone was sharp and unvarnished. Bryce turned, letting out a heavy, disappointed breath. "You really can't help yourself, can you? Just apologize to the staff. Stop trying to prove a point." Savannah clutched the water bottle with both hands, leaning forward with exaggerated concern. "Hallie, do you need a sip? Your face is completely pale." She extended the open bottle Jordan had just handed her. I didn't reach for it. "I'm fine," I rasped. I kept moving. The leaden ache in my chest blossomed into a suffocating burn. The whistling sound in my throat turned harsh, like a rusty pair of shears grinding together. By the second lap, the bright green turf began to bleed into the asphalt. The white chalk boundaries warped and shimmered like heat mirages. A memory flashed behind my eyes—sophomore year, the President’s Academic Fellowship. It was the most prestigious grant in the college of design, carrying a substantial cash stipend. My GPA had been the highest in the department; my portfolio was the clear favorite. When the recipient board was posted in the faculty lounge, Savannah’s name was on the plaque. I had stormed into the department chair’s office. The professor adjusted his glasses and told me Jordan had submitted an amendment on my behalf. "Your brother explained the delicate financial situation Savannah’s family is facing, and told us you insisted on withdrawing your candidacy in her favor. It was a noble sacrifice, Hallie." "Financial hardship." The designer tote bag Savannah carried to the registrar that day cost more than my entire semesterly grocery allowance. I found Jordan at the campus sports pub, cheering as Savannah picked through a plate of loaded truffle fries. "She’s been trying to buy that vintage keyboard for months, Hallie," he had said, not even looking at me. "You’ve got side gigs. You don't need the extra cash. It’s just money." "I didn't sleep for three weeks to finish that portfolio, Jordan!" "It's one award. I’ll make it up to you later." He never made it up to me. He couldn't even remember that I hated mushrooms on my pizza, let alone a four-thousand-dollar fellowship. "Hhh... hhh..." My lungs felt like they were collapsing in on themselves. The wheeze tearing through my throat was loud enough now that nearby students started glancing over. "Hey! Are you okay?" a girl shouted from the sideline. Her voice sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a deep well. Halfway through the third lap, my knees simply gave out. The horizon tilted sideways. Then came the blunt, violent impact as my body hit the rubber track. My palms and knees tore against the rough synthetic surface, burning white-hot. Gasps rippled through the nearby ranks. Shuffling boots echoed in the distance. Through the gray static closing over my sight, I heard Bryce’s voice. "Hallie! What are you doing?" He didn't ask if I was hurt. He asked what I was "doing". I forced my eyelids open a fraction. Bryce was striding toward me, but he stopped a full step away. His arms crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowed in disgust. "Are you seriously throwing a tantrum on the track just to get back at Savannah? You think playing dead is going to guilt-trip us?" "Playing dead." Jordan caught up, instinctively shifting his body to block Savannah from the sight. "Hallie, drop the act," Jordan barked. "Savannah has anxiety about medical stuff. Look at her—she’s shaking because of you." I looked at them. The boy who had promised to protect me before we even started grade school. The boy who had spent three years claiming he loved me. Their eyes didn't hold a single flicker of concern for the girl bleeding on the asphalt. Their eyes were fixed entirely on the girl in the white dress who hadn't even broken a sweat. I parted my dry lips, trying to tell them I couldn't breathe. All that escaped was a sickening, dry rattle. The light snapped off. Darkness rushed in. Right before the void swallowed me, a furious, unfamiliar female voice tore through the air: "Are you two blind or just braindead?! Listen to her chest! She's having an acute respiratory attack! She’s suffocating to death!" 3 The sterile, bitter smell of rubbing alcohol was the first thing that brought me back. I opened my eyes to the blank ceiling of the campus health center. An IV catheter was taped to the back of my left hand, pumping cold saline into my vein. "Hey. You’re finally awake." A crisp voice came from my right. I turned my head. A girl with a sharp, chin-length bob and a training jersey sat beside the bed, damp hair plastered to her temples. It was the voice from the track. "I’m Piper," she said, reaching over to adjust a plastic cup of ice water with a bent straw, bringing it to my lips. "Take tiny sips. The attending doctor said your oxygen levels dipped below eighty percent. If we’d waited another five minutes, your brain would have started taking damage." I took a weak sip, my raw throat protesting the swallow. "Thank you." "Don't thank me," Piper said, pulling her chair closer. Her expression curdled into pure irritation. "Those two guys out there... who the hell were they?" I stared down at the thin hospital sheet. "One’s my brother. The other’s my boyfriend." Piper slapped her own thigh so hard the metal bedframe vibrated. "I knew it!" she hissed, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling. "When you collapsed, those two absolute clowns didn't even check your pulse! They literally yelled at you for 'traumatizing' their precious little friend in the sundress!" Her chest heaved with residual anger. "I swear, I wanted to clock both of them. Two drill instructors and I had to lift you onto the stretcher ourselves." A bitter, quiet smile touched my lips. Of course they had. Savannah came first. She always came first. My phone buzzed against the bedside table. I picked it up. A message from Bryce: "Hallie, if you’re awake, text me back. The staff said you were taken to the clinic. Look, whatever point you were trying to make, this has gone too far. Savannah had an anxiety attack watching you collapse and she’s lying down in the dorm with chest pains now. Can you grow up for once? Stop pulling these melodramatic stunts for attention." "Stunts for attention." I stared at the letters until they blurred. I had nearly died on the asphalt, and he genuinely believed I had engineered respiratory failure just to steal the spotlight from Savannah. Piper leaned over, caught sight of the text, and let out a string of curses so foul it could have stripped paint. "Is his brain made of literal sewage?" She snatched the phone right out of my hand. "If your fingers are too weak to type, let me write back. I’ll make him cry." "Don't bother," I said softly, reaching over to take the device back. I hit the side button and locked the display. "It won't change anything." You can't wake someone who is only pretending to sleep. And you can't reason with someone whose conscience belongs to someone else. "Hey," Piper lowered her voice, leaning in. "That girl... Savannah. Did she steal something of yours?" I paused. "How do you know that?" "The head trainer came in earlier to check your history. He looked through the university database and told the staff you never filed a waiver." Piper smirked, though there was venom behind it. "The coordinator went back to his desk to cross-check the physical forms. I was walking past the faculty wing after grabbing ice and heard him arguing on the phone." "Cross-checking?" "Yeah. The waiver in Savannah's file? The name typed into the clearance block was "Hallie Dominic". Someone had sloppily crossed it out with white-out and scribbled Savannah's name over it." I closed my eyes. Freshman year, the student union distributed one front-row pass per department for the annual showcase. Because I was class representative, the faculty director gave it to me. I had saved it, telling Bryce I wanted to take him. On the night of the performance, I stood outside the glass doors in the freezing December wind for two hours. Bryce didn't show. Jordan didn't show. Later that night, Savannah posted a grid of photos on Instagram. She was seated dead center in the VIP row, Jordan on her left, Bryce on her right. Her caption: "Protected by my two personal bodyguards tonight! Best seats in the house." When I confronted them the next morning, Jordan hadn't even blinked. "Savannah’s petite, Hallie. She can’t see over the crowd from the bleachers. You’re tall—you could see the screen from the back row anyway." And Bryce had simply shrugged. "It was freezing outside, so we went in early. We thought you got busy with homework." Neither of them had sent a single text. "Piper," I said, opening my eyes. "Can you do me a favor?" "Name it. If it involves burning those three to the ground, I’m your girl." "Go to the administrative office and get me a high-res photocopy of that altered waiver form. And while you’re there... pick up an emergency dorm transfer application." Piper’s eyes flashed with fierce approval. "You’re moving out?" "Yes." "Hell yes! Our suite in South Tower has an empty bunk because a girl transferred out last week. You’re moving in with us." She took off down the corridor like a whirlwind. I leaned my head against the plastic pillow, watching the late-afternoon sun cut across the floorboards. It was time to settle the debt. By three o'clock, the saline bag was empty. The attending physician cleared me to leave with a strict warning to rest and avoid any physical exertion for forty-eight hours. I thanked the staff, tucked the folder containing Piper's photocopies into my bag, and walked out into the heat. The walk across campus wasn't long, but my steps were deliberate. Every stride felt like I was tracing the borders of the last three years of my life—measuring every single compromise I had ever made. When I pushed open the door to our shared suite, the apartment was bustling. "Jordan, this wood-fired margherita pizza is incredible! The burrata is so fresh!" "If you like it, I'll order from that bistro every single night." "Bryce, don't take my garlic knots!" "Take them, take them. Everything's yours." The three of them were huddled around Savannah’s coffee table, laughing over containers of expensive Italian takeout from downtown. The chatter died the instant the latch clicked shut. Jordan set down his paper plate, grabbed a napkin, and wiped his fingers. He turned around, his brow furrowed with annoyance. "Look who decided to show up." 4 The air in the living room thinned out instantly. Jordan leaned back on the sofa, tossing the crumpled napkin onto the table. "Where have you been? The training staff called my phone twice saying you disappeared from the clinic. Everyone’s looking for you." There wasn't a trace of relief in his voice. Just irritation that his afternoon had been interrupted. Bryce stood up, stepping across the rug toward me with an open hand. "Hallie, come on. If you’re done with the theatrics, come sit down. Savannah saved you some of that stuffed focaccia you like." "Saved for me." The grease-stained cardboard box sat crushed beneath three empty San Pellegrino cans, the crust cold and soaked in spilled balsamic glaze. I stepped back, keeping my hands at my sides. "I'm not hungry." Savannah nibbled on a breadstick, gazing at me with wide, damp eyes. "Hallie... are you still mad at me for not running over to help you on the track? I swear I wanted to, but I was so shocked my knees gave out..." "Save it," I said flatly. I walked past them to my bedroom door, pushed it wide, and grabbed my heavy canvas duffel from the closet floor. Without pausing, I began pulling my clothes off the hangers and shoving them inside. Textbooks. Sketchpads. My laptop charger. Jordan marched into the doorway, his voice rising. "What do you think you're doing? Where are you taking that stuff?" "I’m moving," I said, not bothering to turn around. "Moving?" Bryce stepped up beside him, his hand darting out to pin down the fleece jacket I was folding. "Hallie, stop this. What kind of tantrum is this now? Over a training session? Are you seriously doing all this over a little field drill?" "A little field drill." To them, my near-death was just another item on the list of things I was overreacting to. "Take your hand off my clothes," I said. My voice wasn't loud, but the frost in it made Bryce freeze. He had never heard that tone from me before. He instinctively pulled his fingers back. I zipped the duffel with a sharp tug. Then, I walked to the desk, pulled open the center drawer, and scooped out the contents in one clean sweep. A silver Tiffany pendant—the one Jordan had tossed onto my bed last Christmas like an afterthought. A worn leather cardholder Bryce had bought me during our freshman year. I threw them onto the coffee table. The metal clattered against the takeout containers. "Everything you gave me," I said. "Keep it." Jordan bolted up from the sofa. "Hallie, have you lost your goddamn mind?!" "No," I replied, pulling the folded photocopy from my back pocket and slapping it down hard on the glass table. "Savannah, care to explain whose signature is under the white-out on this exemption form?" Savannah’s face drained of color the second her eyes landed on the paper. She shrank back, instinctively ducking behind Jordan’s shoulder. "I... I don't know what you mean... that’s what the registrar gave me..." "You don't know?" I let out a dry, humorless laugh. "The athletic director confirmed it ten minutes ago. That exemption was coded to my student ID. It had my full legal name on it until you stole it from my drawer and doctored it." Jordan stepped in front of Savannah like a shield. "I told her to use it. So what?" He glared at me, his chest puffed out with arrogant authority. "Savannah’s frail. Your paper was just sitting there collecting dust. What kind of petty monster runs to the administration to file a formal complaint over a sheet of paper?" "A sheet of paper." "Jordan," I looked directly into his eyes, "do you know why I hit the turf today?" He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. "I went into severe anaphylactoid bronchospasm," I said, each word landing like a lead weight. "The attending physician told the director that if the medics had arrived five minutes later, you would have been identifying my body in the university morgue." Jordan’s pupils contracted. He parted his lips, a sudden flicker of shock breaking through his anger. Before he could speak, Savannah’s fingers caught the sleeve of his polo shirt. A fat tear rolled down her cheek. "Jordan, I’m so sorry... it’s all my fault. I never should have touched Hallie's paperwork. I’ll go to the dean right now. I’ll take the disciplinary strike... I don't want to ruin everything..." She made a dramatic move toward the hallway, as if she were marching to the gallows. Bryce caught her elbow instantly. "Savvy, stop! Don't be reckless." He spun back toward me, his face twisted in profound disgust. "Hallie, look at what you’ve become. Completely vindictive. She apologized! Do you really have to destroy her life just to satisfy your own ego?" "Vindictive." I was the one who had nearly suffocated, and I was the one destroying lives. "Think whatever you want," I said, hoisting the duffel onto my shoulder and dragging my hard-shell suitcase behind me. "Starting right now, I don't know any of you." "Hallie Dominic!" Jordan roared down the corridor as I crossed the threshold. "If you walk out that door, don't you ever dare call me your brother again!" He thought that would break me. He thought the threat of his rejection would make me crawl back on my hands and knees, just like it always had. I paused at the door, but I didn't look back. "Deal," I said. I pulled the door shut behind me. The late-afternoon breeze sweeping down the open breezeway was hot and sticky, but as it hit my face, my chest felt lighter than it had in three years.