leave the room without answering the question, go about making her breakfast and slip the plate onto her bedside table while she’s in the shower.
I drop some fresh clothes on her bed, casual stuff I’d asked Lincoln to buy and bring over.
And with my warden duties done, I leave the room, lock the door and pace my penthouse with my hands tucked in my pockets, my chest bare because I didn’t bother with a shirt this morning, and my eyes studying all the crap I have in this place that makes it a serious fucking problem.
It only angers me because I realize Grant is the sole reason I’m stuck in this position, which means we’re back to the butter knife idea. Maybe a potato peeler.
Stopping in front of the window, I stare out at a city that is alive with worry for a woman who’s being cared for better than her husband ever did. Who’s being coddled. Who’s being allowed to remain the fucking victim she’s become over the past year, and I hate myself for continuing to allow it.
Something has to give.
She has to be taught to fight again.
She has to be reminded of who she is.
I turn at that thought, my gaze tracing over the truth of the past seven years. A timeline that shows who Adeline has always been.
The day passes without incident, and after the sun sets, the night dragging on in an endless repetition, Adeline begins her usual fight.
I hear her screaming from the other room. It’s always like she’s talking to someone. That damn shadow maybe. Or me.
Pulling on a black t-shirt over the loose pants I’m wearing, I let myself into her room to witness her struggle against nothing, against the dark, against herself.
After a week, the withdrawal from the drugs should be complete, so I know this isn’t simply her body’s reaction.
This is her.
The problems she has.
The abnormality of a mind that gets lost between sleep and being awake. That sees dreams and nightmares while conscious of what they’re doing to her.
I take my usual spot against the wall across the room from her, my arms crossed, my shoulders tense. Her torture is mine. Her pain. Her loss.
And while I’ve researched her condition, I still find it hard to believe there’s nothing that can be done to cure it.
Every night drives me a little closer to insanity’s edge.
Every tear she sheds.
Every noise that crawls up her throat, giving me no choice but to listen.
Adeline sits up with eyes open that see nothing but what her mind conjures. Not the room. Not me.
It’s fucking weird. I won’t lie about that. But it’s her. The little monster.
When she slowly turns, I know she’s about to climb out of bed again.
Stepping forward, I move to guide her back. She stops as soon as I’m in front of her. So close, but not touching, just like the first time we found ourselves here separated by nothing but glass.
She inches closer while I stand still, her face to my chest, her eyes unblinking.
But then she breathes me in, her body sways, and my hands move to her shoulders to steady her as she reaches up to fist her fingers in my shirt.
“Ari...”
My hands release her shoulders but don’t move away. Just hover there on the sides as I tip my head down to look at her face.
Adeline is still sleeping as she presses against me, her fingers bunching my shirt more, her body heat combining with mine in a way I haven’t let happen in so damn long.
I know I can’t trust myself near her. Not like this. Not when the fight for self-control would be a losing one. Not when she’s wearing nothing but a thin t-shirt that falls to mid-thigh.
My hands lock over her shoulders again as I lead her to bed, lay her down, then attempt to stand up when her mouth opens with a sound of complaint and her hand fists in my shirt more.
Leaning over her, I plant my palms on the mattress on either side of her, let her pull my body down until our mouths are hovering a teasing inch apart.
She’s asleep.
She doesn’t know I’m here.
When her lips part on a whispered please, I forget the world has rules.
I may have a conscience when it comes to Adeline, but my sense of morality has always been skewed.
When she touches me like this, so innocent and ignorant of the shadow that looms over her, I don’t see what’s wrong in taking