a nervous hand through his hair. “All of this—it’s not—”
I open my palm to him. The paper is a crumpled wad of possibility. “I know.”
Relief washes over every feature on his face and suddenly his eyes are the only reassurance I’ll ever need. Adam did not betray me. I don’t know why or how or what or anything at all except that he is still my friend.
He is still standing right in front of me and he doesn’t want me to die.
I step forward and close the door.
I open my mouth to speak.
“No!”
My jaw falls off.
“Wait,” he says with one hand. His lips move but make no sound. I realize in the absence of cameras there might still be microphones in the bathroom. Adam looks around and back and forth and everywhere.
He stops looking.
The shower is 4 walls of marbled glass and he’s sliding the glass open before I have any idea what’s happening. He flips the spray on at full power and the sound of water is rushing through, rumbling through the room, muffling everything as it thunders into the emptiness around us. The mirror is already fogging up on account of the steam and just as I think I’m beginning to understand his plan he pulls me into his arms and lifts me into the shower.
My screams are vapor, wisps of gasps I can’t grasp.
Hot water is puddling in my clothes. It’s pelting my hair and pouring down my neck but all I feel are his hands around my waist. I want to cry out for all the wrong reasons.
His eyes pin me in place. His urgency ignites my bones. Rivulets of water snake their way down the polished planes of his face and his fingers press me up against the wall.
His lips his lips his lips his lips his lips
My eyes are fighting not to flutter
My legs have won the right to tremble
My skin is scorched everywhere he’s not touching me.
His lips are so close to my ear I’m water and nothing and everything and melting into a wanting so desperate it burns as I swallow it down.
“I can touch you,” he says, and I wonder why there are hummingbirds in my heart. “I didn’t understand until the other night,” he murmurs, and I’m too drunk to digest the weight of anything but his body hovering so close to mine.
“Juliette—” His body presses closer and I realize I’m paying attention to nothing but the dandelions blowing wishes in my lungs. My eyes snap open and he licks his bottom lip for the smallest second and something in my brain bursts to life.
I gasp. I gasp. I gasp. “What are you doing—”
“Juliette, please—” His voice is anxious and he glances behind him like he’s not sure we’re alone. “The other night—” He presses his lips together. He closes his eyes for half of a second and I marvel at the drop drop drops of hot water caught in his eyelashes like pearls forged from pain. His fingers inch up the sides of my body like he’s struggling to keep them in one place, like he’s struggling not to touch me everywhere everywhere everywhere and his eyes are drinking in the 63 inches of my frame and I’m so I’m so I’m so
caught.
“I finally get it now,” he says into my ear. “I know— I know why Warner wants you.” His fingertips are 10 points of electricity killing me with something I’ve never known before. Something I’ve always wanted to feel.
“Then why are you here?” I whisper, broken, dying in his arms. “Why . . .” 1, 2 attempts at inhalation. “Why are you touching me?”
“Because I can.” He almost cracks a smile and I almost sprout a pair of wings. “I already have.”
“What?” I blink, suddenly sobered. “What do you mean?”
“That first night in the cell,” he sighs. He looks down. “You were screaming in your sleep.”
I wait.
I wait.
I wait forever.
“I touched your face.” He speaks into the shape of my ear. “Your hand. I brushed the length of your arm. . . .” He pulls back and his eyes rest at my shoulder, trail down to my elbow, land on my wrist. I’m suspended in disbelief. “I didn’t know how to wake you up. You wouldn’t wake up. So I sat back and watched you. I waited for you to stop screaming.”
“That’s. Not. Possible.” 3 words are all I manage.
But his hands become arms around my waist his lips become a cheek pressed against my cheek and