know how to breathe. I’ve realized I’ll probably never exhale in his presence.
“You don’t need to scream anymore,” he whispers.
Every breath in my body escapes me.
I curl my fingers around the possibility of Adam in my hand and sleep more soundly than I have in my life.
My eyes are 2 windows cracked open by the chaos in this world.
A cool breeze startles my skin and I sit up, rub the sleep from my eyes, and realize Adam is no longer beside me. I blink and crawl back up to the bed, where I replace the pillow and the blanket.
I glance at the door and wonder what’s waiting for me on the other side.
I glance at the window and wonder if I’ll ever see a bird fly by.
I glance at the clock on the wall and wonder what it means to be living according to numbers again. I wonder what 6:30 in the morning means in this building.
I decide to wash my face. The idea exhilarates me and I’m a little ashamed.
I open the bathroom door and catch Adam’s reflection in the mirror. His fast hands pull his shirt down before I have a chance to latch on to details but I saw enough to see what I couldn’t see in the darkness.
He’s covered in bruises.
My legs feel broken. I don’t know how to help him. I wish I could help him.
“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I didn’t know you were awake.” He tugs on the bottom of his shirt like it’s not long enough to pretend I’m blind.
I nod at nothing at all. I look at the tile under my feet. I don’t know what to say.
“Juliette.” His voice hugs the letters in my name so softly I die 5 times in that second. His face is a forest of emotion. He shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he says, so quietly I’m certain I imagined it. “It’s not . . .” He clenches his jaw and runs 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
“You don’t need to scream anymore,” he whispers.
Every breath in my body escapes me.
I curl my fingers around the possibility of Adam in my hand and sleep more soundly than I have in my life.
My eyes are 2 windows cracked open by the chaos in this world.
A cool breeze startles my skin and I sit up, rub the sleep from my eyes, and realize Adam is no longer beside me. I blink and crawl back up to the bed, where I replace the pillow and the blanket.
I glance at the door and wonder what’s waiting for me on the other side.
I glance at the window and wonder if I’ll ever see a bird fly by.
I glance at the clock on the wall and wonder what it means to be living according to numbers again. I wonder what 6:30 in the morning means in this building.
I decide to wash my face. The idea exhilarates me and I’m a little ashamed.
I open the bathroom door and catch Adam’s reflection in the mirror. His fast hands pull his shirt down before I have a chance to latch on to details but I saw enough to see what I couldn’t see in the darkness.
He’s covered in bruises.
My legs feel broken. I don’t know how to help him. I wish I could help him.
“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I didn’t know you were awake.” He tugs on the bottom of his shirt like it’s not long enough to pretend I’m blind.
I nod at nothing at all. I look at the tile under my feet. I don’t know what to say.
“Juliette.” His voice hugs the letters in my name so softly I die 5 times in that second. His face is a forest of emotion. He shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he says, so quietly I’m certain I imagined it. “It’s not . . .” He clenches his jaw and runs 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
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