Page 36 of Loathe Me (Touch of Death 1)
And now, it’s been an entire day where she hasn’t left her room. I’d be lying to myself if I pretended I wasn’t concerned. Pushing to my feet, I walk down the hallway to her room and pause outside the door. For a moment I just listen. Nothing. I rap one knuckle over the rustic wood. Silence greets me.
Turning the handle, I push open the door. The room is dark but for the moonlight that streams through the open balcony doors. I’ve told her to keep the windows and doors shut, and I grind my teeth at the sight of her blatant disregard. The light touches the form of her body where she lies on the bed. Her back is to the door, as she huddles in a ball.
“What do you want, Sasha?” she eventually asks, her voice small and quiet.
“You haven’t eaten.” I’m met with more silence. “You need to eat, Adelina.” I step into the room and round the bed, flipping on the lamp. She winces against the sudden burst of light.
“Just leave me alone. I don’t want anything from you.”
“I am contracted to protect you, regardless of your feelings on the matter.”
She huffs a laugh, and the sound has a bitter taste falling from her lips. “We don’t need to speak. Get out.”
“Adelina—”
She leaps from the bed and plants her hands against my chest, shoving me backward. “Get out!” Her fists clench, and she visibly shakes. Something feral and untamed flashes in her eyes just before she lashes out. “You knew! You knew he was dead, and you said nothing!” She sucks in a staggered breath; tears well and spill down her cheeks.
I don’t know what to say. On a ragged growl, she slams her hands against me again, and again until her palms become fists. She unleashes all her bottled rage, and I let her. She continues to cry, broken sobs erupt from her chest like a wounded animal. “Fuck you, Sasha!”
I see her palm coming long before it collides with my cheek. I fight the reflexive instinct to stop her. Every muscle in my body locks down as the slap echoes off the walls. A low-level sting radiates over my cheek, and I release a slow breath, forcing myself to remain calm.
“What kind of monster does something like that?” she whispers.
She has no idea. I will protect her, but I’m not a hero. I’m the monster in this story. I always have been.
“Gabriella requested that I do not divulge your father’s death.”
She shakes her head, and all the fight seems to drain from her at once. I’m almost disappointed to see it leave. Her shoulders sag, and her pain becomes visceral, tainting the air around us. A sense of pity creeps through my layers of hardened indifference. Her face crumples, and a choked sound slips past her lips. She slams a hand over her mouth and just…breaks. It’s like the glue that holds her together hardens and cracks, and like shattered glass, she just disintegrates.
I don’t know how or why, but one moment we’re standing, me paying witness to her destruction, and in the next, her face is pressed to my chest, and my arms surround her. I frown at the tiny girl pressed against me. I wait, expecting instinct to slam into me at any moment, but it doesn’t happen. I’m thrown off kilter, witnessing such vulnerability from another human. There’s something…fascinating about it, and yet troubling at the same time. I don’t know how to react.
“I am sorry, Adelina.”
She cries harder, her fingers clutching at my shirt.
We stand like that for long minutes before I maneuver her to the bed and prop my back against the headboard. I lift my hand, hesitating before stroking it over her back the way I’ve seen Una do to Dante when he’s upset. My scarred, calloused hand looks so out of place against the shiny, deep chocolate of her hair. I’m confused, unsure, and uncomfortable, but over the next few hours, I relax. I don’t have much choice. Her sobs go on forever until I’m sure she must be deprived of oxygen. Her tears have long since soaked through my shirt and now wet the skin of my chest. Somehow, she seems to need this…me, though I do nothing. It’s strange to see her weakness so openly displayed. Through my confusion, I start to feel something with startling clarity; guilt. I did this to her. She’s in pain because of me, and with that realization, I do something I’ve never done before—I think about the people I’ve killed. I wonder if they have an Adelina at home, someone breaking in their absence, mourning their loss with a torrent of tears and anguish. I shove the thought away before it can take hold.
Adelina finally falls into a fitful sleep. I try to move, but every time I attempt to shift away, she stirs, clutching my shirt as though I’m a life raft on a stormy sea. So I remain awake, terrified to sleep with her touching me—I don’t trust myself not to hurt her. The sun just starts to rise, painting the sky a dull gray. I glance down at Adelina, her face sad, even in sleep. Long lashes sweep over her cheeks, and a line sinks between her brows.
