Page 107 of Reclaiming Adelaide

I braced my hand against the side of the tile as I bent over. Tears spilled from my eyes as if someone had turned the dial on full blast, my chest battling to contain the explosion inside of me.

Would this pain ever end? They say grief gets better over time, but how was that possible? I’d never speak to them again, hear their voice, or feel their loving arms wrap around me when I came upstairs.

How could I face their coffins, knowing I was why they were there? My knees buckled, and I collapsed to the chilly tiled floor as shivers wracked my body.

I couldn’t do this.

The air in my chest stuck in my throat, suffocating me until spots burned my vision. The space between my shoulder blades pinched like a knife twisting back and forth without reason—just because it could.

I drew my knees to my chest and hid my face as I wrapped my arms around my legs, holding them close as I wept. Soon the lack of oxygen would have me sinking into the darkness, and I could avoid all of this.

Footsteps drew near. The canter of his step, the scuff of his heel at the end of his second step was a dead giveaway, but still, I wept, hiding my face from view, my ankles crossed at my butt, my knees held tight.

Please don’t force me to do this.

“Adelaide. Sweets.” His soft, sympathetic tone had my shoulders shaking harder. “Come on.”

Jake turned off the icy water that had numbed my skin and chilled me to the core, depriving me of the much-needed emptiness that would get me through the day.

His fingertips wrapped around the backs of my upper arms as he hauled me to my feet and lifted me out of the walk-in shower. Grabbing a towel from the hook, he wrapped the plush material around me and rubbed me dry while I stared at the expensive flooring.

“I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

I nodded as the words caught in my throat as my breath did moments ago, only now my body betrayed me by not giving me the one thing I could use… unconsciousness.

It forced me to face my deepest fear, regret, anguish, and sadness. This was too much for a nineteen-year-old to handle.

Jake tossed the towel after having dried my pliant body, then pulled the dress over my head and down my hips without underwear or bra. Not that I needed either. The dress held my breasts in place, and it’s not like anyone would know I didn’t have panties on.

He pulled my hair out from the back of the dress, letting the wet stringy strands hang around my shoulders.

“You look beautiful.”

A small twitch lifted my lips—hollow and without substance.

He drew me out of the bathroom, a comb in hand, and sat me on the bed.

Jake sat behind me, running the comb down my hair with slow and precise downward motions, careful not to tug on my scalp. I’d welcome that pain. It might even send a twinge between my legs, which I’d also welcome.

Once he finished combing through my long splotchy black locks, his fingers brushed against my scalp from the top of my skull, taking turns on each side of my head until he was down to the very end. He tied off my hair, preventing it from unraveling.

“Where did you learn to French braid?”

Jake ran his hand down the plait, then finished with his fingertips against my spine until they fell away at the mattress. Shivers raced across my flesh.

“I had to learn when Becca became my responsibility.”

“How old were you when your parents died?” I cleared my throat, the squeeze tight like a noose.

“Fifteen.”

I hung my head. “When did it not hurt anymore?”

Jake exhaled and pulled me into him. “I never had the opportunity to grieve for my parents. Becca and I didn’t have anyone, and I wasn’t about to get separated in foster care.” He ran his knuckle down my cheek before grabbing a heel from the floor. He placed my foot inside the nude heel, then braced it on his black suit slacks.

I’d been so busy inside myself that I hadn’t noticed his suit. Black shirt, tie, jacket, and slacks. The only thing out of place was the shine of his black dress shoes.

“So, what did you do?”

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