Page 19 of Reclaim

Sliding each arm in, I try and fix the way it sits as best I can without a mirror.

“Here, let me do it.”

Directly in front of one another, her breath mingles with mine, speaking their own language of anxiety and anticipation. She folds over the collar and straightens out the material. Her fingertips graze my skin and I forget how to breathe.

“Are you okay?” she whispers.

Like an idiot, I nod, again. Hands circle my biceps and make their way down to the cuff of the shirt. Slowly she rolls the sleeve up to my elbows and moves to the other one.

The motions are simple, things that people take for granted daily. But between Emerson and I it’s intimate.

Monumental.

With every touch, I feel the scars of my isolation come to the surface and the tangible fear of not being able to survive beyond these four walls.

“What are you doing here?” I say, finding my voice.

Pulling back, she finally has the courage to look at me. Her gaze strokes my skin, and for the first time her desire is unreserved and obvious. “I wasn’t going to miss watching you walk out of here.”

“I don’t think I can do this," I confess.

Holding her hand up in the air, she looks at me expectantly. I mimic her actions and let my palm touch hers. She takes it as an invitation to slip her fingers through mine.

I squeeze her hand, like she might disappear in any moment. Holding my gaze, she squeezes it right back. “You’ve got this, Jagger. Life’s waiting for you to live it.”

“I’ve got this,” I repeat.

“Ready?”

“As, I’ll ever be.”

She unlatches her hand from mine, and the separation is poignant and painful.

“Let’s go.”

Professional mask on, she walks outside unaffected, the switch unnerving. I follow her through a door that leads us to an office with an older lady sitting behind a desk lined with what looks like a million papers.

“Hello, Mr. Michaels.”

“Hi.”

“If you could take a seat.”

I do as she asks, and she turns all the papers to face me. She hands me a pen. “Now, please read through all these papers and then sign when required. Once that’s all done, I will make you a copy, and you, young man, are free to go.”

Free. Free. Free.

The word is on repeat in my head as I scour every line. I leave no page unturned, no paragraph unread. I sign my name six times, and with each scrape of the pen, the little voice inside my head gets somewhat louder.

Get ready Jagger, you’re going home.

7

Jagger

As soon as we walk out of the room, I stall. Looking from left to right, I take in the empty space, not sure where to walk or what to do. Like an apparition, Emerson comes out of nowhere and stands beside me. “Hendrix will be here in a minute. He just had to make a detour on the way.”

“You spoke to him?”

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