I stare at the space between my feet where they are toe to toe with his socks, and nod, leaning forward a fraction.
He huffs a laugh, wrapping his arms awkwardly around the hunched over form of me. I stay that way with him, letting him hug my hunch, and tuck myself into the hollow cavity of his chest. There’s warmth there, and space. Strength that’s a comfort, rather than a threat.
Protection. An offer, and an acceptance. I inhale all of him until my confusion clears and my lower back strains a little. Then I nod, and he lets go.
“Better?” Hendrick doesn't move any farther, waiting on me. I turn my empty tea cup about in a circle, tired of nodding. He seems to get it. “When did it start, Adora? The threats.”
Which ones?I’ve always received them. But only one person knows that, and it’s too long a tale to tell right now. Hendrick needs this information, what got him hurt. I roll my lips infrared, biting down on the soft flesh until pain shoots across my lip. Even then, it’s not enough to push back what I’ve been ignoring.
The guilt.
It should have been me last night. Not you.
That was never the agreement.
“Athena said you would look after me. I didn't me for—” I run out of breath as the vision of him blurs before me.
Hendrick’s cup creaks between his hands. For a moment I wonder if the fragile China will shatter into pieces. But he leans back, digging a tire out of his pocket and holds it in his open palm. Not touching me, just offering. As though he recognizes that today comes with limits that we refused to acknowledge last night.
“Thank you.” I take the tissue, clenching it in my hands, but don’t use it. Saving it.
“You’re getting better at this." Whether he means talking or dealing with my panic isn’t clear.
“I’m–” I stop, but it’s by choice. Taking space rather than having breath stolen from me. “The first time a break in happened at my studio, just after I finished for the day.”
My throat aches, but I’m going to push through.
“Good. When?”
“Three months ago.”
Lie.It was three weeks. But the first threats have been coming for years. Different fans with different obsessions. My career spans nearly a decade, since I was fifteen. Athena and I agreed on an extended timeline in order to show that this isn’t a quick, fly by night fan so the new bodyguard would take us seriously. Of course, that was before anyone got shot. My gaze locks onto his shoulder.
Because of me.
“I’m okay, Adora. Let’s focus on you, alright?”
My breaths come faster. Tissue confetti decorates my lap.
Hendrick’s mouth tightens. “I brought more if you need them.” His voice is at odds with the harsh line of his face, but I don't mind that. His face, I mean. Something about that hardness in him is…comforting.
I release a longer breath and some of my tension slips away. “I’m sorry. About last night.”
“You did well. Most celebrities are a howling mess, especially without their entourage present.” The way he says it, his mouth lingering on the bitter words, tells me he expected a diva.
Isn’t that exactly what the sheet promised?It’s certainly who was designed. A persona to keep the world at bay.
Instead, it’s attracted media hoards and obsessed fans I never wanted. Not that I’m not grateful. I make a living—an excessive one—from those fans who buy my music with a ravenous energy. They spend thousands of dollars on tickets at halls all over the world. I play with Europe's most incredible orchestras and conductors.
And at the end of it all, I lock myself away in a room, surrounded by people who primp and dress me like a doll. Like Hendrick did last night, putting his coat on me. Only he dressed me, touched me, with more care than I’ve experienced in years.
My hollow life.
“And after the first incursion?” Hendrick brings me back.
“My ho–home.” I raise my chin and meet his eyes head on.
He stops taking notes, and watches me instead. “Tell me.”
