Ah, at least her fiery spirit is still alive and well.
“Right, coming in,” I say.
“You really don’t have to,” she grumbles, but I ignore her, slamming my shoulder against the door. It only takes one swift blow for the bolts to come undone, allowing me inside.
Dark, frizzy waves fall around her shoulders, her brows furrowed, and her complexion sallow. She looks ten times worse than she did this morning, and it has my mind in shambles. The sight brings me right back to all the times I held Mum’s hair when she puked after chemo, or when she couldn’t get out of bed for days and I had to get the girls to school and daycare while wrangling Nan back inside when she forgot herself.
I crouch down beside her, lowering my voice. “I know you don’t like being touched, but I’d like to hold your hair out of the way. Is that okay?”
She dips her chin. Her body is unforgiving, her cheeks bloating with the need to continue what her stomach started. I gather her hair, holding it out of the way.
We stay like that for a while until she has nothing left to release, and she slumps against the grimy blue-and-white tiled floor. I stand, gathering paper towels, both wet and dry, then squat beside her again. She lifts her head to look at me, dark smudges beneath her gorgeous cinnamon eyes. I could get lost in them if she’d let me, though Mum says I’ve always had a way of romanticising everything. Maybe this is what she means.
I clean her face, patting her mouth dry. Her shoulders tense and her brows pinch, but she doesn’t make any move to stop me, allowing me this small moment to care for her. Whether she knows it or not, I need this more than she does. For me, it isn’tsmall. It’s monumental because she’s showing me, in her own way, that she trusts me. Even if only for the moment.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
I’m broken.
My parents taught me from the youngest age they could that I’m strong. I’m capable and can accomplish absolutely anything I set my mind to.
What they hadn’t taught me was how much that mindset could hurt me when Ishouldbe relying on others.
And now, on the mud-covered floor of the loo, my throat constricts as I hold back a sob. Hot tears burn the backs of my eyes, and saliva pools in my mouth.I am a broken mess who just wants her mummy.
Instead, I have this infuriatingly handsome man trying to coddle me, andI’m letting him.
But this needs to stop now because he can’t see how bad things really are. He can’t know because if he does, my friendswill be next, and I’ll have them putting their dreams on hold to take care of me, and that is the last thing I want.
The thought sobers me. My shoulders pull back as I draw in a shaky breath.
“I’m sorry you had to see that, but thank you for your help. I’ll get out of here and be on my way so I can rest.”
His head tilts, sharp jaw flexing as he grinds his molars together, and the soft ends of his sweaty blond strands flopping over his forehead.
Those green eyes bore into me, as if reading my thoughts, his sudden silence unnerving. “I’m not sure what’s going on with you, but?—”
“I must have a virus or something. I’d better get going so you don’t wind up with it too,” I say, trying to push myself up again.
His large, calloused hands land on my shoulders, dragging my attention back to him. “Adhira, you don’t have to tell me what’s going on?—”
“You’re right, I don’t. But, like I said, it’s just avirus.” The words come out far too defensively to ring true, and I’m grasping at straws in an effort to keep reality hidden from this inquisitive man.
He rolls his eyes—an uncharacteristic thing for him to do. The loss of his warmth leaves an ache I can’t explain as he drops his hands from my shoulders.
“Will you stop and let me speak?” he asks, dragging a hand down his face as he releases a frustrated groan. I peer up at him with wide eyes, my brows climbing my forehead. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that, butpleaselet me say this, okay?” he pleads, his eyes swirling with desperation, imploring me to hear him out.
Some of my fight-or-flight dissipates, my lips sealing shut at his request.
“It’s your choice if you don’t want to share with me, but I get the sense you’re not being honest with me, maybe not even with yourself, and Iwantto be here for you. I’ve been losing sleep worrying about you because all I can hear when I go to check on you is the sound of you emptying your guts on the other side of your door.” He creates the mostendearing—and not at all disgusting—mental image for me.
A flatmate with an eye for detail was the last thing I’d hoped for. Someone too perceptive, too curious, who might unravel the secrets I’m desperate to keep hidden. It’s the worst combination of attributes I can think of.
“If you’re afraid I’ll tell your friends, I have no interest in doing so. But if you decide you don’t want to go through this alone, whateverthisis,” he says, waving a hand from my head to my toes as if that’s explanation enough, and unfortunately,it is.“I just want to be here for you, however you need me. Your secret is safe with me,” he promises.
His words are even and genuine, and God, I want to believe him and give in to this need to have someone,anyone,to lean on. My shoulders begin to relax, but the moment he utters his next words, my hackles rise. If I could, I’d be scrambling to flee from my place rooted to the floor.
