CHAPTER FOUR #2
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.”
I shrug. “I was home.”
“Alone?” he cuts in, sharp.
“Yes.”
“What time?”
“Ten.”
“In the evening?”
A nod. No hesitation. I know this part of the story. I’ve had to tell it many times.
“I finished my dinner. I got up to push my bowl away. When I stood up, he was there. A hood over his face.” My voice thins. This time, it’s my empty cup that creaks.
Hendrick rises. His hand grips my shoulder then drops to liberate my tea cup. The fight isn’t worth it, and I let him have it. “I’ll refill it for you. Tell me what he did.”
I stare at my empty hands. “Nothing.” He walks away. “The first time.”
The hitch in Hendrick’s step is telling. That wasn’t in the file. I’m off script now.
“The first time, he stood there. Did nothing.” I cough. The tea cup reappears, filled with hot fluids. I smile my thanks, though I know my lips don't really move that much.
“And the second time?”
I warm my hands on the cup. “The lock was broken. After a performance. Windows smashed. My music was everywhere. And my mirrors shattered.”
“Anything taken?”
I shake my head. “Not that I know about.”
He stays still. Too still.
“Hendrick?” Our roles are reversed. Now it’s me asking the questions. Hot liquid scalds my sore throat as I drink. He’s right. Pain is an excellent distraction.
“Where do you keep your early work?”
I blink. Look up at him. “With my photos. Wait. How do you know—”
His mouth is a hard line. And I know. Because he knows.
I am not the only one who went off script.
“Why don’t I know that? Why didn’t she tell me?” I slam the cup down hard enough for it to crack. I don’t know. Maybe it does. Hot water slops over the side, stinging my hand. I don’t care about that, either. I stare down at Hendrick, who doesn't move. “Why?” I rasp. My throat runs rawer than ever.
His gaze is heavy. “I don’t know."
“Why me?”
The corner of his mouth flickers. “Because your music is good. Because you are beautiful.”
“Fuck being beautiful.” I rake my nails across my collarbone, tearing at the skin. Suddenly, it’s all too tight, all too close. I want out, and I can't move. I can’t leave.
Suddenly, I wish the bullet had hit home last night, after all.
As if reading my mind, Hendrick slammed to his feet, his hand gripping my wrist firmly. “Don’t hurt yourself.” It's a command, one I hate.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I hiss. It’s all I have left as I tug my arm away from him. He lets me go and I stumble back, shock loosening my lips. “What?”
“Do you want me to be there to catch you?” Hendrick stalks forward, chasing me as I retreat.
I shake my head in the negative but everything I do says otherwise.
“Do you want me to stop you from hurting yourself, Adora? How many times?” His hands are on my arms, his thumbs running up and down along my smooth skin.
I close my eyes, forcing my breaths to be even. I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine—
He hands droop to my waist, those same thumbs tugging up my borrowed shirt, baring skin he shouldn’t seek.
He doesn’t look when I’m naked, cold air brushing my skin as he holds my eyes only.
Not searching because we both know what he will find as he traces over my ribs with those same thumbs, and then lower to rest on my hips. I gasp, pulling away.
“Wait–”
But his fingertips, rough already, discover the scarred patch of skin, even on both sides. The shirt is released, and the material falls loose over his hands that still reset on my hips. Where I’m bare beneath his shirt.
“Adora,” he murmurs, stepping in close. “Does no one else know?”
I pant, shaking my head. “No one.” No one but you. No one has ever thought to check.
It’s why I cut myself there. Because I can hide the scars beneath long dresses and skirts. And no one else can see.
No one knows.
Until now.
“Will you stop, while you’re with me? Please,” he murmurs, still speaking in that low, hypnotic voice.
I nod, and his thumbs stroke my scars in reward.
“Good, Adora. That’s good.”
Breath flows into me as I close my eyes. “I’m sorry.” I don’t know why I’m apologizing to this man. He doesn’t know me. He is no one to me. Nothing.
He saved my life.
But I don’t feel like I owe him anything. He’s just…here.
“It’s okay, love. Let it out. Let go with me.” Those thumbs keep rubbing gently over my scars, treating me tenderly, but carefully. Like I’m a real person not a toy or a doll for display..
“I want to sleep,” I whisper. “I don’t want to be afraid.”
His breath shudders a fraction as he drops his hands from my hops and finds my hand instead. “You can sleep here safely,” he promises. “Let me take you to your room.”
But at the door to my room, when he pauses, I shake my head. “Your room.” I’m back to single syllables. Hendrick hesitates as I squeeze his hand. “Not with you. Just… I feel safer."
He nods, and leads me further along the corridor and then across, opening a darker wooden door.
I step inside a blue carpeted room. The bed is covered with a black quilt that marches him perfectly.
He leads me inside, and pulls the covers back, just enough for me to slide between them.
A question wars across his face as I curl into the space he’s offered me, my head on his pillow.
He leans down and gently kisses the covering of my lips. Then the contact is gone.
“Sleep, Adora,” he murmurs, and covers me. Fingers stroke my hair as my eyes drift shut. “I’ll be here."
I close my eyes, and know I’m safe. And I sleep.