[Adelaide Knowles]
The tiles beneath my heels feel like ice. The bathroom is too quiet, like the walls are leaning in, listening. My throat is sandpaper, and I swear I could empty an ocean just to stop the dryness clawing up my chest. But that becomes irrelevant the moment Shane continues talking — because apparently hurting me is a sport to her. “You can go ahead and fool everyone here; the media, the investors, but not me. Tell me?” she brings her hands around her bosom, fixing me a caustic stare, “Did playing family with Benjamin make you think you had a real one?”
I exhale slowly, anger bleeding into my tone before I can cage it. “Benjamin is nothing like you.” The words drip with restrained outburst which I figure she eats up like a bloody vampire in a crazed search for blood, “Be
