Adrian was still facing the wall.
He hadn't moved, hadn't spoken, hadn't done anything except sit there with his back toward me the way I asked, and somehow that was the most unbearable thing in the room because I was standing three feet away from him holding a sentence that may have just destroyed the last thing I had left to feel about him. I folded the paper slowly.
My hands weren't shaking anymore, they had gone completely still the way everything went still when the body ran out of ways to react, when shock became something quieter and colder and far more dangerous than panic.
"You can turn around."
He did, immediately, like he had been waiting, his eyes going straight to my face the way they always did when he was trying to read something I wasn't saying out loud, three years of
