23 | under it all

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THE FIRE CRACKLED, flames jumping as the wood slowly charred. Smoke disappeared up the chimney, sucked away by the violent wind that raged outside. The pines bowed to its force, needles arching over the snow like a shield to lock in the violent December chill that carved a gash in the forest. The burning logs kept out the arctic blast, spitting heat with each fiery spark, and yet there was a bite in the air as though an invisible frost hung from the ceiling, creeping over the rafters like a ghost.

The hot ceramic of Adele's mug burned her hand, the heat of her coffee stinging her skin, but she gripped it tighter as she sat with the back of her head against Caleb's shoulder and her legs over his lap, his arm around her. Having finally found a position that didn't worsen the ache in her pelvis or the bruise growing up her spine, she didn't want to move. She couldn't.

She was totally shell-shocked. Her mouth hung open, a deep crease in her forehead where her eyebrows pulled together above her nose, but no words came. Each breath was heavy and deep, trying to keep herself from spiralling out of control, but it was hard to keep a hold of herself the more that she thought about everything Ainslie had shown her. Creighton's words crashed around her head like a derailed train, ruining everything in its path to destruction.

"Adele?" Ainslie's voice was soft, her eyes as wide and fearful as a doe. "You haven't said anything in a really long time." She shifted her gaze to Caleb. "Is she ok?"

"She's hurt."

"I know. I can see that," she said, nodding at Adele's face. The bridge of her nose was split and swollen, redness spreading to her cheeks, and an ugly bruise had darkened her eye.

"On the inside," he said. "She doesn't capisce."

Ainslie leant back, her eyebrows furrowing. "Huh?"

"I don't understand," Adele said, her words cutting through the turbulent fog of bewilderment that surrounded her.

"Me neither – what does he mean?"

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