Fractured Souls - Page 22

I watch him walk toward the other end of the bathroom and pick the bottles off the floor. Then, he returns inside the shower stall.

“This one is mine,” he says as he places the black one back onto the shelf, “and the pink one is yours. You’ll use that one.”

How can he be so calm? It’s as if my throwing a fit doesn’t bother him in the least.

“Now, what else is the problem?” He looks down at me.

I bite my lower lip. “The towels.”

“The towels?”

“Bath towels. You have blue and white ones.” I keep using the hand towels after my shower because those are all white.

“I’ll use blue. You have the white. Does that work?”

I nod, feeling like a complete idiot. Pasha’s fingers lightly grip my chin, tilting my head up. “Any other problems with the bathroom?”

“No,” I whisper.

“Okay. Should I wait here?”

I don’t want him to leave, but I shake my head anyway. It’s not easy, but after his instructions, I can handle the shower alone because I know he will still be close by.

His smiles. “Shower. Dress. I’ll be waiting outside, and we’ll have breakfast when you’re done.”

Pasha’s thumb brushes lightly along my jaw before his hand falls away from my face. He turns and leaves the bathroom. Slowly, I raise my hand and retrace the path of his touch.

I place a cereal box on the counter in front of Asya and head toward the fridge to get the milk. When I put the carton next to the cereal, she reaches for it, but I take her hand in mine.

“Not yet,” I say.

With my free hand, I open the cupboard and take out a jar of marmalade. I place it next to the cereal box, grab the peanut butter and bread, and line everything up on the counter. Asya tilts her head to the side, watching me.

I move to stand behind her and nod toward the things on the counter. “What would you like to have for breakfast?”

Asya looks over the assortment of food and flattens her lips.

She’s been here for two weeks. Every morning I’ve given her milk and selected a cereal, making sure it was a different flavor each time. Asya always made us both a bowl, and we had breakfast in the dining room. It distresses her when she needs to make even the most trivial decision, so I’ve tried my best to make it easier on her. But it’s time she pushes beyond her comfort zone, even a tiny bit.

“Why are you doing this?” she asks through her teeth.

“What?”

“Asking me to choose.”

“If you can’t, I’ll help you.” I reach to place my hand on her waist, but I catch myself and press my palm onto the cold counter instead. “But maybe you can try. It’s just food. You can’t make a wrong choice, so don’t worry.”

She grabs the edge of the counter in front of her and stares at the items. A minute passes. Then five more.

“It’s okay,” I say. “Take your time.”

The need to stroke her back or place a kiss in her hair is eating me alive. I forgot myself once and kissed her on the back of the head. Hopefully, she was already asleep and didn’t notice it. She would probably feel revolted if she finds out I’m attracted to her. It’s wrong on so many levels. When she mentioned the other day that she’s only eighteen, it only made the situation worse. She is fifteen years younger than me. I need to keep my distance as much as possible.

“I can’t.” Asya’s nails scrape the top of the counter as she tightens her grip, her gaze fixed on the cereal box.

“Of course you can,” I say as I battle the need to touch her.

It guts me each time I see her struggling to make even the most basic choice. She still doesn’t want to talk with the psychologist, so I’ve been calling every two days to ask for guidance. The psychologist recommended I create a situation where Asya would need to make a small decision, but I’m not supposed to insist if it makes her too uncomfortable. The doctor tells me every time that for Asya to get better, she needs professional help. However, it can only happen if Asya is ready to accept it.