Adelia

[9]

She was wearing a dress. A dress soaked in blue satin that rose to about the length of her knees or less. It didn't have sleeves, but it appeared to have had them at one time or another, probably when it was new and much darker and smelled of what it actually should have smelled like rather than the sixth street jail. It was incredibly from the 1950's and should have been in a frame, not draped half on the body of girl with a cut face and half on a metal chair. 

Adelia had her hands folded neatly in her lap, legs crossed. She had the tiniest little pearl earrings on, but one had nearly been ripped out of her ear. She was a distressing sight. I wanted to look away but Mia was laying a hand on my back. Mia. Not my mother. She pushed me forward. 

Adelia had the phone cord wrapped tightly around her arm when I got to her. One hand on the phone, one hand up to her mouth to bite her nails. 

"I don't know what you mean by that, Reagan," She took a sharp breath, "They..." She looked over at me, "They... are going to have too." 

She gripped the cord tighter than ever and her eyes started to water, red marks all up her limbs. "Reagan, they have to let-" ... "No, Reagan! They have too!" She bit her quivering lip, "No. No. I can't-" ... "I can't do that, I need somewhere to bloody sleep tonight, Reagan!" 

I put my hand gently over hers, "I'll-"

"No!"

"Stop crying, Adelia."

"Adelia, stop screaming."

"You'll stay with me, alright?"