"Water's almost ready," he says, not looking at me. "There's soap in the cabinet. Towels too, but they’re pretty rough."
The ‘curtain’ is just a blanket hung over a rope strung between two nails in the wall, but it’s enough to give me some privacy. The tub looks like it’s from another century, and Kazimir has only managed to fill it up a few inches, but it’ll do for me to get clean.
"Thank you," I say softly, and I let just a hint of warmth into my voice. Just enough.
His jaw tightens. "It's nothing."
I smile at him, and he looks away. When the water is hot, he pours it into the basin, mixing it with cold water from another bucket until it's the right temperature. He tests it with his hand and then looks up at me.
"Should be good," he says. "I'll... I'll be over here. Take your time. If you need help getting to the tub, let me know."
Without another word, he retreats to the far side of the cabin, deliberately turning his back. Giving me privacy.
I stand slowly, testing my limbs. They hurt, but I can walk, at least. I make my way to the corner, behind the blanket screen, acutely aware of Kazimir’s presence in the small cabin, even behind the curtain. There’s faint steam curling off of the water, and I stare at it like it’s an oasis on a hot day.
The last time I had a hot bath, I’d been in a cell for… I don’t remember how long. I pissed Pyotr off. I was brought back up to the main floor and scrubbed clean by another one of the girls who refused to speak to me, clearly because she’d been ordered not to. She washed every inch of me, rubbed honey-scented oil into my skin, and dressed me in a silk and lace teddy before taking me right back to Pyotr, who looked at me like a cat who trapped a bird it wanted to torture to death.
By the time he was finished with me that night, the nightgown was stained with blood.
I look around, seeing what there is for me to clean myself with. There's a bar of plain soap, a washcloth, and a towel folded neatly on a stool. Nothing fancy, but enough to get the grime off.
My fingers go to the buttons of the shirt, and I hesitate. On the other side of that thin blanket, Kazimir is out there. Close enough to hear everything. Close enough that if the blanket fell, he would see me.
The thought sends a strange flutter through my stomach. A feeling like anticipation, which feels strange. It’s been a long time since I’ve anticipated anything in a way that feels pleasant. There’s a pleasure to the idea of luring Kazimir, taking some of my power back to make sure I’m protected instead of hurt.
I unbutton the shirt slowly, letting it slide off my shoulders. The fabric whispers against my skin, and I wonder if he's imagining what I'm doing right now.
The shirt falls to the floor, leaving me bare. Now I'm naked, standing in a corner of a cabin in the middle of nowhere, with a man I barely know just a few feet away. A man who wants me. A man I hate.
A man I might be able to use.
I test the water with my fingers first, then my foot. It's warm enough to feel pleasant, and I lower myself in slowly, inch by inch, letting my body adjust to the temperature.
The moment the water touches the injuries on my back and sides from the last time Pyotr had his way with me, I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out. It burns with a sharp, bright pain that makes my eyes water. But I force myself to keep going, to sink deeper into the tub.
The water rises around me, reaching to my waist, feeling as if it's chasing away the cold that's been living in my bones for weeks. I wish I could submerge myself fully, but I’m grateful even for this, the ability to sit in warm water without fearing what comes after.
At least not for a little while.
I sit there for a long moment, just breathing, letting the warmth seep into me. Combined with the heat of the cabin, I could almost fall asleep again. It’s tempting to let myself just drift away for a little while and forget about all of this. The fact that this is only a brief reprieve from the fear of what’s hunting me out there in the snow… or what will be soon. Iosef isn’t going to wait forever to come after me. Even if he won’t brave the storm, it won’t last. When it dies down, he’ll come for me.
I reach for the soap and the washcloth, and I start to clean myself—slowly at first, testing each swipe of the cloth against my damaged skin. The washcloth is rough, and it hurts when I scrubat the dirt, but I force myself to be thorough. Getting an infection is not an option. Not out here.
I wash my arms first, watching the water turn gray as the filth comes off. Then my legs, careful around the cuts and bruises and the old scars from the dog attack, and my feet, careful there too, of the raw pink scars.
The rest of me is harder. There are bruises everywhere—my ribs, my stomach, my breasts. Some are fading to yellow and green, others are still purple and black. A map of violence written on my skin. I try not to look at them and remember how I got each one.
But it's impossible not to remember. Every touch of the washcloth brings back a memory. A fist. A boot. An open slap. A knife. An invasion. Hands that beat and slapped and dragged and took what they want without ever asking.
I feel my breathing coming faster, shallower. The water that felt so good a moment ago suddenly feels too hot. I'm trapped in this tub, trapped in this cabin, trapped in this body that's been used and broken and?—
"Svetlana?" Kazimir's voice cuts through the panic. "You okay?"
I realize I've been making noise: small, gasping sounds that I couldn't control. I take a shuddering breath, trying to calm down. "I'm fine," I manage, but my voice shakes.
Kazimir’s voice sounds closer now, and I tense. "You don't sound fine."
"I said I'm fine,” I snap, sharper this time, defensive.
