“I-I can’t get it off!” Her shoulders curl forward and she reaches for the soap once more.
“Let me help.” There’s no blood.
If anything, her skin is turning pink and raw from her scrubbing, but she’s free of blood.
Her pink shoulders and damp hair suggest her hands aren’t the only part of her subject to intense scrubbing.
“Can you h-help me get it off?” She looks up at me with such wide eyes, a storm of upset gathering in them that makes my stomach knot.
“I can help. Will you let me?”
She nods frantically so I step up behind her and drape my arms around her body.
Once our arms are aligned, I wet my hands and wince at the scalding temperature.
Adjusting the knob makes Aerin gasp, but the water quickly cools to a more manageable temperature.
Then I squirt soap onto my palm.
Rubbing them together, a lather forms quickly and I take one of her hands in mine.
Her entire body trembles against me and as she shudders with sobs, my stomach knotting tighter like a fist is twisting me up on the inside.
My movements are slow and controlled as I massage her hand.
Around her palm, up to her wrist and then down each finger in turn.
I lather her hand completely then guide it under the water to wash the soap away.
I repeat the same action with her second hand only this time I’m much more careful with her bruised wrist.
Arin slots in perfectly against me, tucked neatly under my chin as she huddles around the sink.
Soon, her other hand washes free of soap and I cradle both her pink, raw hands in my palms.
“Is it gone?” I ask quietly.
Aerin chokes softly and shakes her head. “N-No. I’m sorry, I’m sorry?—”
I hush her with a rumble of my throat. “It’s okay. Let’s try again.”
Just like before, I repeat my steps and just as I suspect she tells me once again that she can see the blood. So we repeat it.
Again and again.
Each time I adjust the tap so the water is a little cooler and I stay there with Aerin, washing her hands until she can see that all the blood is completely gone.
9
AERIN
Two weeks pass since the raid at the safehouse.
Every so often, out of the corner of my eye, my fingers are still covered in blood.
It’s like a mirage that comes and goes late at night when I’m just about to drift off to sleep.
Shadows darken around my fingertips and my skin grows dry to the touch.
