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“What… what do we do now?” I finally manage to ask.
“Now we go home,” Angelo says firmly, “and put this behind us.”
Easier said than done.
The momentwe’re back at Angelo’s, I make a beeline for the shower. My skin crawls with the phantom sensation of Jonah’s blood, and I can’t get there fast enough. I barely register Angelo’s concerned voice as I shut the bathroom door behind me.
My hands shake as I turn the water on, cranking it as hot as it will go. Steam fills the bathroom almost instantly, but it’s not enough. It’llneverbe enough.
I strip off my clothes, throwing them in a heap on the floor. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror—pale, wide-eyed, streaks of dried blood still visible on my neck. Fuck, how did I miss that?
I look away quickly, unable to face the stranger staring back at me.
The water is scalding as I step under the spray, but I welcome the pain. It’s real, tangible, unlike the chaos in my head. I grab the loofah, squeezing what must be half the bottle of body wash onto it. Then I start scrubbing.
Every inch of my body gets the same treatment—harsh, repetitive motions that turn my skin pink, then red. I scrub until it hurts, then keep going. Physical pain is better than the emotional turmoil threatening to drown me.
Sobs rack my body as I work, the events of the day replaying in my mind on a cruel loop. Jonah’s face, contorted with rage. His hands on me, shaking me. The sound of the shears entering his body. The look of shock in his eyes as he fell.
“You can’t keep her from me forever, Sofia,”his voice echoes in my head.“I’ll take Lou, and there’s nothing you can do about it!”
“No!” I cry out, my voice bouncing off the tiled walls. “You’ll never touch her!”
I scrub harder, as if I could wash away the memory along with the blood. My skin is raw and tender, but I don’t care. I just need to feel clean.
But no matter how hard I scrub, no matter how hot the water, I can’t shake the feeling of Jonah’s blood on my hands. The weight of what I’ve done settles over me like a suffocating blanket.
I’m a murderer. A killer. I don’t care what Jimbo said. How can I ever look Lou in the eye again? How can I hold her with these hands that took a life?
The sobs come harder now, and I sink to the floor of the shower. The water beats down on me as I curl into a ball, my cries drowning out the sound of the spray.
I'm not sure how long I stay there, but eventually, I hear Angelo’s voice through the door.
“Fee? Are you okay in there?”
I want to answer, to tell him I’m fine, but I can’t find my voice. I’m not fine. I’ll never be fine again.
As the water starts to run cold, I realize a fundamental truth. No matter how much I scrub, no matter how much time passes, I’ll never be able to wash away what I've done. This moment, this choice, will be with me forever.
And I’m not sure I know how to live with that.
I hear the bathroom door burst open, followed by Angelo’s soft sigh. The water stops abruptly, and I feel his warm hands on my skin.
“Dammit, Fee,” he mutters, hissing as he gets a closer look at my raw, red skin.
Strong arms lift me gently, cradling me against his chest as he carries me to the bed. Angelo’s voice is low and soothing as he carefully towels me off, his touch feather-light on my tender skin.
“It’s okay, Fee. I’ve got you," he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear.
I shiver, partly from the cool air on my damp skin, partly from the intensity of his nearness. Angelo tucks me under the sheets, his movements gentle and precise.
I hear the rustle of clothes hitting the floor, then feel the warmth of Angelo’s body as he slides in next to me. His skin presses against mine, a comforting presence in the chaos of my mind. One arm drapes over my waist, pulling me closer.
I don’t want to think anymore. The memories of Jonah, of blood and violence, are too fresh, too raw. I just want to feel something else, anything else.
Turning to face him, I meet Angelo’s intense gaze. His dark eyes are locked on mine, filled with concern and something deeper, something that makes my breath catch. The familiar scent of his cologne envelops me, a mixture of sandalwood and something uniquely him. I notice the stubble darkening his jaw, the slight furrow of his brow.
Without thinking, I lean in, seeking his lips. I need this connection, this moment of feeling something other than guilt and fear. Angelo hesitates for a moment, his eyes searching mine.
