Page 72 of Ghost Ribbon

I was still bent over the table when I felt his hands again. He used a damp cloth he must have gotten from somewhere in the apartment, wiping away the mess between my cheeks and down my thighs. The whole thing felt incredibly weird, intimate.

I didn’t know what to say. I just stayed there, trembling slightly.

“Relax,” he said quietly.

That almost made me laugh, except nothing about this felt funny.

Relax?

My pulse was everywhere. My thoughts were worse.

“I’m relaxed,” I lied.

His hand paused for half a second. Then, in that same maddeningly calm voice, he said, “No, little star. You’re very much not relaxed.”

I shut my eyes.

He seemed to enjoy dragging every humiliating truth into the open and holding it there until I had no choice but to feel it fully.

I swallowed hard and tried not to move.

He finished in silence after that.

When he finally stepped back, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I had been holding.

“There,” he said.

I didn’t turn around immediately. My dignity felt like it was already hanging by threads, and facing him right then seemed impossible.

So I stared at the floor for a second and asked, very quietly, “Can I… take a shower?”

“Yes.”

I turned a little, finally forcing myself to look at him.

He was leaning back slightly. Then he nodded toward a door off to the side.

“Second door on the left,” he said. “Towels are inside.”

I hesitated. “Okay.”

He watched me for another second and then added, “Take your time.”

I made it to the bathroom on unsteady legs and shut the door behind me, bracing both hands on the sink and lowering my head.

My reflection in the mirror looked as wrecked as I felt.

Wet eyes. Flushed cheeks. Dark curls falling messily around my face.

I looked away.

The shower was quick, mostly because I didn’t trust myself to stay in there too long. The hot water helped and didn’t help at all. It washed away the physical evidence of too much, but it didn’t touch the confusion. Or the horrible fluttering thing low in my stomach every time I remembered the way he looked at me.

By the time I stepped out, the mirror had fogged over.

I reached for a towel, dried off quickly, then froze.

I had no clothes.