29
My hands will never be clean again.
I had thought the very same thing many times before and had always been wrong. But somehow, as I scrubbed my hands in the bucket of cold water, it seemed like this time it might be true.
The door closed behind me, and the bolt scraped into place. I didn’t turn to see who had come in. If they wanted to slit my throat, I was too tired to fight them.
Two sets of footfalls moved slowly behind me. A chair scratched across the dirt as it was pulled away from the table. Someone stopped beside me.
“I’ve brought soap.” Liam held out a cracked brick of soap that smelled like fat boiled with rosemary.
“Thanks.” Pink dripped from my fingers as I took the soap.
“Are…” Liam’s voice faded. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
“To help me wash my hands?”
