Gwen scrubbed at her skin until it burned. Hot water pounded her back. Her hands moved like a machine, frantic, desperate. Every scrub was a scream without sound.
“I curse you, Liam,” she shouted into the steam, voice raw. “I curse the day you were born.”
She scrubbed harder. Her skin reddened. Blood pricked at a cut on her wrist and she did not feel it. “I hate you for what you did. You disgusting animal,” she cried. “How could this happen to me?”
Her words rolled and tumbled in the small bathroom until they filled the room. She slapped her palm against the tile. She beat at the water. She wanted to wash him out of her, every memory, every touch. She wanted the pain gone.
“Gwen,” Damien’s voice came weak and rough from outside the door. It sliced through the noise. For a second she st
