My poor, pitiful fingers.
They have been submerged in mop water throughout the day, causing my fingers to be pruned and wrinkled. I look down, checking to see where I am with the mopping. There is still plenty of flooring to get done.
The mere thought of how much longer it is going to take makes my knees ache.
Not that they aren’t already. I’ve just been down here for six hours scrubbing floors on my hands and knees, but I guess it’s better than the alternative.
He could have killed me, or someone could have tortured me. At least, that is what I tell myself.
Past memories float to the surface, but I quickly shove them back. Now is not the time to reflect on those. Not when I have to remain vigilant.
The front door slams as Diego comes inside, dragging his latest kill. “The floors lo
