[Giovanni]
The first thing I did when I walked into the bathroom was crank the tap on. Water hissed out of the showerhead, steaming up the mirror, filling the silence with some noise.
I didn't step under it right away. Instead, I turned toward the sink, rolled up my sleeves, and scrubbed my hands like they were dripping with filth I couldn't see. The taste of her saliva lingered at the back of my throat, sour and cloying, and I pressed my lips into a tight line. Deeply uncomfortable.
I leaned over the porcelain sink, then forced two fingers down my throat—thank the Lord for gag reflexes—and let the bile rise. It burned, splattering into the sink. I exhaled once, then washed my tongue, until nothing but bitter saliva coated my tongue. My grip on the sink tightened until my knuckles paled
