Page 60 of Milo

Julia unzips the golden gown, and it falls to the floor around my ankles. I step out. "Take my hand, Kiara.” Her motherly touch relaxes me as she walks me to the clawfoot tub. Bubbles float on the surface of the steaming water. "I'll give you some pri—" I remove my bra and panties before she can finish her sentence.

Julia dips her finger into the tub. "Let me know if it's too hot.”

I lower myself into the scalding hot suds, my skin burning as I sink into the bath. I bring my legs to my chest, resting my cheek on my knees.

Julia pulls up a stool next to the tub, a shampoo rinser in her hand. Probably Natalia's. "Kiara, how are you feeling?” She submerges the pink cup into the water and pours the contents over my head. "Talk to me, cara."

I close my eyes, the soapy water cascading down my face, over my eyelashes, down my nose, my lips, into my mouth.

"Numb."

"That is a normal reaction when a person experiences something traumatic.” She drags a loofah over my shoulders as she scrubs away Milo's dried blood.

"I know," I breathe.

I know it all too well.

"Milo, he—um...he explained to me what happened," Julia hesitates. "What you did?—"

"I killed someone… I killed someone, Julia."

She swallows, her eyes welling up with tears. "And if you didn't—" Her breath hitches. "My little brother would be dead."

At this moment, that fact shouldn't matter. It shouldn't justify taking a life. Even a bad one. I have blood on my hands. Literally and figuratively. And that's not okay. It's not acceptable. It can't be acceptable. There is good and there is evil. There is wrong and there is right.

I was wrong.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Yet.

Seeing the gratitude in Julia's eyes, the heart wrenching appreciation glowing in her irises, it doesn't seem so wrong, and that, that kills me, destroys me, decimates me.

I don't say another word as Julia washes my hair and scrubs my body. She can cleanse my exterior, make it shiny and new, but she can't cleanse my soul. She can't wash away the dirt, the grime, the mildew of my actions, of my decision to play judge and jury.

"Here—" Julia holds out a cotton robe as I climb out of the tub and slip my arms into the warm clean garment. "Do you want anything to eat, Kiara? Drink?"

"No.”

I look at my reflection in the semi-fogged-up mirror. The woman staring back at me is a stranger. I don't know her. I don't want to know her.

I hate her.

I hate her so fucking much.

"Why don't you get some sleep.” Julia lifts the drain plug out of the tub, the once clear water now a rosy hue. "We are leaving early for Genova tomorrow."

I blink. "You're coming?"

She smiles. "Yes, cara. Paolo and I are going with you. My mother will stay here with Natalia."

"Okay." I amble toward the king-sized bed, curling myself in a ball on top of the covers. "Goodnight."

"Sleep, cara." Julia flicks off the lights.

It's too dark. I switch on the lamp on the nightstand. I can't handle any more darkness.

For what feels like hours, I lay on my side, not moving a muscle as the shadows of trees dance across the white walls, jagged branches swaying in the wind like terrifying puppets.

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