Page 95 of Fallen Stars

A loudbangechoes off the metal walls and I jump. My gaze races around the room for the source. When I don’t see the guard and notice the door is shut, I assume the noise came from his departure.

“No need for alarm…” The man reaches for my hands and lifts them to read the number on my cuffs. “You’re safe in here, Two Sixty-Three.”

Safe?

No one in this place issafe.

“Come.” He walks toward a large steel tub and gestures to it with his hand. “Let’s get you washed up.”

Glued to the floor, I don’t move. I tremble in place as my mind becomes a blob of mushy confusion.

The man cranks the faucet and water flows freely. He sticks his hand beneath the steady stream and adjusts the knobs. Then he adds clear liquid from a nondescript bottle and bubbles puff up and cover the water’s surface.

The backs of my eyes sting as I stare at the bath. The tremor in my limbs strengthens.

A bath. I’m going to cry over taking a bath.

Such a simple task, yet a luxury I took for granted my entire life.

With slow, composed steps, the man approaches me with his hands held up. “I’m not here to hurt you, Two Sixty-Three.” He reaches for and takes my hand. One foot in front of the other, he walks me to the tub. “The last thing I want to do is cause you pain.”

I flinch at his words. A spark crackles in the center of my chest. While anger creeps into my thoughts, my body tries to remember what rage feels like.

I narrow my gaze at him. “This place is hell,” I choke out, my voice withered and gravelly. “You people are advocates of the devil.”

A solemn look blankets the man’s expression. “Like you, I am not here by choice.” He turns off the faucet. “I may not be in your position, but I am as much a prisoner as you.” Inhaling a deep breath, he gestures to the water. “Now, please, get in the tub. You’ll need more than one bath and your time with me is limited.”

Stepping away, he gives me his back and privacy. The crackle in my chest from a moment ago softens.

I shove my underwear down, grab the edge of the tub, and step into the bubbly water. As the heat hits my skin, I hiss through my teeth and grip the tub lip tighter. After a brief pause, I ease myself into the hot water. The temperature is equal parts heaven and hell.

Closing my eyes, I lean back and rest my head on the edge. I filter through my foggy memories and try to remember the last time I took a bath. Maybe when I was a child?

For the first time in what feels like years, I relax. My body weeps and celebrates as the heat soothes my shriveled muscles and the water washes away the thick layer of muck.

What was I trying to remember before the guard brought me in here?

A faint floral fragrance floats in the air and quiets my mind. Exhaustion creeps to the surface and my body unwinds further. For a moment, I get lost in the only peace I’ve had in who knows how long.

“A washcloth,” the man whispers.

I peel my eyes open to see white fabric draped over the lip of the tub. Again, such a simple thing—a square of cotton to help clean your skin—yet I’ve taken it for granted my entire life.

The man returns to a stool beside a table, opens a file folder, and writes on a paper inside. He pays me no attention as I soak up this temporary bliss and gently wipe the grime from my body.

Once I’ve scrubbed the areas I can reach, he sidles up to the tub and gently washes my arms and back. He reaches into his pocket, retrieves nail clippers, and cuts my lengthy, jagged fingernails. After a quick dunk of my hair, he tells me to remain in the tub as he drains the darkened water. When it empties, he asks me to cover myself while he rinses the residual dirt in the tub down the drain.

The second bath passes by faster and with more focus. He hands me a new washcloth with a bar of soap and instructs me towash what I’m able to reach. After he washes my arms and back, he swaps the bar of soap for a bottle of shampoo. Like a child, he eases me into the water and cleans my hair.

The action fills me with comfort and unease.

When my hair is done, he fetches a towel from the table and sets it on the floor beside the tub. “Do you need help getting out?”

My brows pinch together as I stare at the thinning layer of bubbles. I shake my head.

Returning to the table, he gives me his back once more and writes more inside the file folder.

My chest constricts.

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