Page 68 of Carved in Ruin

She steps forward without hesitation, and that’s worse somehow. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t cover herself. She’s just… gone.

I guide her into the shower, my jaw clenching as the water cascades over her, turning red, then brown as it washes away the filth. I grab the shampoo, working it into her hair, pulling out bits of leaves and wood tangled in the strands.

I lather the soap onto the loofah, my hands careful as I scrub her arms, her back, and her legs. Heat coils in my gut, unbidden and unwelcome, and I hate myself for it. This isn’t the time. This isn’t what she needs.

I rinse her off, turn off the water, and grab a towel, wrapping her in it like she’s something that might shatter if I’m not careful.

“Stay,” I say, though she doesn’t move anyway.

I dry her hair, her arms, her legs. My shirt is the first thing I grab, slipping it over her head. It falls to her knees, swallowing her small frame.

I guide her to the bed, and she sits on the edge, staring into nothing, her hands limp in her lap.

“You must be happy,” she says, her voice flat, distant.

I blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“Aren’t you satisfied? You’ve always wanted me broken. After what I’ve done… I’m broken now.”

Broken. The word shouldn’t taste like bile in my mouth, but it does. I scowl, my chest tightening, a storm raging where my thoughts should be. That was what I wanted once, wasn’t it? To see her fractured, to have her at her weakest so I could hold the pieces in my hands and mold her into what I needed her to be.

But now? Now, all I can think about is how much I want to fix her.

She reaches out, her fingers brushing against my face, trying to pull the corners of my mouth upward into a mockery of a smile. “Smile,” she mutters. “Celebrate. Be happy. Karma hit.”

Her touch burns, but not in the way it usually does. I grab her wrist gently, prying her hand away from my face. I bring her palm to my lips, pressing a kiss to the skin there, hoping to God she feels something—anything.

“I don’t think I’ve ever properly apologized to you, Rafael,” she whispers. My name on her lips sounds like surrender.

Tears spill down her cheeks, glistening tracks that make her look so small, so human, so… mine.

“I’m sorry,” she continues, her words trembling as they fall. “I’m so sorry.”

I shake my head, but she doesn’t stop.

“You’re right, Rafael. I traumatized you.” Her laugh is bitter, her breath hitching as she wipes at her face with the back of her hand. “I’ve been trying to minimize my role in all this, because the guilt would eat me alive if I admitted it to myself. But you’re right.”

Her eyes finally meet mine, and the weight in them could crush me.

“I am my father’s daughter.”

The room feels too small, too suffocating. The air is heavy with her pain, and I’d gladly choke on it if it meant taking some of it away from her.

“No matter how much I apologize to you, it will never be enough. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Her words are a frantic chant, breaking with every gasp of air she struggles to pull in.

I can’t take it anymore.

“Mila,” I say, gripping her face, forcing her to look at me. “Breathe.Breathe for me.”

She takes a shaky breath, then another. I nod, even as my grip on her face tightens.

“You were right,Kroshka.You were only nine. You were a child. You didn’t know.”

My voice is calm, steady. But inside? Inside, I am a battlefield of emotions I can’t control. I’m not just saying this to comfort her. It’s the truth. Shewasa child. She didn’t know. She couldn’t have.

But logic didn’t soothe the rage that’s lived inside me for years. It didn’t erase the moments I wanted to hate her.

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