Page 66 of Freckles

Francesca’s fingertips travel along the old scars again and I realise I never gave her an answer and wouldn’t with anyone else.

I lie, even to myself, insisting I don’t remember.

“Mum raised me on her own. When she was working, she’d leave me with my grandfather. He was old school, had a strict set of rules, and I was a contrary little shit, who ended up with a few beatings.”

“But these—”

She bites off the words, shrinking away, and I realise my hand is gripping the side of the tub, face twisted in a scowl.

I force myself to relax back into the water. “Sorry, I don’t… It’s not something I’m used to talking about.”

“You don’t have to tell me. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s…” I stare at my fingers on the porcelain. “Come into the bath with me. I won’t do anything bad, I promise, but I can’t…”

She frowns as I flounder for the words, giving up and sinking farther down in the tub, my knees bent at a ninety-degree angle.

“Promise you won’t dunk me again.”

“Never.” She strips off her t-shirt and frowns at the bath, already full of water and me.

“Turn around,” I order, then stand and cross my arms under her breasts, lifting her against me before carefully sitting, folding her into the tub.

“Manhandle me, why don’t you?”

“Glad I have your permission.” I bury my nose into her hair, inhaling the scent of feijoas, apples, and a tang of something chemical, hairspray or the like.

It’s easier to explain when she’s facing away from me. Easier with her wriggling body inside the embrace of my arms.

“The marks on my back are from a belt buckle. He’d give me a number, and I had to count out loud for each strap. It started with the leather on my palm and progressed to my back. Then he reversed ends so the metal would score my skin and make it bleed.”

Her arms tighten over mine, the only way she can hug me while facing away.

I rest my forehead against the back of her head, closing my eyes, forcing myself to continue. “When that stopped giving him the desired result, he cut me. One day, the wounds were deep enough, they bled during school, staining my clothes until a teacher noticed. That’s when my uncle stepped in. He would take me on outings when Mum was working.”

A choice of words that doesn’t quite cover the situation. It makes it sound like we went to the movies or a theme park, not out to tense meetings between criminals, embroiled in a constant game of one-upmanship with deadly consequences.

“Is that why you live with your uncle?”

“No, it’s… I don’t have anyone else. My mother stole money from the business and absconded overseas before he could retaliate.”

Her voice fades to a whisper. “And left you here?”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds. I spent a lot of time taking care of myself, anyway.” I grab the floating loofah, giving it another pump of liquid soap before gently washing Francesca, lifting her arms, soaping between her fingers, taking my sweet time with her breasts and her pussy and the slender curve of her throat. “What about you? Where did your mother get to?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know. She won’t answer her phone.”

I think she’s about to explain more, then shrugs, linking her fingers through mine and squeezing. “I’m sorry I stabbed you.”

Tears clog her voice, and I want to blurt, it’s okay. She doesn’t need to apologise, but I stay silent.

Something else is happening between us and I don’t want to shortchange her if she needs to speak.

“It’s scary living here alone. I didn’t want to kill you, but I need to protect myself.”

“You never have to protect yourself again. That’s my job, now.”

“Unless you’re the one I need protection from.”

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