Page 60 of Arseni

I wouldn’t blame her.Like I said… I don’t give second chances.

I’d be a hypocrite to ask for one.

22

MARGOT

Ican smell the man’s blood on me.

The sound of the bath running plays in the background of my muddled mind as I stare down at my abdomen.Lace clings to my belly like the chilled, thick liquid is a glue.It was hot when it touched me.And red.Sored.

My eyes had opened when my assailant’s mouth ripped from my nipple and the weight of his body left.I was confused at first.He looked more afraid than I felt.I didn’t even know his jerking body was being stabbed until liquid fire spurted from his mouth onto my stomach.

I screamed.I thought I was next.

Then his body dropped, revealing Arseni clutching a knife like a mad man.He looked so enraged, I wasn’t sure if I should be scared.

I’m still not sure.

My back leaned against the filling tub, I peel the skimpy lingerie from my stomach to see the blood smear.

I close my eyes and let the lace fall while Arseni moves around the bathroom, collecting things for a bath that could never wash away tonight.Or last night or the night before.Or even twenty-seven years before when I first witnessed death.It’s their bodies I think of instead of the man’s from tonight.My father’s blood under my bare feet, painting footprints on our hardwood floor.My mother’s silk robe in the clutches of my tiny hands.

Her strangled cry.

His yells of remorse.

Him calling my name softly, gingerly, as if he didn’t plan to kill me too.

The worst day of my life.

For twenty-seven years I’ve given it that claim without a second thought of if a day could get any worse.Now, I consider it.But no, it still takes the lead.

“Fuck!”Arseni yells, slapping a hand on the porcelain wall of the tub.It makes me jump.

My eyes open as I turn to him, but he isn’t looking at me.I’m not sure he ever will again.

His forehead is pressed to the wall, his eyes clenched shut.

Regret.He’s regretful.

I wish I cared.

When water spills over the side of the tub, wetting my back, Arseni shuts off the faucet and kneels in front of me.I just stare at him and wait to see if he’ll look at my face, but he chooses my stomach instead.His head hangs low as the crease between his eyes deepens.

“Are you hurt?”he asks in a voice that sounds so uncertain.I hate him for it.I hate him for having the audacity to come to my aid when it was too late.

“Yes,” I say.Firmly.Though I know he’s talking about the blood.It isn’t mine, but that isn’t what he asked.He doesn’t deserve a moment’s reprieve from the guilt hunching his shoulders.

Clearing his throat, he tucks one hand under my knees and another around my back to lift me gently.He places me in the tub, sending water splashing onto his shirt and drenching his shoes before he removes the soaked lingerie over my head like I’m his dying grandmother, lost without him.

It’s wrong and stupid, but it makes me more aware of my age.It makes me think of the blonde he was with and the way he took her hand.Has me imagining what it must be like for her after they have sex and she’s lying on his pillow.

I doubt he cherishes her, but I bet he’s never left her lying in her own self-hatred with his cum leaking between her thighs.

Arseni spurts liquid soap onto a rag, then runs it over my arm, creating little suds of masculine scent.

“I’m sorry I don’t have anything that smells better,” he says, moving the rag across my neck, down my other arm.“I could go look for something else…”

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