Page 78 of Sinful
I don't know anymore.
I scrub until my skin is raw, until I'm sure there's no blood left, and then I stand there letting the water pound against my shoulders until it starts to run cold.
When I finally emerge, I feel almost human.
Clean clothes. Hair still damp.
Bruises visible now without the blood covering them—purple blooming on my ribs, my arms, my knuckles split and swollen.
I look like I went to war, because I did.
I can't go back to the room, can't sit with my family and pretend everything's okay now that Dad forgave me.
I end up falling asleep on one of the sofa’s in the hall, and when I wake up, it’s around six the following evening.
I check in with Elfe, but she tells me to go eat before I come back.
So I leave through the connecting door and head to Bubba's.
The bar is quieter than usual for a Friday night.
Just a handful of people scattered around.
Some civilians who don't know what happened.
A few prospects cleaning up.
And at the end of the bar, sitting alone with a beer that's probably warm by now?—
Bravos.
He's cleaned up since I last saw him.
No more blood. Fresh clothes.
But he looks exhausted, dead eyes even deader than usual.
He sees me and something shifts in his expression.
Not quite a smile. But something.
"You look like you could use a drink," he says.
I sit down beside him. Not too close. Not too far. "Yeah. I really could."
Njal appears—the prospect working the bar—and slides a beer in front of me without asking what I want.
"On the house," he says. "For what you did. Bringing Ivar home."
I nod thanks, not trusting my voice.
Njal disappears to the other end of the bar, giving us space.
Bravos and I sit in silence for a moment, both of us staring at our drinks like they hold answers.
"How's your dad?" he asks finally.
"Stable. Doctor says he'll live. Missing a hand, but alive."
