[CAMI]
The bathroom door closes softly behind me.
My skin’s still warm from the bath, pink and raw from scrubbing too hard. I couldn’t shake the feeling of that stranger’s blood on me. It wasn’t there—not really—but I felt it like it had sunk in, like it belonged to me now.
The soft, white robe that covers me now probably costs more than my rent did when I was growing up. My hair’s damp against my back, strands curling at the ends. I feel better. Or maybe just emptier.
The bedroom is quiet, except for the muted patter of the rain against the glass windows.
Zeke’s still here.
He’s on the bed now, sprawled across it like he owns the f*****g world. His tattoo-covered arm is draped over his eyes, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The fabric of his black T-shirt stretches over
