“She was drunk,” he continued, focused on the sponge. “She’d thrown up all over herself, in her bed—everywhere. I had just come home and could smell it through her door. It was awful. Almost made me want to throw up.” He let out a pained laugh. “When I was younger, I remember she would use chamomile and lavender for my baths. I used to have a bit of a temper problem, so she’d run the bath for me, add the oils, let me soak for a bit until I’d calmed down, and then she’d come and help me wash. When I got older she didn’t do it as much, but I did miss them.”
