He reaches for a glass of water at the same time as me. Our fingers brush for a second, two— He suddenly jerks his hand away, stands up, and stalks to his room. My hand shakes as I pick up the water and down it all. But no amount of water could douse the fire inside me. Or the familiar feeling that’s rearing its ugly head from the past. The fact that no matter how much I showered or scrubbed my skin clean, I’m still filthy.
