“I hurt you.” “No, you didn’t.” Huffing out a sound of disdain, I grabbed both her hands—gently—and flipped them over, stretching her arms toward me. The crisscross of rope-like bruising went all the way up to her biceps. Her palms were pink with rough abrasions from the brick wall. I’d washed them clean and applied lotion several times while she was sleeping. But there was still evidence of what I’d done. She stared down at the bruises, turning her arms to look at them more closely. “They’re kind of cool, aren’t they?”
