_ Breaking Father’s Rule

As the bruises and injuries weren't enough, dried dirt clung to my skin from my night in the pigsty—the filth of it making my stomach churn. I smelled like sweat, tears, and something unpleasantly sour. 

I let out a bitter laugh, though there was nothing funny about it. 

I was disgusting. 

I reached up, touching my tangled hair. It was stiff with dried sweat and god knows what else. My entire body itched. 

I needed to clean up. 

I forced myself to stand, wobbling slightly as I made my way to the adjoining bathroom. The sight of the tub, gleaming and white, made something in my chest ache. 

Juana had been the one to run my baths. She would always hum under her breath as she worked, scolding me playfully when I was too rough with my injuries. 

She was the one who cleaned me up yesterday. She dressed my wounds, we talked—about Camilla, about Axel… about my childish crush.