saw the porch, the front entrance, and turned her head to look up at the man.
Virgil. He’d opened the door and now they were going up the stairs. The round, colored glass window at the top of the staircase had a thin snake etched in red around the rim. She hadn’t noticed it before, but now the image was clear: the snake was biting its tail.
They headed to her room and into the bathroom. He gingerly placed her in the bathtub, and she gasped as he opened the tap and water began to flow into the tub.
“Get out of those clothes and clean yourself,” he said.
The shortness of breath was gone. Like flipping a switch. But her heart was still racing, and she stared at him, her mouth slightly open, her hands holding on to the sides of the bathtub.
“You’ll catch a cold,” he said simply, and he stretched out a hand, as if to undo the top button of her dress.
Noemí slapped his hand away and clutched the collar of her dress. “Don’t!” she yelled, and it hurt to speak, that one word slicing her tongue.
He chuckled, amused. “This is your fault, Noemí. You decided to take a tumble in the mud, in the rain, and now you must wash yourself. So, get out of those clothes before I make you,” he said. There was no threat in his voice; he sounded very measured, but his face was infused with a simmering animosity.
She undid the buttons with shaky hands and took the dress off, crumpling it into a ball and tossing it on the floor. She was left in her underthings. She thought that humiliation would be enough for him, but he leaned against the wall and cocked his head, looking at her.
“Well?” he said. “You’re filthy. Take off everything and wash yourself. Your hair is a mess.”
“As soon as you step out of the bathroom.”
He grabbed the three-legged stool and sat down, looking unperturbed. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’m not getting naked in front of you.”
He leaned forward, as if to share a secret with her. “I can make you get out of those clothes. It won’t take me a minute, and I will hurt you. Or you can take them off yourself, like a good girl.”
He meant it. She still felt light-headed, and the water was too hot, but she peeled off her undergarments and tossed them away, to rest in a corner of the bathroom. She grabbed the bar of soap sitting on a porcelain dish and scrubbed her head, soaped her arms and her hands. She worked quickly, rinsing the soap out.
Virgil had closed the tap, his left elbow resting on the edge of the tub. At least he was looking at the floor rather than at her, apparently content to admire the tiles. He rubbed his mouth with his fingers.
“You cut my lip with your shoe,” he said.
There was a trail of blood on his lips, and Noemí was glad that at least she’d managed that. “Is that why you’re torturing me?”
“Torture? I wanted to make sure you didn’t faint in the bath. It would be a pity if you drowned while in the tub.”
“You could have stood guard outside the door, you pig,” she told him, brushing a wet strand of her hair away from her face.
“Yes. But that wouldn’t be half as much fun,” he replied. His grin would have been charming if she’d met him at a party, if she didn’t know him. He had fooled Catalina with that smile, but it was a predator’s grin. It made her want to hit him again, to beat him in the name of her cousin.
The faucet was dripping. Plop, plop, plop. It was the only noise in the bathroom. She raised a hand, pointed behind him.
“You can pass me the robe now.”
He didn’t reply.
“I said, you can—”
His hand dipped into the water, settling on her leg, and Noemí pushed herself back, slamming against the tub, making water splash onto the floor. Her instinct was to stand up, jump out of the tub, and run out of the room. But the position he occupied meant her path would be blocked if she did. He knew it too. The tub, the water, seemed to the young woman her shield, and she drew her knees against her chest.
“Get out,” she said, trying to sound firm rather than afraid.
“What? Are you suddenly bashful?” he asked. “Last time we were here it wasn’t the case.”