Tigers, Not Daughters - Samantha Mabry Page 0,28

yard and climbed into Jenny’s car. Jessica could still feel the slickness of his saliva on her wrist. It felt like a violation, like she could wash and wash and the spit would always be there.

Minutes later, Jessica was standing in the rising steam of her shower, letting the water run through her hair. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow pass on the other side of the clear plastic curtain. Assuming it was just Iridian coming in to borrow a shirt or something, Jessica closed her eyes and dipped her head back. She liked to run the water as hot as possible for as long as she could, liked the challenge of standing beneath it until the feeling on her skin went from scalding to soothing. She’d started humming another old song from the pharmacy’s playlist when she got the sense that something was . . . off. Her voice wasn’t echoing in the same way. It felt like the space—the shower, the entire bathroom—had gotten smaller.

Jessica opened her eyes, and there, in front of her face, through the veil of steam and on the other side of the curtain, was a hand. Its dark palm was facing her. Its fingers were spread. The hand was so clear, Jessica could see the blurry swoop of a lifeline and the horizontal slashes on skin that marked the division between each individual finger bone. The hand pressed inward against the plastic, stretching it tight. Jessica jolted back, nearly losing her balance against the slick surface of the tub. She caught herself by smacking a wet hand against the tile. Then she did the only thing she could think to do: She stared straight at the hand and pushed her own hand against it. It was solid and fleshy. Jessica let out a garbled cry, then ripped back the shower curtain. There was no one. Nothing there.

Dripping wet and gulping down desperate breaths, Jessica grabbed a towel, ran into her bedroom, and then dashed down the hall to her sisters’ room. Iridian was asleep in her bed. Jessica started to call out Rosa’s name, but then clapped a hand over her mouth and collapsed back against the wall.

“Shit,” she mumbled. “Holy shit.”

She gripped the towel tighter around her chest.

“You’re fine,” she told herself. “Everything’s fine.”

Jessica found her balance on two shaky legs and went back into her bedroom, leaving behind her a trail of wet footprints. In the bathroom, she turned off the water in the shower, dried herself off completely, changed into a fresh pair of underwear and a shirt to sleep in, and started brushing out her long hair. It was all normal. Totally normal. The bristles of her brush caught on a knot. Jessica yanked and yanked, bringing tears to her eyes and snapping the strands from her scalp. She tried humming to herself again, but it was nothing, just a bunch of nonsense notes.

“You’re fine,” she told her reflection. “Everything’s fine.”

She braved a look back at the shower curtain, and saw, there in the condensation, the outline of a hand, perfectly centered, with beads of moisture dripping from its edges.

She dove toward the toilet and threw up.

Rosa

(Wednesday, June 12th)

On Wednesday morning, Rosa decided to search for the hyena in shifts. She left the house early and was heading back in the middle of the day to use the bathroom and refill her thermos when she felt the shift in the wind.

The day had been bright and hot and humid, but then, all of a sudden, it wasn’t. The entire eastern sky was dark, the color of pigeon feathers. That dark sky pushed a wall of cool wind right into Rosa, blowing back her unbound hair and the fabric of her long dress, blowing back the leaves on the trees. Rain was coming.

Rosa took off into a jog, ignoring how the jolting movement caused the stiff leather of her shoes to scrape against her heels. The thermos in her backpack bounced hard against her spine. The pigeon-colored sky was now all around. The wind was blowing so hard that loose leaves and bits of trash were tumbling down the street. A cup from a fast-food restaurant skittered and spun on the asphalt. The