The pain in my knees and my knuckles becomes background noise.

I swallow back tears. I had done so well keeping my mind blank, but now the thought of him blurs out the blood and dirt on the floor.

Is this his blood?

Did he lose too much to survive?

I force myself to stop thinking about things I don’t know are real. I force myself to keep scrubbing. To get the room clean.

My legs hurt from my toes to my hips when I finally scrape the last bit of soap and blood and dirt into the drain. The door opens and shuts behind me. I hadn’t realized I was alone. Hours must’ve past.

“Rinse the floor.”

I stagger to my feet. My ankles were bent in an awkward position for too long, so I struggle to keep my balance. Mr. Jay points at the bucket of water. It’s a deep, dirty gray color now.

The metal handle cuts into my palms when I pick it up. There’s still quite a bit of water left, and I nearly fall over from the weight of it.

But I don’t.

I walk a few crooked steps toward the drain, then start pouring as carefully as I can. The water streams out of the bucket and pushes the last of the mess into the drain. This floor will probably never look completely clean again, but it doesn’t look like a murder scene anymore.

I did that.

I’m not proud of the job I’ve done—the punishment I’ve endured. I’m more surprised that it was possible at all. I thought the toothbrush would never get anything off that floor, even with the water.

The last of the water spills out of the bucket, and I put it down on the floor. I’m exhausted and shaking, the toothbrush still clutched in my hand. Does every room in the school look like this? Will I be scrubbing floors until I fall over dead?

It’s hard to pick my head up, but I do.

Mr. Jay narrows his eyes. “Now brush your teeth.”

My mouth drops open, but I close it again. I’m too numb to be shocked, but this⁠—

“I—” My tongue is so dry that it struggles to move. “I don’t have⁠—”

“There’s no need for toothpaste.”

I lift the toothbrush to my mouth and push it inside. I’m not here. I’m not here, and I’m not doing this. This is happening to someone else. I’m watching it happen to someone else.

The taste is awful. I gag on it, but I know better than to think he’ll let me off after a few seconds.

Mr. Jay doesn’t.

He makes me open my mouth so he can be sure I’ve brushed every single one of my teeth with the foul toothbrush, covered in blood and dirt and soap.