I don’t argue. I head into the bathroom and discard my soaked clothes in a pile on the floor. I keep only my bra and panties on.

“I said remove your clothes,” Kolya growls, stepping into the bathroom and pulling the door closed behind him. “All of them.”

“That seems a little unnecessary.” My lips are fat and frozen, so the words come out in an embarrassing mumble.

His eyes flash like cracks of lightning. “I’ll be the judge of that. Now, are you going to do it, or should I?”

Shivering, I remove my underwear. Kolya nods in satisfaction, then leans into the bathtub and crank on the water. Steam billows throughout the room almost immediately.

He straightens up, sighs, and cracks his neck in both directions. “Get in.”

Again, I do as he says. The moment the water hits my skin, I sigh deeply and sink into the tub. Finally, I can breathe again. The cold was sitting on my chest like a boulder until now.

“There’s a fresh towel over there,” he says, pointing it out to me. “I’ll be back.”

He steps out of the bathroom, leaving me soaking in hot water, trying to remember what my thought process had been when I left his side.

I’d had good reasons—right? They all seem so distant now. Rinsed away by never-ending rain.

I watch the steam rise over my body. The water seems to make my little white scars shine. I run my hand over them, realizing that they don’t inspire the same kind of pain that they used to.

I’ve come so far since the dark days that followed The Accident. “Dark” doesn’t even really begin to cover it. I was nocturnal, a hermit, a ghost. I slept by day and slunk around the house at night with the windows drawn and the lights extinguished. It felt easier that way. If I didn’t see a mirror, if I didn’t see my broken body, then I could pretend it had never happened.

Adrian stayed out of my way. He stuck to his corners, or he left altogether, spending hours or days away until he dragged himself home, reeking of booze. We didn’t speak unless we had to. Unless our grief required someone else to take itself out on. On those occasions, we fought.

I glance at the thin veiny scar that runs down my right forearm, remembering the day I’d got it. I came downstairs to find Adrian on the couch with the television blaring. It was before dawn, so the little light that managed to sneak through the blinds was gray and unsettling.

“What are you doing?” I’d asked.

“Watching TV,” he’d slurred.

I rounded the coffee table, grabbed the remote, and turned off the TV. “It’s three-thirty in the morning.”

“So why the fuck are you up?”

“Why the fuck are you angry?” I’d thrown back at him.

“I’m always angry.”

“What do you have to be angry about?”

“Everything. My whole goddamn life.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”