As the festivities at House Gimul carried on, Chloe emerged from her bath in Lloyd’s home, releasing a deep, satisfied sigh. She patted herself dry with a towel before wrapping it around her body and stepping into the adjoining changing room.
The wondrous marvel that is the bath, as Chloe had once so enthusiastically described it, had quickly become a treasured part of her daily routine. Should anyone have inquired as to why she relished her baths so much, Chloe would have offered two reasons. The first was evident: baths provided a soothing respite from fatigue. Once enveloped in the hot water, the day’s toll upon the body seemed to dissolve into its warmth. The second reason was the quiet space it provided for contemplation.
During the hustle of her daily routine, moments of quiet reflection were surprisingly rare. All the complex questions and philosophical ponderings she accumulated throughout the day, she would slowly and thoroughly digest in the tub’s peaceful solitude.
Today, her thoughts were preoccupied with the previous night’s incident—when she’d tried and failed to unveil her past to Lloyd. Even now, the shame was palpable.
Not all her musings, however, were steeped in despair and regret. She recalled her paralyzing trauma with the kitchen knife, and how she had slowly reduced her fear through persistent exposure over countless nights. Surely, this situation was more of the same. As long as she faced her fears head-on, she would find the courage to share her story.
Lloyd would never belittle her efforts, she reassured herself. Despite the fear that gripped her, despite the way the mark on her back—the origin of all her woes—pricked and burned, Chloe steeled herself. Be brave, Chloe. Today is the day.
Then, it happened.
SKITTER SKITTER SKITTER.
It was a sound Chloe had never heard before.
It was a sound that seemed to trigger alarm bells deep within her, as if rooted in her very biology. In her mind, Shirley’s voice echoed:
Now listen, young lady. The capital is infested with a kind of insect so repulsive you’d think them devils in their own right.
Chilled with dread, Chloe slowly turned her head towards the disturbance. Every hair on her body pricked upright in fear.
There it was: big, flat, brown—and alive.
Oh, that’s right, she remembered. They were called cockroaches.
SKITTER SKITTER. BZZZZ.
Chloe’s scream pierced the silence of the home.
With a revolting buzzing of its wings, the cockroach launched itself into the air, landing on the changing room door.
Right on the heels of her scream, heavy footsteps approached, and the door swung open in front of her. “Chloe, what’s wrong? Is it the enemy?!” Lloyd said, his tone anxious.
In that instant, the cockroach tumbled from the door, landing on its back, its spindly legs writhing and flailing in the air.
“C-C-C-Cockroach...” Chloe whimpered, pointing at the twitching creature on the floor.
“Ah.” Comprehending the situation, Lloyd exhaled in relief. He bent down, picked up the cockroach, walked to the nearest window, and threw it out. Then, he washed his hands for good measure before returning to the changing room. “The problem has been taken care of—Oh!”
Chloe threw her arms around Lloyd like a lost child who had just found their mother. Her petite body, carrying the warmth from the bath, quivered against him. “That was...terrifying,” she mumbled.
“The danger has passed. You’re safe,” Lloyd assured, reciprocating her embrace. As a damp sensation brushed his fingers, the towel swathed around Chloe’s body slipped and pooled on the floor—revealing, right before Lloyd’s very eyes, the birthmark on her back.
Lloyd’s eyes widened and he drew a sharp breath. The birthmark was too prominent, too conspicuous for him to feign ignorance. “Your back...” he muttered.
Chloe gasped. The mark on her back—the origin of all her persecution—he had seen it. The mark that she had carefully hidden from him all this time—he had seen it.
Her warmth evaporated; her mind plunged into a void.
She gritted her teeth and shook herself free from Lloyd’s hold. Scooping up the towel, she darted from the changing room.
Ignoring Lloyd’s calls from behind, she sprinted up the stairs to the second floor and threw herself into her room. She dove onto her bed and pulled the covers over her, hiding away from the outside world.
Before long, Lloyd followed. “Can I come in?” he asked from beyond the door.
Chloe didn’t say anything.
“I’m coming in.”
The door clicked open; Chloe flinched.
Positioning himself on the bed next to her, Lloyd paused to compose his thoughts. After a moment, he gently inquired, “Are you okay?”
Hearing the concern in his voice, Chloe finally found her voice again. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“I wasn’t looking for an apology.” Lloyd scratched at this head, his discomfort showing. Her apologetic reflex was all too familiar to him. “Will you tell me about it?” he asked, his tone earnest. “I want to know—more about you.”
Yes, of course. Three words—three words and it would all be over, and yet Chloe’s lips remained sealed, as if they’d been stitched together against her will.
To the mute Chloe, Lloyd said again, this time with greater conviction, “I will accept you, no matter what kind of life you led.”
Chloe’s stomach fluttered. She forced herself to reflect once more: Lloyd was someone she could confide in. He would never reject her, scorn her, call her cursed. Despite their relatively short time together, she knew this to be true. Lloyd’s character was never in question. It was only her courage that was lacking.
And now, with him having seen it, could she really expect to continue like nothing had happened? Finding strength in acceptance, Chloe slowly gathered herself.
She popped her head out from her cocoon of covers, emerging like a creature of the night. “May I...get dressed first?”