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“Okay,” I say. “You can wash us together.”
He shakes his head and grabs Ignacio's arm, failing to drag him away when I cling to him.
“I don't think so. We can't reach every spot that way and the boss wants him washed properly before his next visit.”
A shudder runs through me and Ignacio stirs in my arms. “No,” he whispers into my neck. “Don't let them take me.”
“Just me and you, remember? No one else.”
He nods against me. “No one else.”
“That's right, Iggy.”
“Alright, enough with the sweet sentiments, break apart now.”
“No,” Iggy shouts before I can, tightening his arms and legs around me.
“Don't make me do this the hard way,” the man says, tapping his foot. “I'm really not in the mood.”
“You can wash us together,” I say again.
The man sighs in frustration. “I'll tell you what, let me get you both clean separately really quick and then you two can become one again. I'll even let you hold the boy's hand. How's that sound?”
I glance at Iggy, then back at him. “Really quick.”
“Good. Glad we could finally work that out. See, I can be reasonable.”
Yeah right. Mr. Fucking Roger's over here. My lips nudge Ignacio's ear. “We have to let go now, Iggy.”
“I can't,” he says, rubbing his face into my chest.
“Just for a little while. We’ll still be together. I won't let go of your hand.”
“You promise?”
I swallow hard, not ready to say something I can't guarantee. Knowing he needs to hear it, I say it anyway, hoping I can stay true to my words.
“Yes, Iggy. I promise.”
He sighs deeply, nodding, and slowly moves beside me while locking our fingers together.
“Good, now we can finally move forward,” the man in the mask says, grabbing the blanket from Ignacio's lap and tossing it to the other side.
Ignacio shivers, his grip tightening around my hand. I scoot close enough for our thighs and arms to touch, offering him as much heat as I can.
The masked man walks to the other side of the room and grabs the running water hose, bringing it back over to us and rinsing Ignacio first. Before moving to me, he fills a bucket and pours soap inside. Reaching his hand in his pocket, he retrieves a washcloth. The cold water was like knives to my skin and the pressure made me feel like my body was being torn to shreds.
“Time to get all those hard-to-reach places.”
Ignacio closes his eyes, his face scrunching up and nails digging into the palm of my hand.
“Let me do it,” I offer.
The man pauses, the rag dripping from his hand when he lifts it from the bucket.
“Please,” I say.
“Fine. Don't take too long.” He nudges the bucket with his foot, pushing it closer to me, and tosses me the washcloth. While he goes to turn the water off, I run the towel over Iggy's neck, arms, chest, under his pits, and over his stomach, creating suds on his skin.
