But after so long in the searing heat, the moment I lifted my foot, the sole peeled clean away from the flesh beneath it. Blood welled instantly from the raw, separated skin.
The piercing pain buckled my leg. I staggered, and my other foot, stripped of its skin, slammed down flat against the scorching iron floor.
The agony that shot up through my skull ripped a shrill wail from my throat.
Bernard clearly heard me. His brow creased. He shot a warning glance at Irvin Winfield, then stood and walked to the small window.
He saw it on the iron floor: a complete layer of sole-skin, and the bright red smear of blood beside it. Something stabbed through his chest.
He was about to speak when Ivy appeared at his side, biting her lip, looking frail.
"Sharon, just apologize to Bernard. Even if you don't mean it, it's fine. You know his temper. If you don't apologize, he'll never let you out..."
Every organ inside me was churning. The heat was cooking me alive. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.
Watching me struggle, Ivy's lips curled. Then she raised her hand and slapped herself twice across the face, crying and clawing at the door, begging to be let in to share my punishment.