For a moment, Rose nearly tolerates it. She nearly ignores the touch -- the grab -- in favor of unpiecing Pearl gently.

But inspiration strikes. And in a sense, so does Rose.

“Pearl.” Rose’s rancor is feigned but rings harsh against the tile, eyes tar-dark as she snatches Pearl’s wrist away. “Another mess? You aren’t even listening, are you.” The hand on the showerhead thumbs the nozzle up: a heavier pound of water thrums over Pearl’s already-tender chest.

“Do you want me to spend the rest of the night cleaning up after you?”