Lament Shower Novels & Stories

I carry them within me, far beyond the skin. The shower is a ritual. The burning water washes nothing, but it completes the metamorphosis. It washes away the sweat, the salt of dried tears, the physical traces of Liam. Under the spray, I close my eyes and relive, not the violence, but the cold precision. The control. The science of my own ruin. I separate each element from it, like dismantling a weapon. The anger that fueled his movements. The hatred that sharpened his senses. The discovery of that breaking point where pleasure and destruction become one. When I emerge, wrapped in a robe, the room is empty. Liam is gone. Without a word. It's better this way.

She picked a sundress with bright prints and proceeded towards the bathroom. Stripping from her dirty clothes, she stepped into the shower stall. A relieved sigh escaped her mouth as the first droplet of water hit her skin. Soon, she was wet down to her toes. Her knotted muscles worked loose. This all had felt like a distant dream at one point. Her heart ached deeply as she recalled how much she had craved serene moments like this. As the burden of grief grew heavier within her, her legs gave away. Slumping to the floor, she broke down into tears.

Standing under the cascading water of the shower, Skylar felt all the stress of the entire day wash away from her body, as the cold water washed through her hair and soaked it flat, as it trickled down her face and body. Just for a short moment, the water provided a sense of relief to her body, as if it was washing her pain away, but it wasn't long before a deep-seated sadness began to creep into her mind. Her heart began to ache for reasons she couldn't even pinpoint, and she suddenly felt so burdened, the urge to cry, knocking against the door of her eyelids.

A shower does sound nice. Kasey pushed off the white countertop its bluish-grey base sitting on a white tiled floor. A porcelain toilet sitting a few inches from the counter, and a foot from that was the shower with a sliding glass door. After opening the glass door, Kasey looked over the white corner shelves that were nailed to the small bluish-grey tiles. After making sure there was soap and shampoo, she turned her attention to turning the shower on. It took a minute for Kasey to get the water running, and only a minute more before she stepped under the water's warm rain. After a short moment of bliss, reality crashed into her again and a few tears rolled down her cheeks. Choking back her

Tony was honestly very thankful that Dillon had already showered, as he wanted to partake in his 'Shower Trick'. Dillon's shower trick was a method that they both used to deal with things that weighed heavily on their hearts. The way Dillon had explained it was thus: "It's somethin' I've done since I was a kid. Tears are… heartbreaking, yes… but don't be sad for me. I let the spray from the shower… wash 'em away. I let the tears fall with the water… and they disappear down the drain with it… When I get out and dry off, the tears are dried off too and they're gone for good."

I got into the shower and turned it on, not even bothering to remove my dressing gown. I let the warm water wash over me, then slid down onto the floor of the shower and pulled my knees up to my chest. I watched as blood-tinged water ran off of my body and down the drain. I couldn't take it any longer, so I rested my forehead on my knees and began to sob. It was the loudest and most heartbreaking sob I had ever cried in my life.

He missed her more than words could express, a void in his chest that felt like it would consume him whole. “Please, come back to us, Liz,” he begged, his voice mingling with the patter of rain. “We need you. I need you.” Each plea was accompanied by a new wave of tears, his body shaking with the force of his sobs. He buried his face in his hands, feeling utterly lost in the storm. The rain continued to pour, drenching him, but it felt fitting—a reflection of the chaos in his heart. As he sat there, the world around him faded away. It was just him and his grief, a visceral connection that left him raw and exposed. The anguish washed over him in waves, and he screamed into the void, a guttura

My legs felt unsteady. I crossed to the bathroom, turned on the shower, and waited until steam filled the small space. Only then did I let myself cry. The water was hot enough to sting and I stood under the shower head, washing away the cemetery dirt and Noah's scent on my skin.

How could that not have done lasting damage? My slippery hands drift up to my tummy and a sob sticks in my throat as warm tears join the water from the shower as it runs over my face. Is it possible to mourn something you didn’t know you wanted but would probably never have? I can’t do this now. I can’t allow myself to feel this pain, their disappointment, on top of everything else. I need to focus on getting through one battle at a time.