Washes Over Me Novels & Stories

"It works. Cecelia was right—this lasts ten minutes." My soul stood outside the window, watching the broken woman inside. Her hair had turned completely white. She was little more than skin and bone. I did not forgive her. But I didn't hate her either. Hatred was exhausting, and I no longer had the strength to waste on anyone. I only felt that this farce had finally run its course. A gust of night wind brushed past, rattling the window frame softly. I could feel my soul fading, dissolving little by little. A deep, unfamiliar lightness wrapped around me.

I rush to the shower and turn the hot water on, placing myself under the hot spray. I can't stand this guilt. I can't stand this shame. I have to wash it off. Wash off their touch. Wash off their filth. Wash it all off. "What are you doing, Rain?" Logan roars in complete shock as he darts into the bathroom... TBC.

They closed the bars and left without a word. For the first time in days, maybe longer, I peeled the shredded shirt off my skin and stepped toward the water. The basin wasn’t deep, but it was enough. I knelt beside it, scooping handfuls to my face. The heat stung at first. I winced as it touched the open cuts still weeping wolfsbane. But the pain was different now. Cleansing, not cruel. I washed slowly, methodically. Arms, chest, face. Hair. Dirt turned the water cloudy. The rag they left was rough, but I used it anyway, scrubbing until my skin felt like mine again. Until I could breathe without gagging on dried blood and rot.

There is no way I'm walking out of here smelling like his goddamn shadow. My eyes land on the soap. Safe, neutral, citrusy. I lather it up in my hands and scrub with a vengeance, determined to erase every trace of last night's chaos. Hair? Soap. Arms? Soap. Legs? Soap. My hair will pay for this later, but right now, I need to reclaim my skin, my space, my sanity. The water cascades over me, rinsing away the lather, and as I reach for the sliding door, the shower switches off automatically. Magic. Literal magic.

Determined to face whatever was to come, I quickly hopped into the shower to freshen up. The water cascaded over me, a feeble attempt to wash away the guilt and regret that clung to my skin. Each droplet seemed to carry a piece of the truth, reminding me of the consequences we now faced. I scrubbed at my skin, hoping to cleanse myself of the burden I carried.

“Why do I see her like this?” The memory dissolves like it was never real. Which, by all logic, it shouldn’t be. I wash the rest of the soap off my skin, but some part of me knows it doesn’t matter. The moment I turn the water off, I walk out of the shower, grab a towel, drag it down my chest. My hand shakes. I never shake.

Music had always been my sanctuary, a faithful companion that offered solace when words failed. Drawn by the song's cadence, I embarked on the familiar ritual of awakening. My bathroom beckoned, offering a haven of purification and renewal. Shedding the constraints of clothing, I stepped into the sanctuary of the shower, the warm water cascading over me like a gentle embrace. I closed my eyes, allowing the sensation to wash away the lingering unease.

I stepped beneath the shower's embrace, letting the water envelop me in its liquid caress. “Fuck you!,” I murmured to the ghosts of memory that lingered at the periphery of my consciousness, insisting on their presence like unwelcome specters at a feast. As the warm droplets beat against my skin, each one felt like a tiny hammer, driving out the images and whispers of those who no longer held a place in my world. And yet, as much as I tried to banish them, one specter remained defiant, clinging to the recesses of my mind.

Their lingering filth is making me want to gag. I grab my apple cinnamon body wash and cover my loofu. The water is still cold, but I don't care. I need to be clean now. I scrub my skin mercilessly. I am probably removing the top five layers of skin, but I don't care. I want them off my skin since I can't get them out of my mind.

I stared at the wall until steam fogged the mirror and surrounded me. I dragged my feet into the shower. When I stood beneath the hot spray of water, my breath shook as his scent dimmed. I washed my face of the pity fest I’d had last night. Grabbing my loofah, I squeezed my bath wash into it and started scrubbing the rest of him away. I went to work and when I was done, my body was rubbed raw. As if I could scrub enough to be rid of Shane. I dragged my fingers along my scalp as I lathered my hair with conditioner.