Washes Over Me Novels & Stories

I rest my forehead briefly against the tile, closing my eyes as the water runs over my hair, my shoulders, my back and breathe in deeply, letting the steam fill my lungs. I wash everything away. The sweat, the blood that isn't mine and the lingering scent of smoke, gunpowder and fear that has clung to me since the mansion. My hands move on autopilot, shampooing, rinsing, scrubbing my skin until it begins to feel like my own again. The water carries it all down the drain, and for the first time tonight, I feel like I'm drowning in it.

Each stroke, each gentle caress, calmed the wildness and untied the knots. "I don't remember anything," I whispered. "Why don't I remember anything?" I quickly and firmly grabbed the container that held the body wash's sweet liquid. I freed its contents and let the smooth liquid fall over my waiting form. I quickly applied the soap, ensuring every body part was covered in a soft, delicious blanket of foam. Tears kept pouring down my face, no matter how hard I tried to hold them back. With a strong will, I furiously glide the sponge along the curves of my body, giving each touch a sense of purpose and meaning.

Despite his immortal existence, he had embraced the role of a protector, offering me shelter and guidance in my darkest hours. Finishing my meal, I rose from the table, feeling a renewed sense of purpose beckoning me, I decided to cleanse my weary body. Stepping into the warmth of the bath, I let the water envelop me, washing away not only the physical grime but also the residual weight of despair. The cascading droplets soothed my troubled mind, washing away the remnants of doubt and self-blame.

she whispered uncertainly, some of her fear leaking into her voice. Sharon's whispered words seeped into Gordon's mind, her fear wrenching at his heart. He turned, groaning loudly and sweeping her into his arms as he picked her up and pressed her hard against the shower wall. He buried his head in the crook of her neck, his body shaking as his tears continued to flow silently down his face. "I almost lost you," he choked out, clutching her so tightly he knew he must be hurting her but unable to ease his grasp on her fragile body.

I’m relieved. I can still smell traces of Winter on me. My nose scrunches as I pull off my clothes before heading into the shower. I give myself several scrubs, trying to wash away every touch, every kiss that lingers on me as if erasing the memory of him would be as easy.

WHEN IT HIT ME The hot water slid down my back in a slow, steady stream, but it didn’t warm me. It felt like it hit my skin and rolled right off, like even the water didn’t know how to comfort me anymore. I lifted my face into the stream, letting it sting my eyes and run over my lips. I didn’t move. I didn’t scrub. I didn’t wash. I just… stood there. The bathroom fogged up, the air thick, humid, almost suffocating , but the emptiness in my chest was louder than everything else.

Not that they’ve been of much help so far. I grab the loofah pouring some body wash onto it and bit by bit I scrub every inch of me. Every inch of my skin. At least there’s one positive from all this. Silas is gone. He won’t be coming back, and he will never put his disgusting hands on me again.

Their personality is rotten and disgusting as hell! Taking a deep breath, I tried to calm myself down and stepped inside the shower. I turned the shower on and felt the warm water wash over me, sliding into every part of my body and seeping into my skin. I closed my eyes and raised my head, welcoming every drop of water on my face. I like the contact of the water on my whole body. It feels like I am cleansed. The water seemed to promise that it would wash away my pain or heal my scars.

I began my day the same way I always did standing beneath a stream of hot water, trying to wash away the remnants of another intoxicating dream. The scent of watermelon soap filled the air as I scrubbed the sweat from my skin, the heat curling around me like the ghost of his touch. I could rinse away every trace of it from my body, but never from my mind.

Am I so bad then? I don't give myself time to mull over that question. I sink into the warm water, letting the scent of vanilla envelope me. But one question pierces through the fog clouding my mind. How does he know the exact wash I use?