Novel & Cerita Washes Over Me

A wave of nausea washed over me. I quickly stepped into the shower, turning the water to a punishingly hot temperature, scrubbing my skin until it burned, raw and red. I scrubbed at every inch he had touched, desperate to wash away the feeling of him, the lingering scent, the phantom pressure of his hands, the memory of his lips. But no amount of water, no amount of frantic scrubbing, could wash away the weight of the night, the indelible mark he had left on my soul.

I must ensure every last trace of the poison is expelled. With shaking hands, I rinse my mouth and splash water on my face, trying to wash away the lingering sickness. My body feels relieved finally but drained. —*

Maybe I shouldn’t have drunk so deep on him, drowned myself in his every touch. I grab the soap, scrubbing furiously, running it over every curve, every inch of skin, cleansing myself as though I can wipe him away. I lather until my flesh stings, until the foam clings thick, before rinsing it off, letting the shower’s cascade wash me clean. My fingers rake through my wet hair. The water roars down, drowning the sound of my breath. I switch off the tap with finality, ready to reach for my towel—when my entire body freezes.

The weight of the accusations, the uncertainty of the future, and the relentless pursuit slowly faded away, replaced by a moment of respite and self-care. Turning on the shower, I let the warm water cascade over my body, washing away the physical and metaphorical grime that had accumulated. The steady stream brought a sense of renewal, cleansing both body and soul. I closed my eyes, allowing the water's embrace to wash away the remnants of fear and uncertainty. As the water enveloped me, my mind began to quiet, the chaotic thoughts giving way to a sense of serenity. The sound of the water became a soothing symphony, drowning out the noise of the world beyond the bathroom walls.

I cry out as another wave crashes over me, hot and relentless. Please, Lord. Watch over us.

That is the bargain, and I am in it whether I like it or not. I move to the bathroom and stand under the explosive shower. Water on my skin is a ritual, an attempt to wash myself into a person who can stand on her own two feet. The water is lukewarm and tastes of the pipes. I scrub at my hair with hands that have been small and gentle many other places, trying to remove the smell of him from my skin. But you cannot scrub out the touch of a person who has known where you are tender.

“This place is heavily guarded. Nothing’s going to happen. You don’t have to carry this alone.” I turned back to Oliver, heart aching, eyes burning. His face was so peaceful it felt like a mockery of everything we’d just lived through. I bent over, pressing a kiss to his forehead, lingering as if my soul could reach him through skin. “Please… come back to me,” I whispered. “I’ll be right here… just not tonight.” My breath came in ragged gasps as I stepped into the shower, the water cascading down like needles—hot, punishing, relentless. I stood there, motionless, letting it burn against my skin like it could wash away everything.

My skin is covered in a thin layer of dirt and sweat, sticky from travel and old blood. Stepping into the shower, the heat hits me like a wave. I brace both hands against the tiled wall and let the water cascade down my back. I stand there motionless for several long moments, just letting it pour over me—washing away the grit and ache of the past few days. The water is almost too hot, burning where it hits, but I don’t turn it down. I want it to burn. I want it to scrub everything clean.

And received. I turned the knob, letting the water cascade down from above, a hot, relentless stream that kissed every line of my body with reverence. It poured over my shoulders, chest, hips, thighs—rinsing away the scent of Iris, of sweat and last night’s rutting. Cleansing me.

I can’t take it. I strip down immediately, stepping into the shower. The water is hot, scalding even, and I let it run over me again and again, washing, scrubbing, over and over until I can convince myself every trace of him is gone. I shampoo, rinse, shampoo again, rinse again. I can no longer hear his sounds, but the feeling of being dirty lingers, crawling under my skin, impossible to shake.