Estranged • h.s.

20

I'm scrubbing my skin for the second time. The first thing I did after I left Harry standing there last night was go to my dressing room and shower. I could smell him all over me. His thick, enticing cologne and sweat mixed with me.

I can't fucking think straight when he invades my senses like this.

The loofah leaves my skin feeling tingly and raw and I let the warm water rinse over it. I close my eyes as the water soaks my hair. But then I'm seeing him on his knees, his mouth on me while his eyes cut through my soul like a knife through butter. I shake my head, opening my eyes to stare at the shower wall.

What have I done?

What the fuck have I done?

He's going to think this is a step towards making up. He's going to expect more from me, but I have nothing left to give. I don't even know what to do. I don't know what I feel.

That's a lie. I feel like I've been shaken awake from a nightmare, like my body is mine again. All from one man's touch and attention?

At least I'm still sure about my choice. One and done, he's out of my system and I can properly move on now. I have to move on now. I already tricked myself into thinking I had moved on, and look where that got me. Falling apart while he sucked an orgasm out of me like his life depended on it.

This time it's for real.

I turn the water off, letting myself stand still for a moment before I take a step out of the shower. I don't even bother grabbing a towel, instead just walking to the fogged over mirror to swipe my hand over it. I stare at myself, trying to force a feeling of disgust with myself. Trying desperately to make myself feel bad for what I've done.

But nothing comes, nothing but plain feelings. A sense of calm has washed over me, shielding me from my mind that seems to love self loathing.

I used to do this exact routine after Jackson would throw me to his wolves.

I'd scrub my skin ten times as hard, to the point where I was beet red all over. I'd get sick in the shower on myself. I would stare at myself in the mirror like I didn't know who I was staring at for so long, that my already weak legs would give out. I'd have no time to register the loss of control, so I'd end up on the floor, curled in on myself while crying as quietly as possible.

I'd stare at the grout of his bathroom floor and think about which hell was better. Used to think of all the things I could do to piss him off, just so he'd throw me back in that basement. Tied up and smacked around, but at least no one was forcing themselves on me. At least I didn't have to close my eyes and go to that green field while men had their way with me.

But this is not like that. No. I may still blame Harry for some of my pain and suffering, but he would never do anything close to what those men did to me. No, Harry asked me. Harry made sure I wanted to be there last night. He's a good man, somewhere in there. He's loyal to me to a fault. He would never hurt me like that.

But he did hurt me, and I cannot forget that. I can't just get over that and pretend everything is fine. This has to be it. These feelings will be bundled up and shoved somewhere so deep inside me, that I can't think about them.

Don't think about him. Don't think about him.

I hear a pounding on my front door, the sound making me jump before I reach for my robe. My bare feet, leaving little spots of water behind, smack against the glossy cement floors of my apartment as I race to the door and the urgent knocking behind it. My robe flows behind me as I slip my arms into it, and I fasten it around my waist before checking the peephole.