COME UP FOR AIR | ongoing

ACT I SCENE II | 2

ACT I SCENE II | 2

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REIGN was sat alone in the bathtub, hot tears streaming down her plump face as she sobbed quietly, trying not to make too much of a noise.

Pierce had ran her a bath as soon as they reached his apartment.

She'd cried the whole way back, clutching Pierce as if letting go of him would condemn her back to that grisly place.

Whether those was tears of joy, or pain, or perhaps some twisted combination of both, only the moon goddess knew.

It had been years now and still, dolefully, tears would stream down her cheeks whenever the opportunity arose. You'd think they'd have run out by now and yet there she was.

Still crying... but at least she was safe now.

She could exhale for the first time in years. The feeling was much too foreign to her. It was overwhelming, even. She didn't want to keep her eyes closed too long in fear of it being just another one of her dreams.

Her entire body ached.

She tried to position herself comfortably in the already brown bath water she was in and accidentally slid, hurting her already sprained hand a little more than before.

She couldn't help the cry for help that escaped from between her chapped lips, hot tears pouring down her face.

'Everly?' There was a knock on the door, slow and subtle. It was Pierce's voice.

Reign noticed a pinch of worry laced in it. 'You okay in there?' His tone was soft yet stacked dense with anxiety.

'I'm fine.' She couldn't bring herself to muster any other words. She felt ashamed for once upon a time her voice had conviction but now it felt like all the words were scrambled up in her brain and she was picking at random ones in a lame attempt at forming a coherent sentence.

Her thoughts were rapid fire. The words ran away from her before the opportunity arose for her to clasp them, leaving her behind with short, simple phrases that even a child could vocalize better.

Once she felt that she was in a slightly less uncomfortable position in the bath, she grabbed the loofah with her unsprained hand, applied the soap as slowly and as thoroughly as possible - and began to scrub.

She scrubbed and scrubbed, she scrubbed so hard that her skin was turning pink. The water was growing darker with shades of crimson, brown and grey.

She wished that she could forget, that she could scrub away the feel of their hands against her skin, that if she scrubbed hard enough she could make herself forget.

Alas, once she had done all she could, her skin ripe and red, she still felt filthy. She still felt like the dirt from her prison cell was attached to her, that those men's hands were still pinching her once smoothe skin.

She ambled out of the bath, brown eyes darting towards the shower and the baby blue towel on the rack adjacent to it. She took it, wrapping it around her wet body in shame.

Her eyes watered at the sharp pain when she used her sprained hand.

Her body trembled, and she was relieved to find a large grey vest with black sweats that were surprisingly a perfect fit laying on the bed Pierce had made ready with an assortment of warm blankets and pillows for her.