This wasn’t about comfort.
It was about erasure.
I stepped into the water, already stripped bare in every possible way.
It should’ve been warm—should’ve offered relief—but all I felt was heat meeting ache. The sting crawled across my skin, chasing the places where his hands had been. Where his mouth had marked me.
I didn’t sink in slowly.
I lowered myself like I was being buried.
And then?
I scrubbed.
Hard.
Fingernails dragging over arms, collarbones, thighs—anywhere he’d looked at me like he had the right. Touched me and then left me to burn without satisfaction. The water turned cloudy with soap and shame, bubbles popping too fast.
But no matter how much I rubbed, I couldn’t feel clean.
His kiss still lingered. Not on my lips anymore.
Inside me.
Everywhere.
I pressed my forehead to my knees, curling in, shrinking down. Trying to remember who I was before this.
Before him.
And I saw Cliff.
That damn soft smile. That boy who used to wrap me in safety without expecting anything in return. He made me feel seen—never claimed.
“Are you okay?”
He used to ask that like it meant something. Like I was someone worth asking about.
I remembered his hugs. His voice. The way he always stood in front of me, never over me.
He made me feel safe.
Hades makes me feel… wanted.
And God help me, I didn’t know which one was worse anymore.
I slid lower in the water, until only my face remained above the surface, watching the ceiling blur through steam and unshed tears.
What kind of girl wanted to be owned?
Because that was what this was, wasn’t it?
Hades didn’t love. He claimed. He devoured.
And the part of me that trembled under his touch?
That part wasn’t afraid.
