Cum was semen? There was no semen on my clothes then. Good. That was good because that wouldn’t have been so easily wiped away.
I lowered the cloth when I thought I was done and waited.
Azrael was quiet a few seconds. “There is a spot on the corner of your mouth. Right side. Clean it off and then hold out your hand.”
I lifted my trembling hand to the right side of my mouth, carefully cleaning it off. My lips hurt. My jaw hurt. I suddenly felt so exhausted.
When I was done, I lowered the hand with the cloth and lifted the other, palm up.
A moment later, something fell into it. It was light, round.
“Eat.”
I lifted it to my mouth without hesitation, and slid it in.
Mint drifted across my tongue, almost overpowering the taste of the semen—
“Again.”
I held it out again.
“Something cold touched my hand, round. I felt it for a second before realizing that it was a water bottle.
My heart skipped, but I held off, waiting.
“Drink,” he said. “Swish it around to clear the taste from your mouth.”
I did it, more than willing. The water was freezing, almost painful against my tongue and the back of my throat. I swishedand swished, gulping down the water until nothing remained but the taste of that mint, which was nearly gone now.
“It should worry you how little hesitation you have when someone tells you to eat or drink something,” he stated almost bitterly. “Hold out the bottle.”
I was just following the rules.
He took the bottle from my hand when I did.
“Now hold out the cloth, straight in front of you, as if you were going to drop it.”
I followed his instructions, hearing something like plastic crinkle in front of me.
“Drop.”
I released it, the crinkle sounding again.
“Your jaw will be sore for a few days, and you should keep some chapstick on your lips, the corners specifically. It will help aid in the healing process.”
My eyes started to burn again. It hurt so terribly.
“Fix your hair,” he told me before he stood.
I reached back, tearing my ponytail out, shaking my hair, and pul—
“Wait.”
I froze.
Azrael went quiet, my hands threaded into my hair at my temples, the rest falling around my shoulders softly. It fell nearly to my waist now.
I had always loved my hair, despite having not looked at it since I was a girl, I remembered how pretty it was. I loathed ponytails. What was the point in having long, beautiful hair if I was forced to keep it up all the time?
