I turned the shower handle with fingers that barely felt like mine. The pipe groaned, and a rush of water burst from the faucet, sharp and loud in the silence. Steam began to rise, fogging the glass before I could look away from it again.
I stepped into the shower.
The first hit of water stung- too hot, too fast, but I didn’t move back, I let it burn across my shoulders, down my spine, over the places his eyes had claimed.
My breath came in small, uneven pulls.
I dragged my hands over my arms, my collarbone, my br**st, my stomach, like I could wash him off. But every place I touched felt tied to a memory. His stare. The way he watched me breathe. The way silence turned into a hand around my throat.
When my fingers brushed my br**st, a sharp breath escaped me. Not from pain-from remem
