As if washing myself with tears in the hallway hadn't been enough to drown the shame, I retreated into the bathroom and collapsed, sprawling out across the vast marble floor. The hot water streaming from above hammered against my shoulders with a relentless force, as if it could somehow strip away the freezing memories of Varg's touch from my skin.
The steam began to envelope me so densely that the rest of the world ceased to exist. My reality narrowed down to the slick, wet surface of the marble beneath me and the scorching air that felt like it was charring my lungs with every ragged breath. My sobs were hollow things, lost and swallowed by the constant, deafening roar of the water hitting the floor.
I closed my eyes, pressing my temple against the cold stone. But it wasn't just the chill of the marble I felt. My mind, acting like a slow-acting poison, dragged me back to that first night—the moment Varg first claimed his space in this room.
