There was something in the way the water felt. It was different than before, colder, clearer. It no longer felt like the foggy steam of burning hot water that scalded my skin, my bones, my blood. It was a purified feeling, as if for once I could see things for what they were. Tainted, untainted, had both blurred into my soul and it was tired. So very tired of pretending and denying and forgetting. It was tired and it wanted to give up. But, it couldn’t, it wouldn’t. You come to realize at one point in your life that time goes by too quickly, or not quickly enough, and that everyone makes mistakes, terrible dark, staining mistakes that leave you scratching at the skin to rip it out. To rip that piece out that he put on you. But, you let him, you let him put that piece in you and all you’re trying to do is right his wrongs and wrench it out, with claws and knives and hot water. But the hot water is no longer hot, and all you do as you sit in the shower is feel cold. Awakened. Not free, you weren’t quite there yet. It was going to be a long long road, with shards on the floor that make your feet bleed and make your heart pause. But maybe the marks he left would heal, maybe you would eventually be able to sleep well, and not dream of the things crawling on your skin, tainting, making it dirty and wrong.