Chapter 6: Scrubbing Away the Past

Before bed, I filled the bathtub to the brim, wanting to wash myself clean. The water steamed up the mirrors, leaving streaks that blurred my outline.

But when I took off my clothes, the bruises on my skin were still painfully obvious. Purple and yellow marks bloomed across my thighs and hips, reminders I couldn’t scrub away.

Memories of last night surged back uncontrollably—the burning heat of his skin against mine, his scorching breath at my ear, the lingering warmth that seemed to still wrap around me. It felt like my own skin was betraying me, holding onto something I wanted to forget.

I shook my head hard, trying to shake off the absurdity. Tears pricked my eyes, but I bit my lip, determined not to cry again.

Then I grabbed the roughest towel and scrubbed my skin over and over, only stopping when my whole body was red. I scrubbed until my skin stung, the rough towel leaving red streaks that matched the bruises.

Trying, clumsily, to erase the most unbearable memory of my life. The pain was almost a relief compared to the ache inside.

The result was that I was in so much pain, I couldn’t sleep all night. Every time I closed my eyes, his voice echoed in my head, his laughter mixing with that of his friends.

As expected, Derek didn’t send any more messages.

Our six-year ritual of saying goodnight since we got our phones was broken. The silence between us felt final, the little blue chat bubble forever gone.

That’s fine.

It was bound to happen eventually. I wrapped myself tighter in the comforter, listening to the whir of the ceiling fan.

Let me start quitting from tonight. I repeated it, over and over, like a mantra, until sleep finally claimed me.

I only fell asleep near dawn, dazed and exhausted. My body felt leaden, as if I’d run a marathon in my dreams.

Early the next morning, while I was still half asleep, I felt someone plant a gentle kiss on my forehead in my dream.