my closets in the bratva, I never wore them, never removing their tags and always moving them to the back of the closet. Along with the consumption of peanut butter and jelly, a white dress was my hard limit. That reality brought a bubble of laughter from my chest as I smeared the blood over the white material.
“Good for you, Madeline,” I spoke into the fog. “You set your limits high. No white bread smeared with peanut butter and jelly and no white dress. Yet sex on command or standing nude in a crowded room were acceptable behaviors. How about cleaning, dressing, and preparing women for torturous rape?”
My head shook as rage flickered to life within my veins.
For years it had been present, a weak, dying ember barely receiving the elements necessary for its survival.
The fog disappeared.
I was back in the bathroom at Club Regal as the door opened.
Like a gust of wind to a dying spark, Patrick was before me, with his broad shoulders, blond hair, and piercing blue eyes. The man I’d married a lifetime ago. With the opening of that restroom door, he’d given me strength to fuel the fire and rekindle and strengthen my fury.
Anger that had been tempered grew as if I were now the Marvel character, the one who transformed from a mild-mannered man to a hulking green monster,
My eyes opened as my pulse thumped in my ears.
Side to side, I turned in the darkened room, registering where I was.
A hotel room during a tournament.
No.
I inhaled Patrick’s scent in the air and upon the sheets, his unique spicy cologne and clean, fresh aroma.
Sitting up, I fumbled with a lamp upon the bedside stand. A golden illumination filled the bedroom. Yet my dreams were too vivid; I lifted my hands with my fingers wide as I searched for the blood.
Visibly, they were clean, but I knew the truth. They weren’t.
The clock on the bedside stand read after one in the morning, yet I was alone.
When did Patrick leave?
Where did he go?
Pulling the blankets away, I peered at my own nakedness with disgust and repulsion. My stomach contorted as I recalled the many men who had touched my skin. I had to rid myself of their touch.
With hurried steps, I made my way to the attached bathroom. Sliding open the glass doors, I turned on the water, spinning the handle to the hottest setting. To my delight, I didn’t need to wait; steam began to build as the water fell. Without regard for my safety, I stepped under the spray and adjusted the temperature to the hottest I could tolerate.
My skin reddened as the water continued to fall.
How many showers would it take to wash it all away?
I reached for a bottle of bodywash gel.
Popping the lid open, the clean, fresh scent brought back thoughts of Patrick. With the bottle still in hand, I squirted it upon a cloth. My hands were first and then my arms, scrubbing and scrubbing, I washed harder and harder with no regard for the abrasion to my skin.
A sob bellowed from my chest as I lowered myself to the tile floor, resting upon my knees as the scent of bodywash filled the glass stall, mixing with the hot spray and steam,
I’d failed.
It wasn’t enough.
It would never be enough.
The blood would never be gone.
Lying on my side, I pulled my knees to my chest.
Perhaps there was hope. Maybe if I lay under the hot spray long enough, it would go away.
“Madeline, fucking hell, what are you doing?”
My eyes and face ached as I looked up, watching as Patrick turned off the shower. Fully dressed, he stepped inside the steam-filled stall.
What was I doing?
The loss of the spray brought a sudden chill to my skin.
Wearing a t-shirt and soft sweatpants, he knelt beside me on the shower’s tile floor.
My head shook. “You’re getting your pants and shoes wet.”
Patrick reached for my shoulders and pulled me to his chest. “I don’t give a fuck about that.” His strong arms wrapped around me, bringing me closer. “Maddie girl.” He pushed me away to arm’s length. “Jesus, that water was scalding.” His blue eyes searched my skin. “Are you burnt?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head.
“Here.” He offered me his hand as he stood and stepped out of the stall. “Let me help you with a towel. How long were you in there?”
My weak legs wobbled as I stood.
Gripping his large hand for support, I steadied as cooling droplets trickled from my long hair. No longer