Everything, except clothes.
I take my time, unwilling to leave the soothing heat of the shower cabin, but when I finally manage to pull myself away from it and step out, I find nothing but two towels—one large and one small—to wrap myself in. There’s a cabinet beneath the vanity with nothing in it, no closet in the bedroom, no wardrobe whatsoever.
Shivering, I return to the bed, allowing myself to be comforted by the soft sheets as I hide beneath them, my body and hair still wet, but smelling of lavender and citrus fruit.
And now?
With nothing to keep myself busy, I’m tormented with fearful thoughts as I curl up under the heavy blankets, confronted with the images that I so successfully pushed aside for as long as there was something else going on around me—brutish men dragging me into the unknown while I couldn’t think of anything but my humiliation and fear, a room to explore, a shower to clean and soothe myself.
But now there’s nothing to hold onto. Nothing but confusion, apprehension—and memories.
Memories of Cain, and the man he was when we met for the very first time.