I crouched down, my hands gripping my hair as a harsh voice whispered, "pretty boy, you can't escape."
Abigail reached out towards, trying to pull me in a hug.
"Don't touch me!" I screamed as I pushed her away, the dark threads aiding me in my moment of weakness.
I only meant to push a little but the threads push her across the room, her body slamming into the wall.
She let out a cough of blood and groaned in pain.
What have I done?
I quickly wiped my tears as I ran towards her.
"Are you oka-" I reached out towards her.
But she covered her face, trembling in fear.
"Leave, I'll wash myself." I said, my voice coming out low and rough.
It was not a command, more like a plea. My throat was dry. I couldn't meet her eyes.
There was silence.
And then she bowed stiffly, mumbling, "Y-Yes, young master," before she hurried out.
The door shut closed.
The silence buzzed.
My hands shook.
And then... the memory broke free.
---
I was twelve years old.
The floor was freezing beneath my knees. My father's shadow loomed against the peeling wallpaper, tall and jagged like a broken thing.
"You think looking pretty gets you kindness?" He snarled.
"You're just a burden. Just like her."
He yanked my chin up roughly, fingers digging into my jaw.
"Stop crying like a girl," he snapped. "You think this is pain?"
I heard the sound before I felt it.
His belt whipped across my back.
I learned early on that my body wasn't mine.
Not when my face reminded him of my dead mother.
Not when my silence provoked more than my screams.
Later, when I'd try to bathe, I'd scrub until my skin turned raw, like I could erase the things I didn't say no to fast enough.
One time, he caught me trying to hide the bruises.
"You ashamed of what you made me do?" He laughed.
"No one else will want you. You better learn to obey, boy."
He grabbed my wrist.
I remember that more than anything.
The pressure.
The invasion.
The cold.
---
Back in the present, I looked down.
My hands were still trembling. There was a red mark on my thigh. I hadn't even noticed that I was gripping my skin that hard.
I stared at the bathwater.
I hate being touched.
Even gentle hands felt wrong. Like the softness would crumble me faster than pain ever could.
I lowered myself into the water slowly. The heat stung the fresh bruises. A hiss escaped my teeth.
But I welcomed the pain.
Pain was familiar.
It was mine.
In this world, maybe I was a Duke's bastard.
Maybe I had violet eyes and soulmarks and a legacy I didn't ask for.
But I would never let anyone treat me that way again.
I don't want people looking at me with pity or trying to touch me with hands that weren't mine.
I gulped as a bout of nausea hit me, but I swallowed it down.
He's not here, I reminded myself.
My stepfather should be long forgotten in that awful place, yet something as simple as touch brought back his presence.
Just then, I heard banging on the door.
"Y-y-young master!! I'm sorry. I was wrong!!" Abigail cried.
Grabbing a old towel, I covered myself and opened the door.
Abigail cried as she hit her head over and over again on my floor.
My eyes widened as I hurriedly grabbed her shoulders to help her up.
"No, don't apologize. This was my fault. This is the first time you are serving me, and I forgot to mention the most important thing. Get up."
"What's wrong?" She sniffled.
"I don't like being touched, especially without being asked. However, I feel fine touching other people and if you tell me beforehand, I am fine. But, if I'm touched without being told, I feel sick."
"I'm sorry. I should of asked you beforehand! It won't happen again!"
"Don't apologise. We need to break that habit. I should have told you before. Now help me back into the water and you can remove my towel."
Abigail nodded and she carefully removed my towel.
Her face filled with horror after seeing my wounds and she gasped, "Oh my goodness, Young Master! Does it hurt a lot? Have you seen the doctor?"
"Yes, in fact, I saw the royal physician a week ago. I'm okay now, he gave me some medicine."
"Thank god! Let's get you into the bath." Abigail exclaimed.
She helped me walk over to my bathroom and I slowly got into the cold water.
Even though it was cold, I still felt better washing away all the dried blood and dirt from my body and the scented bubbles from the soap helped a lot.
This was my first bath since waking up, disgusting, I know. But for the life of me, I could not figure out how to turn on the faucet to the bathroom tub despite it looking like a modern tub much to my confusion.
The only thing that I was able to turn on successfully was the facet to the sink so I used the sink water to wash my face and brush my teeth these last few days.
As I immersed myself in the cold, bubbling water, I took a moment to focus on my wrist, where five intricate soul marks coiled around like a delicate bracelet, each telling a story of its own.
With a gentle twist of my wrist, I examined the first mark nested at the very center of my inner wrist: a beautifully spiraled stained glass rose.
The glass had water droplets as if stained by tears which suggest a tender heart hidden beneath an exterior of quiet elegance, a vulnerability that resonated deeply within me.
Next, my gaze fell upon a pair of interlocked hands, their fingers bruised and bloody but steadfastly holding on to one another. This emblem of loyalty radiated warmth and reminded me of the unyielding bonds forged through suffering and shared strength.
The third mark caught my attention next, a cracked mirror with a swirled in the center, as if it was an illusion. It seemed alive, pulsing gently as if someone was desperately thinking of me. The layers of distortion hinted at hidden truths waiting to be uncovered, inviting me to dig deeper into my own heart.
The fourth soul mark was captivating, a little baby star hiding behind the moon, as if it was taking a small peak at me. It felt like it was someone I needed to always protect, a love so soft love yet shrouded in mischief, the baby star hidden behind the moon hinted at my soul mate's playful side.
Lastly, a raven's feather adorned my wrist, sleek and glossy black, as if dipped in the inky depths of night. It felt like my soulmate was ever-watchful and patient. This mark evoked a sense of mystery, suggesting that I was being observed by unseen forces.
I couldn't help but wonder who these souls were and what they might be doing at this very moment.