Victor's POV
I went straight into the bathroom.
I don't know what I was looking for in there. Some version of myself that had answers, maybe. Some version that hadn't stood in a quiet woman's apartment and been told, plainly and without any cruelty, exactly who he was.
I turned the shower on as hot as it would go and stepped in.
The water hit my shoulders and ran down and I just stood there, hands braced against the tile, and I let it happen. The heat. The sound. All of it.
It didn't help.
Every single time I closed my eyes, something came back. Not in any order. Not the way memory is supposed to work, neat and sequential. Just fragments, pieces of things, scattered and sharp.
