Chapter 10

Hot water poured on my head and off my body into the drain below. Steam rose, clouding the bathroom in a warm fog. I watched as soap suds swirl around the drain like a whirlpool before falling in, pushed by the onslaught of water. 

Just another thing Damon had deprived me of: hot showers. I lifted my head so that water streamed down my face and braced my hands against the slick tiles of the wall, savoring the heat that I haven't felt in so long. Too long.

Naja and Ramona had been so kind as to shove me in the bathroom after our short introduction, insisting that I would feel better after I got cleaned. They were right, I suppose; it did clear my mind. I had forgotten how therapeutic showers are when you actually enjoy them. 

I shut off the water and quickly ran a towel along my body, making sure to avoid the mirror hanging over the sink. I was scared to look at myself, at what I've become. There were no mirrors in that room, no ways of seeing myself grow over the years. I wasn't even sure if I'd still recognize myself. Or, what's left of myself.

I knew my hair was long, almost reaching my should, the same dark auburn color as Papa's. I remembered my eyes are gray, my skin naturally paler than most due to my red-head genes. But other than that, my face was an empty canvas left up to my imagination. The  only thing is, I don't want to imagine what I look like.

Folded clothes sat on a small stand by the door with a note attached that read 'Wear these!' scrawled out in messy handwriting. The outfit was plain with a simple black T-shirt that hung off my scrawny frame and a pair of sweatpants. I had to synch the strings tight so they would stay up, but even then they just barely wrapped around my waist. 

<You should look.>

<Why? For what?>

<For closure. To prove that Damon didn't break you.>

I didn't say anything, fidgeting with the sweatpants' strings.

<August.> Her tone was demanding, like a mother scolding her pup. <Look at yourself.>

With great effort I faced the mirror, still staring at the granite countertop. I couldn't, I wouldn't, I can't-- I'm too much of a coward to face myself, to finally see who I've become after all that torture--

Echo wrenched my head up, taking control for a split second before retreating back into my mind, fast enough to leave me shocked as I gazed at my reflection. 

Hallowed out cheeks. Chapped lips. Dark eyebags, the tousled mess of hair, the section of collarbone that peeked through the low-hanging shirt. And something in those gray eyes, a look that one can only get from living in hell everyday. 

Me.

That was me. 

But at the same time it wasn't. I didn't recognize this... this person. He was a stranger to me, once a friend, yes, but now a full and complete stranger. 

My breath hitched and I tore my eyes away from the mirror-- from me-- and buried my face in my hands. My unrecognizable face, the face that confronted Damon head on, the face that-

<August. Breathe, or your going to pass out.>

No, no, not me, I'm not anyone. . .

<In slowly. . .>

That's not me, I've never been myself. . .

<Now out. . .good, like that. Another deep breath in.>

As I followed Echo's pattern my mind came into focus once more. My breathing was ragged, interrupted by soft whimpers of defeat, but I was breathing nonetheless. I didn't know when I had fallen to the ground, but my knees were pressed harshly into the hard floor, my hands grasping at the counter's edge so hard my knuckles turned white; it was as if I was trying to stay grounded, in control.

When my erratic pulse calmed down I pulled myself up, avoiding my reflection once more and straightening the wrinkles out of the clothes. Once presentable I stepped out of the safety of the bathroom to find Naja and Ramona in the kitchen making dinner, laughing and sharing smiles as they did so.

They noticed me after I stood there awkwardly for a few moments. Ramona beckoned me over with a warm smile.

"Would you set the table, please? The bowls are in there, and the utensils are over here," she said. "We're having a light soup tonight since Malcolm said you wouldn't be able to handle something too rich."

"Who's Malcolm?" I asked hesitantly, grabbing three bowls from the cupboard and setting them on the table.

Naja answered. "He's. . .well, I want to say he's the pack doctor, but since pack roles are pretty lax here. . . Malcolm is a doctor for both human and werewolves. He's also a close friend of ours," she finished.

"You can trust him," Ramona added, sprinkling a seasoning in the pot of soup. "Or, we'd like for you to trust him; we don't want to force you on anything."

I simply nodded and placed spoons next to the bowls as Naja set down napkins. A doctor, huh? I wanted to trust him, but without a face to put with the words they gave me, I couldn't help but feel a bit anxious. 

<We can decide when we meet him,> Echo said gently. <That is, if we meet him.>

<Mhm.>

Ramona placed the pot on the table and scooped it out with a ladle. The soup was steaming, but I was hungry and it smelled so good that I downed it despite it being scalding hot. Naja looked amused whilst Ramona looked surprised, but smiled as she dished out another serving, making sure to pick out extra pieces of meat and vegetables for me to enjoy.

"I'm glad you like it," was all she said before turning to her wife, striking up a conversation about the boxing studio that she owns.

It was warm and happy atmosphere, making me feel instantly at ease as I ate my fill for the first time in a while. But with a full stomach came drowsiness, and the couple soon had me tucked away under soft covers in the spare room. 

"Augustus," Ramona whispered. "May Malcolm visit tomorrow to run a check up on you?"

I don't know was I responded with, but Ramona smiled and nodded, brushing the hair from my forehead and murmuring something to me on her way out.

I think I wouldn't mind living here.