HAZEL
The water was scalding.
I didn't complain. What was the point? They scrubbed at my skin like I was something dirty they needed to erase. The soap burned where their nails had broken the skin during the struggle. My ribs ached from where that fist had connected.
I stared at the bathroom tile while they worked. Counted the grout lines. Anything to be somewhere else.
When they finally hauled me out of the tub, my skin was red and raw. They didn't pat me dry. They rubbed the towel against me hard enough to hurt. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood.
The dress they forced over my head was simple and plain, nothing like what I enjoyed wearing. There was no embroidery, no fine detail, nothing that felt like me. It looked like the kind of basic dress any Omega might wear.
The only reason that thing existed in my wardrobe at all was for dire moments, when it could be used to play into the purity image men worshipped so blindly.
