Work Text:
Ever since he could remember, Angel's night routine consisted on taking a long bath. The feeling of the warmth in his skin, as if the probably way too hot water embraced him in a hug. The smell of the soap, calming and familiar after a long day at work. He enjoyed sitting there for what felt like hours; cleaning himself in an almost obsessive manner. It felt comforting, as if the bath could wash away the shame he felt toward his body.
If anyone asked why he took so long, however, he would lie and pretend he just had a really long skincare routine, he needed to make sure he always looked his best, or any other reason that fit Angel Dust's character; not Anthony's. But after finding himself either crying or dissociating under the shower every day after work, he decided to give this a shot, having read somewhere that it could be therapheutic for victims of sexual assault.
Well, he wasn't ready to admit that yet, not even to himself. Deep down, he knew it, but there's a big difference between aknowledging something objectively happened to you and accepting it. Accepting that you were taken advantage of, and that you didn't deserve it. So when he got overwhelmed by these thoughts, and the feeling of shame that came with them, the feeling of being dirty and used up, a relaxing bath was the closest to remotely feeling clean. Pure. Not stained.
Sometimes, he just sat there in silence, playing with the water around him. Other times, he just let it all out; all the repressed emotions he would swear to anyone that didn't even cross his mind. Outside, he was Angel Dust, the star, the always perfect image, the flawless body, always up for whatever was thrown his way. In the bathtub, he was Anthony, and he felt so guilty, repulsive and estrangered at the same time, almost as if his body wasn't even his.
That particular day, work had been extremely rough. It's not like he even wanted to think about it, let alone talk about it, so he just let the faucet wash all of his emotions away.
He sat there, the water almost too hot, but he didn't mind. He scrubbed his arms, legs, every part of his body, over and over, trying to wash away a touch he was not ready to even think about. He did it until his arms were almost giving out, but it was alright.
Behind the doors of the hotel, in his bathtub, he felt safe, almost as if he had never been toyed with, even if that ilusion would vanish as soon as he left the warm bath.
But he hoped, one day, it would be more than an ilusion. That step by step, he would be able to break free and accept it was not his fault, that he was tricked into signing the damn contract. But right then, he was taking it one step at a time, making progress at his own path.
He just hoped, when that happened, he would be able to feel proud of himself. But until then, the embrace of the hot water served as a comforting reminder that it was not his fault.