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As I shed my clothes, I can’t help but think of everything that led me here—the attack, the desperation that drove me to Draco’s door, the twisted comfort I found in his arms.

I pull off my shirt and drop it to the floor, and I shiver.

He’ll see me.

Draco will see my naked.

I’ll be turning my back on God, letting him see me like this.

It’s perverse. It’s disgusting.

Yet beneath it all, there’s a weird comfort, a sickening sense of safety in his presence.

And it’s not the first time, is it?

We were kids once, and I can remember us taking baths together. Had we worn bathing suits? I couldn’t remember now.

The scalding water penetrates my skin like a thousand tiny needles as I step into the tub and then lower myself into thewater. I sit, letting the water wrap around me like a warm embrace, letting it hold me—the way Draco held me.

Why did I come to him?

The question nags at me, and I can’t silence it. I should have run anywhere but here. Yet, in my moment of desperation, he was the one I wanted.

Not my mother or father.

Not the church.

But an old friend who I hadn’t spoken to in years.

Why? Because I knew he would understand?

The thought has bile burbling in my gut, and I have to force it away.

As I slide into the tub, the heat of the water does little to ease the chill that has settled within me, a coldness that seems to radiate from the deepest pit of my soul. I pull my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around myself, a futile attempt to ward off the shiver that races up my spine.

What is wrong with me?

How can I run into the arms of a man who has come to represent everything I’m against?

How can I find comfort in someone who turned their back on the very same church that saved me?

But even as I ask the questions, I know the answers. It’s the same reason I ran to him in the first place, the same reason I’m here now, shivering in his bathtub.

It’s because even now, after everything that’s happened, I will always feel safe with him.

He is still my best friend, even if we are no longer acquaintances.

It’s the sense of safety that I feel when I’m with him, the knowledge that, despite everything, he won’t let anyone harm me.

It’s because I trust him.

I look over at him

Draco is there, sitting on the edge of the closed toilet seat. He doesn’t turn around, but I don’t feel him leering at me, either.

He’s not looking at my body.

He’s looking atme.