Adora grew accustomed to the lies overtime, having an answer ready for every single question. She came back late because she got caught up with training and lost track of time, she had bruises all over because she fell a few times, she looked so dishelved because the training was intense, and she didn’t want to be touched because she was way too tired for hugs or cuddles. Besides, she learned the ‘tired’ excuse worked whenever she didn’t have an answer ready. Still, she could never get used to how anxious she felt as she walked back to her room. What if, this time, Catra wouldn’t believe her? What if she found out what was going on? Would she hate her? Would she find her pathetic? Would she stop being her friend?
Today, however, a new feeling had joined in, and it was worse than any other.
It had been a stressful day of training overall and, like every single other day, Adora stayed more than the other cadets under Shadow Weaver’s commands. It always started with actual training, maybe an hour of it, before things went downhill. Today, however, the woman had stopped her training as soon as everybody else left, and the nightmare began way earlier than it usually did.
Adora learned it the hard way, that nobody would hear her yells and screams for help. She stopped doing that a long time ago, now she simply quietly obeyed to what Shadow Weaver told her to do. Not that she liked it, God, she hated every single bit of it, but she hoped it would simply make the torture end sooner. Besides, it prevented her from getting punished.
Walking down the dark corridors, Adora found herself feeling Shadow Weaver’s hands all over her still. She felt dirty, to the point she wished she could rip the skin off her body. Her best alternative to that was rubbing on the skin of her bare arms, the motion getting harsher and harsher overtime until it became aggressive scratching, leaving bright red marks all over as tears started streaming down her face and falling on the floor she walked on.
When she felt Shadow Weaver’s hands slip underneath her white tank top, the blonde couldn’t help the surprised gasp that left her lips and she instinctively pushed the woman away from her. It was a bad choice, and she knew it. She flinched when she got yelled at, but perhaps it was deserved. Nobody would’ve cared if it made her uncomfortable, or if she didn’t like it. Shadow Weaver was her superior in terms of rank, she would have to obey no matter what. That’s just how things worked.
Still, the order of taking her shirt off completely was a surprise. Of course, scared of the consequences that could have come with declining, she did as she was told, but she felt too exposed, and she hated it with every single cell of her being. Shadow Weaver’s touches only became worse when her bare skin was the one receiving them, sending shivers down her spine with each single one.
Soon, staining the floor were not just Adora’s tears, the fresh blood flowing down her arms now joining in. It didn’t stop her, however, as she kept rubbing and scratching her irritated skin that had now been cut open by her own nails. Soon, she started doing the same to her hands, neck and her stomach, underneath her shirt that she wished had always been where it was now.
Her legs soon gave up on her, the blonde falling to her knees. Soon, the only thing that could be heard in the corridors were Adora’s sobs. They started off quiet, muffled as she had her hands over her face that she hid in shame. Soon, however, they got louder, her entire body shaking with each one. Her blood stained hands slipped down to her thighs, and she slowly started desperately trying to get rid of that dirty feeling on there, rubbing on her skin aggressively with little to no care on how much it hurt.
The first time Shadow Weaver touched her thighs, the girl had barely even noticed it. She was too focused – rather, too overwhelmed by everything else that was happening. It was when she squeezed them not so gently that she finally noticed, and it sent a wave of nausea to her stomach. Soon enough, Adora learned that was a sensitive region she did not want to be touched on. However, not looking forward to being yelled at, or worse, Adora didn’t do anything about it, and let the woman do whatever she wanted to her, and touch her wherever she wished. Hopefully, it would make this all be over sooner.
Dirty. She felt so incredibly dirty, and it made her sick to the stomach. No matter her efforts, they changed nothing. And they’d never change anything. It didn’t matter how much her hands travelled all over her skin and how harshly she tried to rub the feeling off, she could still feel Shadow Weaver’s hands all over her as if they never left. And the blonde was left wondering if it would ever even leave at all.
With time, she got her answer, though it wasn’t what she wished it was: no, it wouldn’t. It got better, surely, but it was always there, more or less. She learned to live with it, to ignore it perhaps, but it never left and Adora doubted it ever would. Glimmer and Bow had to stop her in the middle of the night countless times as she sobbed her heart out during one of her attempts to get rid of it. The amount of bed sheets she had stained with blood were insane, but Glimmer promised she didn’t mind cleaning them out for her. Still, to the two it was always a mystery why Adora would do that from time to time. She categorically refused to explain what caused it countless times, in fear of what they would say, and they respected it. After all, forcing her into telling them could possibly make it all worse and it was the last thing her best friends wanted. And, though she appreciated their support more than anything, Adora wished she didn’t have to feel like this anymore, craving to go back to the time that feeling didn’t haunt her.
No matter what her efforts were, she’d always feel dirty.