79
~Velma’s POV
I finally stopped scrubbing my mouth when my skin began to sting, and I realized there was nothing left to wipe away. Whatever he had tried to take from me was already gone. I let the towel fall back into the sink, turned off the water, and stood there for a moment, breathing slowly until my hands stopped shaking.
Then I went back to my painting.
I picked up the brush and faced the canvas, telling myself to focus, to return to the familiar rhythm of color and movement. The room was quiet again, the way I liked it. The light still fell gently across the floor. Everything looked the same.
But I was not.
The brush hovered in my hand, unmoving, as my thoughts began to drift despite my efforts. The present blurred, and memories I had buried carefully began to rise, uninvit
