So I think the way I'm going to have this story set up the next several chapters will be leading up to the events of the first chapter, then I'll hopefully have some chapters that deal with what happens after the events of the first chapter. If anyone's still confused about the timeline, message me and I'll try to make it clearer.
Warning: Writing stuff like this helps me fight the urge to self-harm but I realize reading it might have the opposite effect. So this is a HUGE trigger warning.
I do not own Once Upon a Time or any of its characters.
Regina gingerly lowered herself into the bathtub and sank down to rest her head against the porcelain lip. She bit her lip as she fought her body's instinct to leap out of the scalding hot water. She smiled grimly, staring blankly at the ceiling, as the pain coursed her entire body. She could almost feel her skin turning rapidly pink. She wriggled a bit, relishing the searing heat. Her heel touched the metal ring on the plug and her foot jerked back of its own accord. She would likely have a tiny burn there tomorrow. One more for her long list of scars.
She fought the urge to make a noise as the pain made its crescendo; Henry was sleeping, after all. Her every pore was on fire. Her body screamed silently as the heat, the pain, almost became too much. Her hands clutched the sides of the tub, her knuckles white, as her entire body tensed in agony.
She went limp. She let her eyes slide shut for a moment. The pain ebbed. The same water now felt only lukewarm to her now insensitive skin. She pulled the plug.
Regina Mills lay there with a serene look on her face, watching as the water retreated from her glistening, abused body. To anyone else it was beautiful; to her it was an accursed thing, useful only to try to ebb the pain in her mind.
Some nights this was enough; she'd pass out in the bathtub for an hour or two, then get up in the dead of night to make her way to her room. Some nights she didn't even need this, nights when she could deceive herself into thinking she was worthy, that she was loved, with mindless sex. But she hadn't had that for a while. Not since Graham-
When Emma got here things changed. Not for the better. Suddenly, her nights with Graham just didn't work anymore. It wasn't the right set of hands around her neck, on her breasts. It wasn't the right chest she clawed at. It wasn't the right body above her. It wasn't the right set of lips upon hers. It didn't feel right. The mindless sex was no longer mindless. It no longer staved off the feelings of worthlessness until he got his release and jumped out the window; even as he was on top of her she felt dirty, violated, ashamed. And as soon as he was on his way home she'd be in that scalding hot bath, trying to wash off the disgust and the sickening feeling of his greedy hands upon her skin.
The water was gone now, save for the drops of moisture glistening on her skin. She shivered as they began to evaporate, leaving her freezing, trying to cuddle into the porcelain that had retained some of the heat from the bath. She watched as goosebumps trailed up her arms to her torso, spread down her stomach, crept into the most intimate places. She lazily grazed a fingertip over the tiny texturization on her breasts. Her light touch traveled downward, catching not only the tiny bumps but much bigger ridges as her hands made their way past her belly button, rippling over speed bumps on her hips, speeding over more scars on her thighs, and coming to rest on her calves as she pulled her knees to her chest.
Sitting there naked in the fetal position in the bathtub, her hair falling in her face and tickling her knees, she wished she could cry. She wished above anything she could let tears spill down her cheeks, venting the anguish pent up inside her. It was part of her curse, she supposed, to have to keep everything bottled up inside. So she would let her skin weep for her.