Rehab for SuperVillains (18+)-Chapter 73: ecstatic

The eye mask slipped from her face, and as it fell, the dim blue light of the Haven’s kitchen flooded her vision, her blue eyes blinking, adjusting, until they locked onto a reflection in a mirror which was hung on the wall adjacent to the counter, clear enough to reveal her truth.

The face staring back wasn’t the composed queen she’d crafted, the unyielding warrior who’d burned through life with fire and defiance. It was something else—erotic, ecstatic, a mess of raw emotion.

Tears streaked her cheeks, pooling at the corners of her parted lips, which trembled with each breath.

Her eyes, wide and glassy, shimmered with a mix of pleasure and pain, her brows arched in a way that screamed surrender, her tongue peeking faintly as if caught mid-moan— vulnerable, unguarded.

She looked like a stranger, yet hauntingly familiar, a ghost of the girl she’d been before the walls, before the mask, before the world taught her to hide.

Anger surged through her, a hot, jagged wave, her body tensing in Kael’s grip.

That wasn’t her—not the Freya who’d fought, survived, dominated.

That was weakness, failure, a puny child who’d crumbled under life’s cruelty.

But Kael’s powers pulsed, a warm, soothing hum against her skin, calming the storm before it could erupt.

"Look," he whispered, his voice sultry, lips grazing her ear, "that’s you. The real you."

"N... No," she whined, her voice frail, cracking under the weight of denial.

"That’s not me. That isn’t me." Her head turned away, desperate to escape the reflection, to cling to the armor she’d worn for years.

Kael’s hand caught her jaw, gentle but firm, guiding her face back to the makeshift mirror.

"Why do you deny it?" he asked, his tone soft but piercing, hazel eyes searching hers through the reflection. "Why do you hate her so much?"

Freya’s lips parted, but no sound came at first. Her chest tightened, memories clawing at the edges of her mind—humiliation, betrayal, a girl too small to fight back. "Because she’s weak," she finally spat, voice low, venomous. "A wuss. Pathetic. Puny. A coward who let the world walk all over her."

"No!" Kael’s shout cut through, sharp and commanding, silencing her self-loathing.

His voice softened, a calm tide washing over her. "She’s not weak. She was weak, Freya, but not anymore. She’s not a wuss—she survived. She’s not pathetic—she fought."

He leaned closer, his breath warm against her cheek, his hands sliding to her shoulders, grounding her.

"Look in the mirror," he urged, but her eyes squeezed shut, resisting, her lashes wet with unshed tears.

"Times have changed, Freya. You’ve changed. You’re strong now—all these years, fighting alone, surviving an unfair world, you’ve been strong on your own. And you were always her, the same person, but you refuse to accept it because you’re afraid you’ll turn back into that girl."

His words struck deep, each one a chisel against the walls she’d built, cracking the facade she’d clung to.

Freya’s breath hitched, her heart pounding, but she didn’t move, didn’t pull away.

"You don’t need this mask anymore," Kael continued, his voice a low purr, resonant with truth.

"The mask doesn’t make you strong—it’s your inner self, Freya, that fire inside you. The mask is just a cover, a lie you told yourself to survive. Look at her. Embrace her."

Her eyes fluttered open, slow and reluctant, meeting the reflection again. The blue light softened her features, but the rawness remained—tears, flushed cheeks, lips parted in vulnerability.

She saw it now: the girl she’d been, defeated then, and the woman she was, defeated now, but not broken. Not weak.

Tears spilled over, trailing hot down her face, and she didn’t stop them, letting them fall as her gaze lingered, searching for the strength Kael saw.

"No, don’t cry," Kael said, concern lacing his voice, his arms wrapping her in a hug, warm and enveloping, like a shield against her doubts.

"There’s nothing to cry about. Look again—I’ll show you something." He tilted her chin gently, urging her to face the mirror once more, her tear-streaked eyes meeting her own.

Freya stared, her breath shaky, her reflection a tangle of past and present. The ecstatic face had faded, replaced by something softer—raw, yes, but alive.

Her eyes shimmered, not with defeat, but with recognition, a spark of the fire she’d always carried, even when she didn’t see it. Kael’s hands slid to her waist, steadying her, his touch a quiet promise.

"See her," he whispered. "Not the tears, not the mess—see you. The beautiful girl who survived, who fought, who became a queen all by herself, her choice. She’s not your shame—she’s your strength."

Her lips trembled, but she didn’t look away this time.

The reflection shifted in her mind—not a weak child, not a defeated woman, but a survivor, a fighter, whole in her flaws.

"I... I don’t know how to be her," she admitted, voice cracking, barely above a whisper. "I’ve been... someone else for so long. Someone who doesn’t break like this."

Kael turned her gently, breaking her gaze from the mirror to face him, his hazel eyes intense, tender, locking onto hers.

"You don’t have to know how," he said, his voice steady, warm. "Not right now. Just let yourself feel—let yourself be. I’m here, Freya. I’m not going anywhere." His thumb brushed her cheek, wiping a tear, the gesture so intimate it made her chest ache.

She swallowed, overwhelmed, her hands gripping his arms as if anchoring herself to his words. "What if... what if I fall apart?" she whispered, the fear slipping out, raw and unguarded. "What if I can’t be strong without the mask?"

"Then I’ll catch you," Kael said, unwavering, his gaze never leaving hers. "And we’ll put the pieces back together—together." He pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her, her naked body pressing against his, her warmth melding with his.

Her tears soaked his skin, but she didn’t pull away, her sobs softening into quiet breaths, release replacing despair.

For the first time in years, Freya let herself surrender—not to pleasure, not to Kael, but to herself, to the girl she’d locked away, to the woman she could become.

They stood there, the kitchen silent save for the ribs’ faint simmer, the smoky aroma curling faintly, a reminder of a challenge now secondary.

Kael’s fingers threaded through her hair, gentle, grounding, as he murmured against her temple, "You’re not alone anymore, Freya. You don’t have to fight alone, hide alone, hurt alone. Let me in. Let you in."

Her body relaxed against him, the tension melting, her pride no longer a cage but a spark, rekindling slowly.

She felt it—a crack in her armor, not weakness, but a door, letting light through. She wasn’t healed, not yet, but she was seen, known, and that was enough for now.

Kael pulled back slightly, brushing a strand of platinum-cyan hair from her face, his touch soft as a promise.

"One more round?" he asked, his voice light, not pushing, playful, friendly, just offering a path forward.