𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫: This story contains mature themes such as alcohol and drug abuse, some sexual themes, slight self harm (cigarette burns). Read at your own risk.
Touch. A word that had many meanings and many different forms. Touch could be gentle. The caress of a finger against your skin. The feeling of belonging within someones arms. It could be harmful. The sting of a palm against your cheek. The feeling of a hand wrapping around your wrist tightly. A touch can ignite many feelings. It can convey feelings just as well.
Humans crave contact. Our bodies, from birth, have the need to be touched. They yearn for it. Achilles didn't have the best experience with touch. She couldn't help but be repulsed by it. She hated it equally as much as she wished for it. She wished for the feeling of a hand on her cheek, and a chest pressed against her whilst she slept, yet the feeling of someone else's skin against her terrified her more than she was willing to admit. She remembers the first time she had felt someone touch her properly in what had felt like centuries. The touch, for the first time ever, wasn't malicious, it wasn't wanting, it was just shared between two lost souls in a tough time and god, she didn't realise just how much she missed it until she felt it once more.
