Short Fiction ~ Drowning

(Teensy-weensy-but-just-to-make-sure-trigger-warning.)

She couldn’t remember the last time they’d fucked.

For that matter, she couldn’t even remember their last kiss, their last touch or anything remotely intimate passing between the two of them.

Was their relationship as dead as the flowers on the kitchen table?

Friday night and she was alone in the vast emptiness of their house. Despite the size of it, it felt like the walls were about to come down on her. Trapped in a domestic lie.

Elle locked herself in the bathroom and slowly undressed. She stretched her naked body and stood in front of the mirror, looking into her own eyes. Half the woman she was, a shell of the better days of their relationship. Bags under her eyes from five AM starts and being woken up by the sound of his infernal phone ringing non-stop.

Why did she do this to herself?

Why did she even look in the mirror anymore? It scared her. It wasn’t her staring back at her.

Elle turned on the taps, filling the bath with comforting hot water. It had become her Friday night ritual, a bit of alone time so she could cope with the leaden emotions weighing on her shoulders. She watched as the bath filled and wondered if she’d be brave enough to call him out on his bullshit, to tell him that it was obvious that everything was going nowhere, fast.

He wouldn’t listen, of course. He was too much of a stubborn shit to ever face the facts.

Elle slid into the warm water and let it surround her. And for a while, she felt at peace. Even when she slid underwater, for the briefest of minutes, it didn’t feel like she was drowning. It felt like she was floating.

And when she came back up again, her lips curled in a small smile.

She’d work up the courage somehow.

But for now, there was only this bath and this body.

And that was enough to make her feel better.

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1 Comment

  1. Baths are my salvation, my escapism, on challenging days. Love this.

    Reply

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