Page 23 of Drown Like Heaven
Metal rings screeched along the curtain rod as I pulled the shower curtain to the side and cranked the handle upwards to start the flow of water into the bathtub. It sputtered for a second, making a loud awful noise, then evened out. There was a tiny window on the wall inside the shower, but you couldn’t see through it; at most, it provided a little ambient light on sunny days.
Steam filled the room as I let the faucet run and fill up as much as I dared, the hot water rising along the walls of the plastic tub and tempting me with its sweet relief. Slowly, I peeled off my top and jeans, then stripped off my bra and stepped out of my underwear. The steam licked over my skin with its invisible warmth and dampness as I stepped my foot in the tub and began lowering myself into the delicious heat of the water.
My wet palms squeaked on the plastic edge of the tub while I situated myself and pulled the shower curtain back closed to keep the heat in. For a few minutes, I just let myself lay there,eyes closed, head resting on the ledge, body curled up to stay under the water.
Then I sank down lower.
I slid down until my ears were submerged and I could hear my own steady breathing magnified in my head, until I could hear the sounds of my fingers as I tapped them on the water’s surface, each littleplinksurrounding me in comfort.
It was something I’d always done. When I was a child, the quietness in the water was my favorite part of bath time. I even liked when my mom forgot about me, because it meant I could lay there longer, plopping my fingers in the water and listening to the sounds swishing in my muffled ears.
There was that coping mechanism, that form of comfort, and then there was theotherone. The one that started when I was a little older. The one that made me hate myself every time I remembered it.
My mind trailed back to the present, back to the sounds of the water tension breaking apart for the poke of my fingers, the little droplets bouncing up in my wake. Words echoed in my head, words spoken lowly in a fogged up car by a man who was still constantly lingering in my thoughts.
Have you ever made yourself come while holding your breath?
I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, my nipples hardening as I thought about him, the backseat of his car. My thighs clenched and throbbing started between them, luring me to give into the lust.
The more days that’d passed since seeing Mason, the more I wondered if I’d ever see him again. I didn’t think I would, unless another strange coincidence brought us together like it had on that stormy beach.
It was probably safer if I never saw him again.
I’d already gotten myself off multiple times to those memories this week. The feeling of his palm covering my mouth and nose and taking all my air, the look in his eyes as he pushed me over an edge I’d never dared to touch before, the awful shit he said to me.
It all consumed me in the darkness.
Alone in my bed, thinking of the worst things he could do to me, thighs squeezing tight together, my hand moving between them. Tossing and turning and sweating and feeling shame heat my face. The backseat of Mason’s car was the closest I’d ever come to those fantasies I kept locked tight in a box in the basement of my mind.
Tentatively, I swirled the pad of my middle finger along my slit, dipping inside myself shallowly in the warm water.
I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The feeling of waking up with his fingers still inside of me. How long had I been out? It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, but I still knew Mason wouldn’t tell me if it actuallywaslonger. I didn’t know how to feel about that.
I sank my finger fully inside of myself, then added a second one, adjusting the angle to hit deeper, to push on that sensitive spot. My eyes rolled and I pressed my lips tightly together, my breathing coming harder through my nose. The dull drone of the ceiling fan filled the space between soft splashes of my wrist and gasps I couldn’t contain.
I’m gonna hurt you.
And it’s gonna feel so fucking good.
I’d been terrified of him in that moment, knowing how many chances to leave I’d passed up, knowing how many small opportunities I’d not taken to stop what was coming. And then I’d been fully at his mercy, held down on the seat with my legs forced open for his tongue.
I let my knees fall apart and began rubbing my sensitive clit, the warm bath water lapping at my neck and shoulders.
Mason’s face was branded on the wall of my mind, and I envisioned it now, with my fingers moving over my clit and my chest heaving on rapid breaths. I was close already. Faster, I toyed with myself, trying to soothe the throbbing between my legs.
Ready?
Once I felt myself getting pulled right to that edge, I slid fully underneath the water, submerging my face and stealing my own breath.
The same moment of panic as before gripped me, the slight worry of not being able to breathe, but then it felt so good I couldn’t stop.
I rubbed faster, harder, more desperately, focusing all my attention on my needy clit. Bubbles drifted up away from my face and broke the surface while orgasm pulled tighter low in my belly. It wasn’t as good as it’d been with him—I suspected it never would be—but the illusion was close enough.
Don’t breathe until you come,I told myself.
Anxiety tightened my chest as I started to worry I might not be able to do it. Maybe my mind was rushing too much to get there.
But I didn’t stop, didn’t let myself come up for air, forced myself through the fear as if Mason was actually here and holding me under the water. I could almost feel the pressure of his palm on my forehead.
