notes: mango radio challenge, 289 words.

*

His shower is smaller than hers, with white tiled diamonds scattered against a steel gray backdrop. She stands, careful in her movements, running her hands through her hair, slick against her scalp, against her neck.

Her elbow knocks his bottle of shampoo (half empty, smells like pine trees). As she reaches over to pick it up, place it back in its specific place on its specific shelf, her head bangs loudly against the tile. His voice breaks through the steam asking, "Are you all right in there?"

She used to think about dying in college, in a shower. Hours could go by without anyone noticing, perhaps even a day, until someone (having to get the proper authority and clearance) climbed underneath the shower stall and found her, lying there, naked and wet. Mortified in her death.

"I'm fine."

She stands, holding his shampoo, naked in his shower. She is too tall for this place (at least he doesn't have to shave his legs) and she's afraid of leaving.

The bottle goes back on the shelf, the water slipping down her closed eyelids, her hand idly brushing her stomach, her nipple. The water keeps falling, pounding, and she wonders how long she would have to stand here to slide down the drain, simply slipping out of sight. The steam crowds her nostrils, and she knows there will be red marks from the searing heat scattered across her skin and he'll offer to kiss them away.

The water is constant, absolving without comment. She watches the droplets as they are pulled down the tile by gravity, feels them as they travel the length of her body, swallows them as they trickle down her throat.

She thinks (perhaps) about slipping.

*
. briefs of character .
  . send a flower .
    . back to the garden .