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Urgency crashes into me. Adrenaline and anger and a sadness I'm too weak to admit, as I race down the hallway aimlessly. I swipe a hand across my cheek, flustered when I wipe away tears I already knew were there. But I discard of the evidence, anyway, swiping the mess on my soaked bikini bottoms, feeling a sense of betrayal—
You asked for it, whispers that little devil on my shoulder, who is happy beyond measure, as if he shot the angel off the other. So, so very smug that I'm in such a predicament, having stooped to levels so low, that when I burst through my bathroom door, I hardly recognize the reflection staring back at me in the mirror.
Another sob wrenches my ribcage, but I swallow it back down violently, stubbornly, as if I can wish the feelings away or ignore them completely. Maybe rewind the last hour or two of my life, if I just... breathe... in and out... good, good, like that... in and out... in and—
Sounds like you're reliving it all. In and out? Just like he used his finger to—
SHUT UP! I scream back, my expression in the mirror contorting into that of a deranged murderer. Red eyes, flared nostrils, chest heaving... In response, all I hear is its high-pitched cackle, echoing inside my mind. Overpowering and victorious, like I handed my insecurities a megaphone. Dammit, am I going crazy?
My emotions resurface once more.
Inhale... exhale... inhale... ex—
"Juliana!"
No, no, no, go away, go away, go away...
Inhaleexhaleinhaleexhale—
"Juliana, please!"
When his voice cracks, another sob escapes me, turning my next breath into frantic gasps for air.
What a great actor he is. No, seriously. He's had plenty of time to practice. That sound of brokenness, of desperation. It's all fake. Well-rehearsed, pre-planned, probably after he hung up with that girl, whoever she is. Maybe he even joked around with her, said he just bagged a helpless romantic—a.k.a. a moron, who thought she could play the role of the promiscuous girl, the cool girl, the DTF girl, and come out unscathed.
Then I'm sure he told those tits to wait up for him. Why? Because he's gotta come grovel, to ensure there's a next time. Well, there won't be, but unfortunately for the moron, the damage is already done.
Boohoo, poor, poor Juliana, taunts that little devil. Such a victim, as if you weren't the one who joined him in that hot tub after slipping this little red bikini back on. News flash. You're the one playing games, sweetie. Games with yourself.
It's true. I really must be, but I didn't anticipate how I'd feel afterward. The... contentment. The joy. Truly unexpected. How is it possible that shame didn't overwhelm me? That's what I expected, regardless of the phone incident—wallowing in regret from the act alone. Not crying from deep-seated jealousy or the fact he messes around with other women.
Nonetheless, here I am.
Wanted to get fucked.
Instead, got fucked in the head.
When I hear steps bounding outside, growing louder, another warm tear slips down my cheek. I dash for the bathroom door. My pulse spikes in rhythm to his frantic puffs of breath, until he's seconds from my discovery. "Julianaaaa, please, just come outside and let me—"
The rest of his lie is cut short by me, slamming the door on its hinges, then twisting the lock. His gasp rings from the other side, before he calls my name again, his hand fumbling with the doorknob until—
BANG, BANG, BANG, the knob wiggles some more, followed by a desperate chorus of pleas. And fuck, does he sound sincere, but I entertain none of it as his attempts at trickery fade into the blackness of my mind.
Staring at my reflection, I keep a level head—I really do—until I begin peeling off my bikini. Then the tears flow.
I'm never going to forget what happened, am I? When a man promises to ruin you, is this what he means? Sentencing you to a lifelong cycle of forever comparing your sexual encounters to him, to this one night, knowing none will ever live up to it?
I ponder the idea, almost in horror, as I free my hair from its tie and meander to the shower. A shower so luxurious, it could fit four people easily, and yet, as some of that banging pierces through my mental fog, I find myself wishing I was back in my cruddy apartment.
Turning the handle, water cascades from the waterfall shower head, drowning out the sounds from afar, and coating the room with thick steam.
After what happened, I don't know why my instincts led me here. Sure, I need to clean myself off, lest I sleep like some miserable, shameful mess, but... as I step inside, letting the heat roll down my cheeks, I wonder if they just wanted to blur the distinction between tears and water.
Just as calmness settles over me, those little devils multiply in numbers, their ranks forming a choir I can't escape as they whisper unsettling things between my ears...
Oh, Juliana, when will you ever learn...?
Guess your skin isn't as thick as you thought...
