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without waiting for it to heat,

without checking the temperature.

The water hails down,

hammers my scalp, my shoulders, my spine,

trying to beat me clean.

I listen to the water pound against marble

while staring at the tile in front of me,

at the crack in the grout,

at the drop racing down the wall.

I watch it

like it’s the only thing left alive in my world.

My vision blurs.

I don’t move.

I stand there.

Blinking.

Blurring.

18 /UNDER PRESSURE

QUEEN

// NOV 11, 7:58 PM - SOUNDWAVE RECORDS - MIDTOWN, NYC //

At this hour, Soundwave’s quiet.

I step off the elevator,

my sneakers squeaking against glossy tile.

City lights pour through the glass,

carving shadows into the dark.

I don’t touch the lights.

I like it better this way?—

dark, cold, and Raymond-free.

When I reach my office,

I drop my bag,

sink into the chair,