Four long and coarse black strands of hair snaked their way along the shower tiles like anorexic wall worms. I knew then that a female had bathed here recently, more recently than I had imagined. I stood under the water until each strand snaked its way down the wall with the help of condensation and spray. I watched the hair mix with water and soap at the bottom of the shower, moving faster and faster towards the drain. In one frantic swirly whirlwind, the drain sucked down the hair to its watery oblivion. I watched until each one had vanished. I smiled to myself and stood victorious over the intruders, but my stomach refused to cease its churning. I looked back up to the shower head and let the water pound against my face; I held as still as possible and let each individual water jet fill my pores and flush my body of sin and resentment.
But envy and anger is more comforting and safer than love and trust; so I jumped out of the shower and ran, naked and dripping, into Mike’s room. He smiled and started getting out of bed, assuming an invitation into the shower. I looked at his small teeth and soft white stomach and almost vomited. I imagined him desperately trying to claw his way back out of the drain amidst the swirling soapy water, but suffocated and hindered by wads of black hair. 
“To whom do those lovely long hairs belong?” I asked. Mike rolled back over on his side so I couldn’t see his face, and laughed. “Go put a towel on, you look ridiculous. You’re getting water all over my floor.”
“Water, my dear, will be the least of your problems in a minute.”
“You’re crazy. I have nothing to say, if you don’t like it, leave.”
He knew my threats held no substance, he knew I would not leave, and he knew I’d finish in the bathroom and crawl back into bed with him. I liked the argument, and I liked making Mike mad.
“Why can’t you just be with me.” I knew the answer. He didn’t like me enough to commit. I also knew he’d never say it outright, so I liked to make myself feel righteous and victimized by helping him lie. As long as he lied, I could still maintain some sort of twisted cause for staying with him. I was justified in staying with Mike in hopes that he would eventually like me enough. He recognized this and, of course, used it to his advantage. Plus, the sex was amazing, and he understood and equaled my (sometimes) perverse sexual needs.
I didn’t wait for his reply. I went back into the bathroom and toweled off, scrubbing away the sins but not the weakness in my broken heart. I heard Mike get out of bed and he appeared in the doorway of the bathroom. Wordlessly, he lifted me up onto the counter top and started to press himself against me, but the height of his pelvis didn’t match mine. The attempt became awkward and I was tempted to push him away and deny him; deny him the unlimited access to my body he’s enjoyed for so long, to end our “relationship” for good. But I’d be denying myself and I’m too selfish for that kind of control. I slid off the counter and led him into the bedroom. After, he rolled over again on his side so I couldn’t see his face. The scratch marks on his back existed as the only evidence, physically and mentally, that we even knew each other. I went back into the bathroom, my safe haven, quickly dressed, and quietly left Mike’s apartment without a word to him.
*photo courtesy of google image search
