Delude

When I opened my eyes again, I saw Nixon in the chair across from me, his chin resting on the palm of his hand, eyes closed. He made some sort of noise, something resembling pain. I felt something tug at my insides.

Faint light filled the room to tell me it was morning. I suddenly thought of the previous night and shook my head, trying to force away the tears that I knew were coming. My vision blurred as I wiped my eyes.

“Nixon, wake up,” I said. When he didn’t move, I got off the couch and went over to him. I smirked and bent over to brush my lips against his.

“There’s a better way to wake me up,” he mumbled, opening his eyes. He yawned and ran his hands through his hair, staring at me. “You’ve been crying,” he said, touching my face. His hands were warm against my skin.

“I haven’t,” I said, and then I frowned. “Do you need to use the shower?”

He stood, stretched, and shook his head. “No, but you might want to. You smell awful.”

I glared at him.

“I’m not being funny,” he said as he entered the kitchen and opened the fridge. He took a cup from the cupboard and poured some orange juice. He held out the carton to me then smirked.

“Dick,” I muttered and walked up the stairs to the bathroom.

When I shut the door and turned on the water, I went to the sink. I looked up into the mirror and my reflection stared back at me. My eyes looked tired, the skin underneath shadowy, and my hair was messy, tousled, and unclean. I frowned at myself.

I undressed and stepped into the shower, the water soon becoming a source of comfort as its warmth slid down my body. I didn’t move, didn’t touch anything around me. I just stayed frozen, staring at the wall. The heat from the water made me moan as it worked to undo the knots in my back. When the water had begun to feel like hands, however, I turned my head.

And screamed.

With his hair wet and a childish grin on his face, a half-naked Nixon grinned at me. I blinked at him a few times, my eyes sliding to his chest. I shook my head, feeling my cheeks heat up.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I shrieked. “Get out!”

Something flickered across his face and he smirked at me. When he gripped my chin in his fingers and lowered his mouth to mine, all thought to get him out of the shower fell apart. My fingers tangled in his wet hair and yanked, my body aching to be close to his, clothed or not.

His hands slid across my back, nails brushing the sensitive part so I twitched in his arms. When his fingers, slid to my hips, my brain blamed the water, the heat getting to both of us. He bit my lower lip and pulled back to look at me.

“You can hit me now,” he said, stepping back to give me room. I watched his eyes roam my body.

“Just get me a towel,” I said.

“Cold?” he asked, smirking arrogantly.

I blushed and when he turned off the water and handed me the towel, I snatched it and wrapped it around myself.

“I can’t believe you!” I snapped as I got out. “You’re lucky I didn’t scream so loud that the neighbors thought I was being attacked. Asshole.”

As I ran a hand through my hair and held the towel securely with the other, Nixon came behind me. He placed his lips against my neck and I shivered again.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I thought maybe I’d be able to help you ease some of your stress and pain.”

“By coming into my shower when I’m―”

“Pretty much,” he said, shrugging. “But I cleared your mind, didn’t I?” He smiled and wrapped his arms around my middle, squeezing the fluffy, warm towel into my stomach.

“You’re going to be in a shit load of trouble when my mom―” I stopped and closed my mouth, my eyes widening. Then I burst into tears and turned around, slamming right into his chest.

“It’s okay,” he said, kissing the top of my head. He held me at arm’s length and looked into my face. “Get dressed. I promise I won’t look.”

I nodded, sniffled, and went into my room. After I dressed in a pair of low jeans and a black tank top, I curled up on my bed, pulling the covers over my head. Everything from last night came back and my stomach twisted unpleasantly. It continued to do so until I stuck my head over the side of the mattress and vomited onto the floor.

“Case, you okay?” I heard the knock faintly but didn’t respond. The door creaked open and I heard his footsteps. “Oh,” was all he said when he was close to the bed. “Hang on; I’ll get something to clean this up."

When he shut the door, I wept.

I couldn’t do this and that only meant one thing.

This was the end.