This Fragile Game

I stood in the shower and let the steaming hot water run down my back. I couldn’t shake the feeling of the ice-cold water that had engulfed me all those years ago. That awful day had been haunting my dreams for a week now. I hadn’t thought of it for so long and now it was back with a vengeance and I had no idea why. I closed my eyes, willing the chill in my bones to fade away, but nothing worked. I tried to focus on the music that I had playing through the speakers of my phone.

“All we have is what’s left today. Hearts so pure in this broken place. ‘Cause we are (we are, we are) who we are (we are, we are); lovers lost in space; we’re searching for our saving grace.”

The bathroom door opened and closed quietly, bringing me slowly out of my dreamlike state. I heard Asher’s clothes fall to the floor before his hand appeared on the shower curtain, pulling it aside. A shock of cold air hit my face as he slowly stepped into the shower. A smile spread across his face as he placed a kiss on my forehead. I tried to push away the tangled thoughts that had been occupying my mind this last week. I put on what I hoped was a happy expression and smiled at my boyfriend.

“How was work?” I asked him, taking the washcloth and body wash from the shelf in the shower.
“Boring as usual. How was your day? Get everything on your to do list done?”
“Not even close,” I replied with a sigh.

My mind had been too preoccupied with thoughts of that night and the boy from the coffee shop for me to do any of my homework. Instead, I guzzled down four cups of tea, tried to take a nap, and spent most of the day lying in bed staring at the ceiling. In the blink of an eye, it was six o’clock at night and I had done absolutely nothing. I felt so lazy and had hoped a shower would make me feel better. I wasn’t expecting Ash home for at least another hour and was surprised when he decided to join me in the shower.

Asher had pumped shampoo into his hand and started massaging it into my hair. He reached for the conditioner as I rinsed the suds from my scalp. Running his fingers through my hair, untangling my curls, my thoughts finally strayed from the dark depths of my nightmares. Ash gently pulled the washcloth out of my hand and ran it over my shoulders, down my left arm, up my right, and in small circles down my back. He knelt down to wash my legs, spending more time than necessary with his hands on my backside. Abandoning the face cloth, he pulled me into his arms, his hand slipping between my legs. He worked his fingers in small circles, filling my mind with thoughts of only the two of us, together, in the shower, our bodies touching in the most intimate ways possible.

By the time we were done, we felt the need to wash again. We stepped out of the shower, dried off and made our way to the kitchen. I pulled out ingredients for dinner, finally at ease for the first time all week.

As I crawled in to bed that night, I had a smile on my face for the first time in about a week. I curled up in Asher’s arms and fell asleep almost instantly, hoping to dream of nothing tonight. I didn’t want to dream of flowers and rainbows and mushy stuff like that and I definitely didn’t want to sink back the nightmare I’ve been having all week long. I put that stuff behind me a long time ago, why was it coming back to haunt me now? No, I didn’t want to dream of anything tonight.

Just sweet, silent bliss for a change.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t so lucky.

My nightmare started the moment my eyes closed. I was back there, sitting on the bridge, my mind a jumbled mess. My arms were sore from where the razor had cut deep. Deep, but not deep enough. I ignored the gentle throb as I counted down from ten. Again. And again. And again.
I wasn’t sure how long I was sat on the edge of the old wooden bridge, but the dark night sky had started to lighten and I could see the sun peaking over the horizon to my left. I sat for a few minutes watching it rise, thinking that was something I was going to miss. Not that I would be aware that I was missing it, but you know what I mean. The dew on the grass started to sparkle by the time I turned my thoughts back to my missing ahead.

I heard the footsteps coming up behind my, but I ignored them. A lot of people walk here early in the morning, getting their daily exercise in before the day starts. I figured I should jump now, before too many people showed up and someone could see me, or worse, save me. Whoever was walking behind me had either stopped or turned down the other path toward the playground. I sighed and took a deep breath, loosening my grip on the railing.

And then I let go. I didn’t jump; I let gravity take hold. I was falling. I was free. Finally, I was absolutely free of everything that had held me down these last few years. No more stress or anxiety or frustration or sadness. There was nothing that could ever get in my way. In reality, this is where the young boy had jumped in to save me. But this wasn’t reality.

My head was still under the water, my lungs filling with the ice-cold water of the river. I waited for the sound of the boy jumping in the water; I waited for his hands to grip my arms and pull my to the surface; I waited and I waited and I waited but he never came. The water started to freeze my lungs and the light from the early morning sun was fading. And then everything went black.

I shot up in bed, sweat dripping down my forehead. How could I still have my nightmare after having such a wonderful night with my great boyfriend? I didn’t understand why this dream was haunting me now. I turned over to see Asher sound asleep, snoring like a chainsaw. I slipped out of bed and padded down the carpeted hallway to my studio. I sat at an empty easel, picked up a paintbrush, and set off. I didn’t know what I was painting; I just let my mind wander.

“Kay?” came a groggy voice from behind me.
I looked up at the clock on the wall and then turned around. Asher was standing in the doorway, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“How long have you been in here?” he asked, leaning in to kiss the crown of my head.
The clock above my desk read 3:30 AM. I had been painting for two hours.
“I couldn’t sleep so I tried to calm myself down. I guess two hours really can feel like seconds. What are you doing up?” I asked, turning to face him.

“I got up to go to the bathroom and saw you weren’t in bed. Hey, who’s that?” Asher had turned his eyes to my painting, unfinished in the dim moonlight.
“Oh no one. I wasn’t really paying attention, to be honest.”

Only I wasn’t. I was lying through my teeth. This painting put everything right in my head. I knew who this boy was. I knew why my nightmares were back. And I knew who the boy was in the coffee shop.

John O’Callaghan. The only reason I was still alive today. And he was back in Tempe too.

Shit.