The water is warm when it hits my skin. It falls down my back, soothing the small aches and pains along the way. It washes over me, cleansing me. I lower my head and let it massage away the tension in my shoulders, but somehow it doesn’t seem to do much for them. I hear the door to the bathroom open and immediately regret not locking it. I close my eyes and hope that I somehow disappear before she realizes I’m in here. Of course, it doesn’t work, the universe is never on my side. I hear the glass door slide open and I don’t want to open my eyes. I don’t want to look at her, I don’t want to see yet another girl that just doesn’t quite measure up. I don’t want to be met with yet another one who can only be second best. So, I keep them closed. I squeeze them shut with even more force. I can feel her wrapping her arms around me and I want to recoil at the touch but I don’t. She kisses my neck and it’s not as soft, not as perfect. I feel her smile into my skin and I have the urge to run. It shouldn’t be her. It shouldn’t be this girl that gets to touch me and kiss me when such luxuries were promised to someone else. But I stay there, I stay rooted to the spot that I’m in because I have no other choice. Because these things no longer seem precious. They’re no longer things of passion but things of necessity. When her hand begins to travel down my stomach, I don’t object. I picture natural blond hair pressed to my back rather than the bleached blonde I know to be there. I see perfect blue eyes with the ability to completely overwhelm me rather than the pale blue that’ll never measure up. I imagine a different set of fingers inside me. Another pair of hands, an entirely different body eliciting the moans coming from my lips. And as I fall over the edge, my body trembling enough to need her to hold me steady, I don’t feel as satisfied. I know that no amount of fantasizing will make the girl turning me to face her, kissing me with her not as soft lips, the one I long to be with.
I walk out of the shower and face the mirror. I see evidence of her passion imprinted on my skin and I wish them away. I try to wish away any trace that she had been apart of me, any mark that could tie me to the one filling the void. I sigh because I know I won’t rid myself of them or her. These things just prove how far I’ve strayed from the original plan. I turn my back on my reflection. I can’t stand to look at myself any longer. I can’t stand to further examine the consequences of the decisions I’ve made, so I turn and walk away. I walk away from the woman I no longer recognize, the woman that stares blankly at me begging for me to make a change, to do something so drastic that it’ll shake me out of this pathetic state I’m in. But every time I see her, even if it’s just a glimpse, I walk away. I can’t face the pleading in her eyes because there’s nothing I can do for her. These decisions are out of my hands, out of my control. I walk into my bedroom silently. I go straight to my drawers and begin to dress quickly. I don’t bother putting much thought into the outfit I’ve chosen. They all blend together now. When I hear the water turn off in the bathroom, I attempt to ease the tension rising inside me. It doesn’t work. It never works. When she walks into the room, not bothering with the towel, I try to hide the look of disgust that I know has taken over my face. She doesn’t notice, she never does. She doesn’t feel it when I stiffen at her touch, or that I don’t return her kiss with the same fervor. She doesn’t notice when I moan out the wrong name when she’s kissing down my neck, ready and willing to elevate the sexual tension I feel. She doesn’t care that I barely hide how often I notice her inadequacies or that I acknowledge them without thinking. She just keeps pushing her way into my life and pulling me toward her, never quite reaching close enough for her to pull me near her.