in the spirit of the month, you know?! ~nilla~
Rising from her bed, she stumbled to her shower. Water on full stream, she stepped naked into the back of the tub, reaching around the power jet to adjust the water. Her head went in first, clearing the sleepy cobwebs of dreams from her. What the hell? Her night-time had recently become filled with fantasy fodder. Great for the sex-blog she wrote each night after work, but definitely hard on her sleep patterns. Even her vibes weren’t enough to hit that deep pleasure-point that she kept dreaming about. Goddess knows she had tried, but she didn’t seem to be able to meet the intensity that carried into her dream-state, certainly not the way her dream-crafted partner could.
Too bad she was sleeping alone these days.
Rubbing shampoo through her hair, spray ticking her body, she felt more awake. Too bad she wanted to go back to her warm bed and try jerking off again. With a sigh, she stood under the hot pulsing stream, rubbing her soapy washcloth over her full curves. She let it beat on her head for a minute or two; the hardest thing of a morning was getting out of the nice warm cocoon of water. Taking a deep breath, then flicking off the water, she shivered hard.
Shower, so warm.
Bathroom. So not.
Shoving the shower curtain to one side, she stepped out into the steamy room. The floor under the mat was cold, seeping up through her feet. So much for the warm sleepies!
Rubbing her body dry quickly, she wrapped the towel around her hair and stepped up to the medicine cabinet. That “anti-fog” stuff she put on it obviously didn’t work one whit. Freaking rip-off. Opening the cabinet, she found her face cream, and doled out a small amount. Rubbing it on her cheeks, she put the bottle back, and closed the mirror.
She looked at the mirror, jolted backwards. How the hell…? She grabbed another towel, wrapping it around her body, then opened the bathroom door carefully. Her apartment was small, not many hiding places. Grabbing her rolling-pin as she moved through the kitchen, she pounced into her living room, her bedroom. Nothing and no one disturbed the quiet of her little sanctuary. Checking, she noted that her front door was still locked, chain drawn across. Her entire apartment, save for herself, was empty.
Maybe she’d been thinking aloud last night while brushing her teeth?Maybe she’d scrawled on the mirror with her fingertip? She’d been working on a really good story before calling it a night, before exhaustion made her shut down the story, and haul her tired ass to bed. Tugging the towel off her hair, she rubbed her head hard as she headed back into the bathroom. And jolted again as she looked once more at her mirror.
sweet fucking whore
What was going on here? Heart racing, she knew that she had not written those words herself. Unless she was having a breakdown. Which she wasn’t.
Did one know when one was having a breakdown? Sinking to the edge of the tub, she covered her face with the towel, silencing the moan that threatened to break through. This time she heard a sound. The kind of squeak that a finger makes when tracing along a wet surface. Like a mirror. Pulling the towel away from one eye, she peered nervously towards the mirror.
silly slut-fretting isn’t good for your complexion
“OH MY GAWD. Where are you? Who are you? WHAT are you? I DON’T BELIEVE IN GHOSTS! Now….cut that out!”
She bolted from the edge of the tub, into the living room, hoping to see…someone. There’d been rumors, when she had purchased this loft. Rumors of things going bump in the night.
She didn’t believe in ghosts. Not exactly. She understood there were spirits, but that whole ‘moving through the mists of time’ was more of a corruption of paganism, so she had thought.
The bathroom hadn’t been that cold. Not like most people described in a haunting. Not that she was being haunted. She wasn’t. No. Not really. It wasn’t possible.
The shiver coiled up her spine as she moved tentatively towards the bathroom. Holding the towel against her body like a terrycloth shield, she looked into the room.
A hint of mist hung over the shower, slowly dissapating, while the head dripped, paused, dripped, paused the way it always did the first ten minutes after her shower.
Taking a single step into the bathroom, she peered at the mirror. A woman with tangled auburn hair looked back at her, eyes wide, face as pale as…as if she’d seen a ghost. The mist on the mirror had cleared, and no message remained there but for her own shocked face.