*No title yet*

Written using an idea a friend had pitched to me.

The tile felt familiar -- you could almost see the indent of his feet, next to the sink where he usually stood. The door was closed, the shower curtain was open; in his hand, an awkward bottle. 

"You don't have to, you know," she said, just behind him. For a moment, this broke his gaze -- no longer fixed on the bottle, his eyes met hers through the reflection of the mirror. "If you'd like, you can ask her to leave, and we can stay here a while."

He paused. "I can't keep doing this forever."

"It doesn't have to be forever... just now."

The sound of the t.v. crept in from the other room. The smell of perfume filled the air, as his guest grew tired of waiting alone. He placed his awkward bottle back in the medicine cabinet. 

"She's out there," he started, "alive and well, while I worry over inadequacies in here" -- he pointed to his head. 

"Stop that, you know how that makes me feel."
He turned around, placing both hands, again, at the edge of the sink. He breathed deeply, and with a low sigh whispered under his breath, "you can't feel anything."
The sound of take-out ads and beauty products once again filled the room. As the faucet dripped, his upright position conceded to the weight of his surroundings. He began to fix his hair and examine his teeth: he was taking an awful while, and he knew it. 

He stepped back from the sink, closed the lid of the toilet, and took a seat. Still sifting his fingers through his now messy hair, he blinked rapidly while he tried to conjure up something to say.  

"I love you. I wish I didn't -- I wish I didn't know you -- but while I can't control loving you, I can control who I choose to share my love with."

It was silent, for a moment. 

"...but I can't love anyone else," her lower lip shaking. 

She reached for his hand, and he let her grab it. She brought it to her face; the smooth cheek he knew so well. Their eyes, again, met with one another's; within their gaze existing a passion laced with secrecy. For years, they'd known each other: they'd been to movies together; danced alone in his room together. For years they'd stayed awake through the night together; he, keeping her warm while she tried to keep him sane. She wasn't always in his life -- it was only within the past few years that they truly had become acquainted. At first, he resented her, but there was something in her innocence that made her easy to fall in love with. 

Should you asked his friends, you'd be able to watch their confused faces try to make sense of it all. No names would ring a bell -- no description of her beautiful blonde hair and vivid blue eyes could spark their memory. They'd never seen or heard of this one girl he fancied so beautifully: she was their little secret. 

He rose. He marched again to the sink, placing one hand on the door of the medicine cabinet. His march was certain, yet, his hand trembled as he began to turn the knob.

"I don't want you to think this is because of you," he started, "but at the moment, we have no time."

From the other room, one could hear the opening of small doors, the shake of pills, the sound of running water, and finally, the door closing. He opened the bathroom door -- the light flooding the adjacent room -- with his hair properly sorted. He excused himself for the amount of their time he'd wasted, and resat himself on the couch, next to his guest.

She smiled, politely -- it wasn't normal for one to take so long, on a date, in the restroom. He could feel that it was already too late, yet she still pressed play and they resumed their movie where they had left off. 

He had left the door wide open. He strained to hear into the bathroom, over the movie, to guess if anyone was still in there. Nobody followed him, yet his eyes would still drift to and fro to see if she would. 

Together, he and his guest finished the movie, after which he saw her to do the door. There were no kisses; no loving farewells. He locked the door behind her, and with her leave let out a low sigh. 

He left the door, pacing back and forth in his tiny apartment hallway. His head was heavy and he feared his eyes would betray him. Gently, he tiptoed to the bathroom, and held his breath as he turned on the light. His eyes met with none other than his own, reflected in his medicine cabinet mirror. There were no windows, just his cabinet, his shower, toilet, and sink. He could still smell the perfume his guest had enveloped his apartment in. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw movement towards the door. He turned his head, staring out onto the couch, yet there was nobody there. There was nobody before him, and nobody behind him; he was alone.