Steam

Some background: Blaise is a college student, just back from a visit to her family. Lenna, Mimi, and Farrah are her previously-abandoned sisters - Blaise has just repaired her relationship with them. Jordan is her ex-girlfriend, whom Blaise isn't over yet

             Blaise made more noise on her way in than she intended to. It was rainy and cold outside, and there was a strange buzzing in her ears as she shoved the door open, pushing gratefully, (loudly) into the warmth. It was late Thursday night, and the common room was packed with last-minute crammers and overactive social butterflies, already jazzed for the weekend. They all looked up as she stumbled, sodden, into the room, her duffel tossing water lightly onto the carpet as she swung it off her shoulder.

            Awkwardly, Blaise sloshed her way up to her room – thankful that she didn’t have a roommate – and stripped out of her wet clothes. And life begins again. Back to routine, out of the dream.

            Into the shower. Scalding water sliding down fevered brow. This time, Blaise could feel the memories and feelings evaporating into steam, and she tried to hold on to them. Already, the brightness of Lenna’s hair was dulling, and Mimi’s pain didn’t seem so bad. What was that book that Farrah had told her about? The Stranger? Or was it Middlesex? As the grime of travel swirled away down the drain, Blaise felt a new wave of sadness and frustration that after everything, her mind was so willing to let it all go.

            But she knew there was no way she could get herself back to that unfeeling, ignorant being she had been before. And she was glad of it.

            Out of the shower. Shivering, dripping on the tiles. Remembering – but not what she expected.

 

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            She could hear the water running. It muffled the sounds of her movements, muffled the rhythmic way she moved – always dancing. By now, Blaise was so in tune with Jordan that she noticed these things, these little quirks.

            She loved the smell of Jordan right after she got out of the shower. The overpowering scent of her shampoo, the watery, clean aroma of contentment. But she couldn’t help feeling a little resentful that the sounds of her movement, her dance-like grace, were overpowered by the sound of the water. It made Blaise feel strangely anxious, strangely disconnected from her. From Jordan.

            Blaise counted the seconds, the minutes. Tried not to picture her … Failed. Gave in happily.

            Jordan took long showers. They comforted her, gave her finality after a lengthy day. They restored her completely, transformed her into the Jordan that Blaise loved the most. The Jordan who was gentle, who didn’t challenge or push Blaise, but accepted and loved her and made her feel like she was worth something. At night, when the room grew humid and cozy with steam, it didn’t matter that Blaise was an introvert, or that she lashed out. When Jordan stood in front of the mirror and twisted her fingers through her damp curls, it didn’t matter that she smoked too much or that her avid political views made Blaise wince. Finally, enshrouded in nighttime and steam, they were equals.

            So Blaise lay on the bed, fantasizing. Dreaming. She was smitten like never before. Those high school romances were nothing compared to this. They fought, they drove each other crazy, they were polar opposites. They were perfect for each other.

            It was 45 minutes before the water shut off. The silence was suddenly deafening, revealing, and Blaise was suddenly completely in tune with the new sounds from the bathroom. The soft, heavy swoosh of a towel, the clearing of a throat, the whisper of bare feet on tile. Closing her eyes, Blaise could picture Jordan’s exact movements in the bathroom, the precise way she glanced at her reflection above the sink, the grace with which she spun the towel through her hair.

            As the door creaked open, Blaise pulled herself up, leaning against the headboard and pretending to read. But her senses were taught, she was noticing everything – every sound, movement, bright light, change in temperature. She could feel the steam rush out of the bathroom and envelop the room, and the warmth seemed to mix with the heat spreading from her chest. She watched Jordan emerge from the very corner of her eye, but something was different, some small nuance that made this night different from every other. She could feel Jordan looking at her, could feel her blue eyes smoldering against her face, and she turned her head ever so slightly to take in the little more that she dared to. But she couldn’t stop the swing of her head, it seemed, once she’d caught that first glimpse of her. Of Jordan.

            She stood in the doorway, dripping, glowing, blurred in the steam and warmth. Tonight, she had left her clothes crumpled on the floor. Tonight, she was without a shield. Completely vulnerable, and completely aware of it.

            The sweep of legs, arching like a couple of dancers across a stage, and a twist of soft hair, reaching playfully between them. Thighs melting into sweeping hips. Bone and muscle and sinew undulating with every heartbeat. The plane of a flat stomach, curving and, miraculously, blossoming into firm breasts, perfectly round and full and glorious. Collarbones protruding into space, delicately placed. The arching neck joining seamlessly with strong shoulders, sculpted arms, long fingers. A chin, high cheekbones, long nose, so precise they made the face seem ethereal, beyond reality. A pair of lips, full and elegant and flushed and parted in a tight smile. Arching brows, a dark widows peak, very slightly off center. And eyes. Eyes so full of mysterious love that they were bottomless, bright with their own personal suns.

            And it was these eyes that Blaise couldn’t look away from. As Jordan moved through the swirling steam towards her, the room seemed to suck itself into the window’s black hole of night, leaving nothing but her eyes, now her lips as they found Blaise’s, and the sweet, steamy smell of her still-dripping hair. There was nothing to stop her fingers as they slid buttons undone, as her nose wicked away a drop of water on Blaise’s chest.

            The night began, like every other night: completely unexpected. They were, once again, discovering what they already knew.

 

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            She lay naked on her bed, eyes shut tight. If she never opened them, the tears would never come.

Author's Note

Blaise is one of my most beloved characters, and this is only a snippet from everything that I've written about her. There's a lot of backstory, but it's not important for this story, so I'm sorry if it doesn't make sense ... I basically wrote this as a warm-up, just as I was coming out of a long period of writer's block. I don't really know what to make of it ...