Katharina’s Shower Thoughts

The water’s too hot, still—but it’s numbing the ache in my lower back.

Coconut shampoo lathers, drips, my fingers raking through tangles. Mindless. Automatic.

Why does my hand drift? Hipbone, thigh—muscle memory? Like tracing old scars.

Steam blurs the mirror. Blurs the lines. When did my body become just… background noise?

The client’s voice fades. Finally. Replaced by water’s static, the rhythm of… something.

Pressure builds—not in my skull, lower. Unplanned. Unthinking. A reflex, like breathing.

Am I even here? Or just watching from somewhere above, detached.

Soap slips. Lavender. My palm grinds slow circles, kneading tension, erasing today’s map of stress.

This isn’t… Not intentional. Not wrong. Just… a pulse. A hum. Another way to let go.

The showerhead’s patter syncs with my heartbeat. Or is it the other way around?

Guilt tries to whisper—shouldn’t you…? But the water drowns it. Quiet. Quiet.

Muscles unclench. Breath hitches. A sigh slips out—who’s that for?

Towel’s still there. Warm. Waiting. But the steam holds me. Five more minutes.

Tomorrow’s chaos can wait. Here, even my skin stops screaming.

Eyes shut. Darkness. Steam. The water’s roar turns muffled, distant—like the world’s been submerged.

Fingertips press harder, anchoring, as if my hips might float away. Don’t think. Just… feel.

Pulse everywhere—throat, wrists, there. A current building, electric, under skin. How?

Breath cracks. Too loud. Too raw. But the shower swallows it. Keeps my secrets.

Is this surrender or escape? Does it matter? The tiles dig into my spine—real, sharp, good.

Pressure coils. Tighter. Tighter. My lungs forget how air works. Just… let go. Let go.

A flicker—Mom’s unread text, tomorrow’s inbox, the client’s smirk—then gone. Washed clean.

Heartbeats sync with the shower’s rhythm. Or is it all one noise now? A hymn of heat and hunger.

Almost… almost… But the edge feels infinite. Teasing. Cruel. Why does the body do this?

Eyes snap open—a glint. A lens. A silhouette behind fogged glass.

What—?

Steam thins. A phone’s glare. A stranger’s smirk. Frozen. Naked. Filmed.

Breath stops. No. No. This isn’t—

Hands jerk away from skin, slap walls, slipping. Slipping.

Scream. Scream now. But throat’s sand. Sound dies in water’s roar.

How long was he—? Stomach heaves. Did I—? Oh god. Oh god.

Legs buckle. Knees hit tile. Cold. Too cold. Water scalds, but I’m shaking.

Cover yourself. Cover— But arms won’t move.

He saw. He saw everything.

Breathe. Breathe. But air’s needles.

Here, I’m just… raw. Exposed. A video looping in some stranger’s thumb.