Rachel Insists

"We have to," she insists.

I tense, shaking my head, "We shouldn't."

"I'm not taking no for an answer," Rachel replies quickly.

"You're going to need to," I shoot back, "Because there is no way it's happening."

My arms are stretched out across the door that I've got my back up against and I'm not moving, eyes wide as I form the best kind of wall I can.

"Emily," she says, warningly.

I shake my head, "Rachel."

With a sigh she crosses her arms over her chest and she juts out a hip, cocking her head and looking at me with very little bemusment. But it's all a ploy and I know it is. Her stated aim here is nothing but a lie and she's planning something and considering the sharp turn she took from the former subject, my landlord, to this new one I know she hadn't left him fully behind.

Rachel is nothing like what I expected her to be, and I realize now that I'd been doing her a disservice. I'd put her up on this unbearably high pedestal and frankly in my mind that was to keep her from getting dirty.

But there was nothing wrong with being 'dirty' in the way that she was. Even calling it dirty was a bit of a lie, demeaning the actions she took when all she was pursuing was fun and pleasure and maybe a little bit of excitement.

This Rachel, the real Rachel, was so much better than the pure and chaste goddess that I'd crafted in my addled little mind. She was strong and she was powerful and more than anything else she was persuasive.

Because look at everything she'd managed to persuade me to do.

Even now, in my own apartment, I could feel my resolve starting to wane. Rachel had stated her aim and I'd tried to stop her, but she was breaking me down bit by bit and I was losing ground.

So I pull out what is frankly the only card I've got left which is pleading with her.

"It's so late."

And it doesn't work because she rolls her eyes and shakes her head and doesn't give it even a moment's pause.

"It's a shower, Emily," she replies, "One that both of us fucking need. Even if we'd only been out in a goddamn field for the evening we'd still need a shower and we did so much more than that.

"I know that I look fantastically hot and gorgeous, but I need a shower anyways. I need to wipe off my makeup. I need to shower and clean myself. I need to get the sweat and the literal cum and the dirt off my skin. I need to fucking exfoliate and moisturize but I'm guessing you don't have anything even close to that kicking around here so I will settle for soap and water and I am not going to hear another word of debate from it because there is no reason, not one, that we shouldn't be able to shower right now."

"It's downstairs," I try to explain.

"Yeah," she rolls her eyes, "And?"

"He's downstairs," I plead, "My landlord."

"Oh god he's going to have to get used to you needing to use the facilities late at night," she snaps back, "You have just as much of a right to them as he does, no matter the hour. And besides you're my friend now so we're definitely going to be having some late nights here and he will definitely have to deal."

But that wasn't the problem. The problem was the memory of what had happened last night, when I'd taken that shower. When I'd stumbled into him late at night. When...

"Come on," Rachel says, grabbing my hand as she moves me out of the way and starts to drag me down the stairs after her, "Don't be such a baby. I'm sure Daddy won't mind you're taking a shower and getting yourself clean for him."

She says it sarcastically, but she doesn't know how close to the truth she really is.

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