Her breath increases rapidly, though careful not to release too much air through her nostrils. She warns Spencer she only has a moment, mere seconds of time to share with her. Spencer’s head nods in understanding, but her bright blue eyes disagree.

“This isn’t enough,” she says, “there has to be more.”

Ashley’s finger’s shift rapidly, responding to Spencer’s pleas. She loves that Spencer begs to be with her. That she needs her. Ashley Davies. Her eyes squint shut so hard her face contorts into a disturbing expression. The friction between her legs takes on an almost violent persona, the hot water swirling around her sensitive spots, adding more pain, the pain she doesn’t want to live without. A warm feeling manifests within the tips of her toes, progressing quickly along the walls of her inner thighs, heading straight towards her center, which was now making all the decisions for her. Her lungs constricted, causing her back to arch upwards, the tips of her breasts above water, nipples alerted to the drastic change in temperature.

One more second! One more second! One more second…!

But her lungs were not in the best of moods, and Ashley’s eyes shot wide open, her brain trying desperately to teeter along the line of her slowly fading fantasy and her body’s instinctual need for survival. Water jutted up her nostrils, searing into her sinus cavities and into the recesses of her brain, flooding her thoughts of Spencer, drowning the girl, smothering her. Ash’s hands flailed outwards, grappling for the edges of the tub, thrusting her body upwards, allowing gravity to fight the liquid battle that had begun inside her head.

Water flowed from her nostrils like a faucet, returning to the sea from which they resided. Air filtered deeply through her lungs, exacerbating the coughing fit that had started moments earlier. Her breath began to return to normal, droplets of water running down the grooves and wrinkles of her adolescent face, her brown ringlets of hair matted to her forehead like a leaf crushed within the pages of a picture book.

The room became aware of the echo of water droplets that fell from the tub’s faucet, paced perfectly in time, as if mocking the erratic breathing that escaped from her chest. Time seemed to stand still. The movement of the water had become tranquil, back to normal, awaiting another victim’s bout with fate.

The corners of Ashley’s lips reached towards the ceiling. Her mind was not on Spencer, but Ahab. The ship’s crew found it madness for a man to want to seek revenge upon an animal that lacks the ability to understand human conflicts. What they didn’t understand was that the outcome of the sea-filled battle was irrelevant. It was the thrill of the chase that Ahab sought. He needed revenge like a flower needed sunlight. Because what he feared most, was not the giant mammal, the violent unforgiving seas, nor the threat of mutiny from his crew; but accomplishing his goal. Ahab understood that once it was done, there would be nothing. He would have nothing. He would be nothing.

Ashley reached below blindly and pulled the stopper from the tub, and climbed out. She grabbed a purple, plush towel and wrapped it around her wrinkled, sensitive skin. Steam had attached itself to the mirror and continued to swirl around the room like phantom mist. She caught a faint glimpse of herself in the mirror, distorted, as though she were attempting to look through thick, milky glass. The smile was still lingering on her face, a reminder of things in her life that were good, that kept her safe, that made her feel whole. She secretly prayed her mother would install a removable showerhead soon. Her secret bath time rituals were getting dangerous.