I am hot, and then cold. My body melts and freezes at a rate I didn’t know was possible. The water dripping from my hair down my back at once scalds and makes me shiver; his hands are at once like pokers and ice. I am not the girl who wore the sea, or the rain, I am the girl who is not wearing enough; who is going to explode. I want him to stop touching me. But I don’t ever want him to let go.

I am a walking contradiction.
Except I’m not walking. I’m very distinctly being lowered onto the bed.

I know how to do this. And when you know how to do something so well, how do you stop?

Like this. You put a finger up to your lips. You say, “shh.” You turn your back, and let yourself just be held. You wait until his breathing is back to normal.

I don’t do any of those things.

I want to see the ocean. But we won’t get there tonight. So I get up, walk into the bathroom, and run water that is neither hot nor cold. I stick my face into the flow. I breathe in. Cough.

And walk back out to exactly where I was before.