I wrote this at 3 AM, so don't hate me if it sucks, lol. Definitely listen to or look up the lyrics to Wash Away by Joe Purdy.
The water is hot and slick like blood. It soaks through his clothes and hair and gets in his eyes, but he doesn't care. His clothes are getting wrecked, but he doesn't care about that either. He just wants to wash it all away.
He tries to tell her about the soldier. Private Mark Johnson. He was just a kid, a boy really; too young to be fighting, and much too young to die. When he closes his eyes he can still see his face, still feel the boy's fear seeping into him. The boy has the expression of someone who knows he's about to die. He saw that expression a lot in Iraq. He sees it on the broken bodies in his dreams.
She gently takes off his jacket and drops it on the shower floor, and the water reroutes around it and then spins down the drain, gone forever. His shirt is translucent and stuck to his skin. She unbuttons it, her surgeon's fingers deft and quick. She peels it away from his chest and he shivers, even though the water is hot. He closes his eyes. She slides her fingers down his hard chest but he still doesn't open them. He listens to the water and his heartbeat and her breathing. Somehow it's soothing.
His hands find the bottom of her sweater and she lifts her arms to help as he pulls it over her head. It pulls at her hair and earrings, heavy with water. He gazes wordlessly at her, then reaches around her back for her bra clasp. She smiles slightly and reaches for his belt. She holds his gaze, daring him to look away. He doesn't.
When he pulls her pants down her legs, he takes her panties with it. Very nice, he notes. He wonders if they were going to be for his benefit. His fingers slide up her thighs. Water beads across his skin.
He'd really thought he could make this evening work. He'd picked out the flowers and the suit and the restaurant carefully, hoping she'd like it, then went and fucked up the whole evening. I'm sorry, he tries to say, but he can't make the words come. Sorry for ruining her evening. Sorry for being hot and cold. Sorry for everything that has ever gone wrong in her life.
She shuts off the tap, steps out of the shower, hands him a towel. Droplets of water cling to her eyelashes and fall down her cheeks like tears. He reaches out unthinkingly and brushes them away with his thumb. She closes his eyes, leaning into his touch. He pulls her towards him and kisses her roughly, wet skin on wet skin. She can taste the alcohol on his lips.
She takes a towel for herself and they turn away from each other. He stands there uncertainly, wondering how the hell he's going to get home like this.
She lets him sleep in her bed. He's very careful not to touch her. He can feel her heat from across the bed. She's so beautiful. So alive.
For the first time in five years, he sleeps through the night.
Please R and R!!
Tara
