Ancient cultures across the world believed that water was capable of cleansing the soul and freeing the mind. Bathing was an important ritual experience that was often considered godly. But they all died. I like showering because the water is hot.

After cleansing my soul or whatever, I put my hair up in a towel and walked into the kitchen. I checked the clock on my way, and I was over an hour late for work. My phone was buzzing on the counter, as the messages rolled in from my manager, mother, father, brother, and probably whatever ancestral spirit was responsible for this massively shitty day. I threw it out the window.

That was a bad decision. I definitely needed that. I also needed Tasha. I needed her arms, her touch, her voice, to let me know it was okay. That things will work out. That she'll come back.

I sat down. I took a breath. I let it out. I took another one. I let it go. I gripped the counter. I let it go. I walked to the window, calmly slid it open, calmly stood on the ledge. I felt the wind on my face. I gripped the window frame with all my strength.

I stepped back into the room. Not today. There was work to be done. Not at the cafe, of course. I would probably never be able to go there again. My thoughts turned to the night ahead. There was a cabin full of my family two hours north of the city, waiting to meet the girl I was going to marry. Man, the past tense hurts right now. I needed a solution, and rather quickly. But more immediately, I needed pants.

I returned to the bedroom, taking care not to look at the bed where Tasha's note was still sitting. I rifled through my dresser until I found a particularly cute pair of tights and a denim skirt. If I couldn't be happy today, I could at least look nice. As I was slipping the tights on, there was a knock at the door. I hobbled through the kitchen and peered through the peephole. It was Tasha.

At least, that was my first thought. To my credit, the peephole was dirty and I was emotionally compromised. I suppose I should have paid more attention to the postal uniform, but Tasha was into role play, so that didn't actually seem strange. God, she was so hot in costume. Which is not to say anything against the mail woman standing on the other side of the door. From what I could tell, she was perfectly good looking in her own right. If the circumstances were different, I'd ask her to come in and stay for awhile. Then I looked down at my half-clothed legs, and made my second bad decision of the day.

I swung the door wide open and tore my tights off in one dramatic flourish. The postal woman was about to knock again, but her hand stopped in mid-air as she took in my body, clothed only in pink underwear. I watched her eyes widen, and her jaw drop. That's when I made my move.

I lunged straight for her torso, in a move I had learned from playing years of Madden NFL Football on the Playstation. I surprised her, for sure, but she was stronger than I had expected. She grunted, and tried to pry me off. She looked like she was about to scream. I slid down her body and grabbed both her legs, then threw all my weight towards the floor. I successfully tipped both of us over, and I heard a crack as her head hit the floor. She stopped moving immediately.

I grabbed her by the ankles and slowly, carefully dragged her back into the apartment. I bound her hands and feet together with my tights. I tried to lift her into the bed, but I couldn't quite get her there, so I just left her on the bathroom rug instead. Then I set about making a traditional English breakfast.