The Bathtub
Something… manipulating me. My actions uncontrollable, as I get up from my couch for a bath I did not think of having. My eyelids heavy, my muscles limp, yet my arms lift my shirt over my head, letting it fall mindlessly to the floor. I unclasp my bra next, baring my breasts. The articles land on the wood floor, the sound echoing faintly as I walk down the hall.
I reach the bathroom and close the door behind me. I drop my jeans, then my panties.
Stepping out of my clothes, I turn the faucet on—all the way hot. My mind cannot anticipate the pain I’m about to experience.
Now suddenly in the bathtub, I sit with my legs crossed before the running water. At first touch, when the water hugs my toes, I need to jump back from the unbearable burning, but I have no control over my body. I still don’t. My back is stone cold; my hands, forearms, calves, and feet sting brutally from the scalding hot water. Steam rises, dancing from the water and my reddening skin.
My fingers begin weaving through the stream, playing with it. The pain feels like my skin is being burned off ever so slowly—an excruciating, pulsing itch I desperately need to relieve.
Moments pass. The itching pain eases, becoming almost… soothing. I have grown accustomed to this pain so quickly. My feet now tingle numb, as do my hands, calves, and the underside of my thighs. My eyes unable leave the hypnotic running water. My fingers continue to mingle with the stream, even as it turns from clear… to grey… to black. Pitch black.
Then, a wave of reclaimed consciousness crashes through me. I feel fucking terrified.
Why am I doing this? What the fuck is happening?
I want—need—to turn off the water. Tears build in my eyes, yet I still can’t move, nor tear my sight from the tap.
The fear now vanishes as quickly as it came, replaced with a dark warmth I’ve never felt before. I want more. My mind slips into a half-dreaming state. I feel drained of all strength, drained of all awareness, drained of all power. Something dark takes hold of my body. Yet it’s strangely comforting, welcoming… warming. I have the sense I’m about to be used for something—and I want to be. Desperately.
You like the pain… It pleases you… I please you…
A bittersweet, glooming male voice echoes in my mind. A smile creeps across my lips. I fall deeper into this mental embrace of darkness, craving its complete consumption of me. Feeling this different presence within me, now enveloping my mind. I trace the vivid blue veins on my inner forearm with trembling fingers, feeling my heavy pulse.
Visions of crimson coursing through me make my mouth water. My inner thighs tingle with desire. I need to see my blood. The thought to reach for my razor feels more like a command than a decision. I obey willingly—not just to see or smell my blood, but to feel more pain. My body now craving it.
Footsteps approach the door. The knob turns slowly. The door begins to open. Out of the corner of my eye, a shadow enters. The command grows stronger.
Your blood is owed to me.
The voice returns, a whisper that sends shivers of pleasure down my spine. Then it’s gone—replaced by a high, shrill ringing in my ears. I reach for the razor. My fingers close around the blade, and I draw it along the side of my breast.
A thin line blooms. Beads of crimson surface, then trail down my ivory skin. Steam thickens the air, carrying the sharp, metallic scent straight into my lungs. The pain never comes. As if my nerves have gone numb. A kindness.
My movements are slow. Deliberate. Measured. My control is not. The corners of my mouth pull upward, forming a smile that feels—foreign. These are my lips, but the grin isn’t mine. I lift my hand again. The blade catches the light as I prepare to slice once more.
“Sarah? What the hell are you doing?!”
The presence suddenly scattering, untethering from me. My best friend’s voice breaks this trance like state. She chuckles nervously, confused. I stare at the tap as the water’s blackness fades to grey, then back to clear. My mind returns to normal—except now I feel an aching loneliness, a hollow longing.
“Sarah… why are you in the bathtub like that?” Kelly says taking a step closer.
Awareness inching back in to me. What just happened… I know wasn’t right. Yet I want that feeling to come back. That feeling of him—his power—brings a sly grin to my face. The burn still hums over my skin. I know I have control again, but I’ve learned to love this pain. I look down at body. Te redness… marking me. In what other ways could that presence have marked me, I wonder. My gaze flickers to the razor. I set it back on the edge of the tub, reluctantly.
Kelly steps closer. “Sarah… what the actual fuck is going on? You’re going to burn your damn skin off!” She rushes forward, horrified. Fumbling, she turns off the faucet. I try to move, but can’t feel my legs beyond a faint tingling. She then sees the blood. My blood.
“Jesus fuck!” she mutters, frantic, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around me. Pressing it in on the wound. She lifts me. “Sarah, what happened? Oh my God! please respond or—”
“I’m fine. I was just cold and wanted to warm up. I accidentally scratched myself,” I interrupt softly, trying to calm her. Strangely, I’m not surprised she’s here. I can’t bring myself to care.
I stand shakily, the cool air biting into my raw, burning flesh. I take the towel from her and press it to the cut as i wrap it around myself, applying whatever pressure I can muster—weak in a way I’ve only experienced once in my life.
“Girl, you’re acting weird as hell…” She keeps an arm around my shoulders as she walks me to my bedroom. I try not to lean on her, but I feel so weak.
“I know, I’m just feeling off today. Sorry. Why did you come over?” My voice dull, lifeless.
“I had like eighteen missed calls from you. Tried calling back—nothing. Then I checked your location, duh. I’ve been worried sick. What’s going on with you?”
“Uh… I don’t remember calling you. Must have been a glitch in my phone.” She doesnt reply, but I can sense her concern. We reach my room. I collapse onto the bed, I’ve never been so exhausted.
Kelly takes off her jacket, draping it over my chair. She sits beside me, whips out her phone, showing me the proof—eighteen missed calls from my number in the last half hour. Very odd.
I can’t tell her. She’s my best friend, but I can’t. I’m not allowed.
“Oh, right,” I lie. “I needed to ask you what date that potluck thing was. I was talking about it with someone, but then I remembered. Sorry, I should’ve texted.” That was the best lie I could think up, with my utter lack of brain power.
She gives me a skeptical look. “Mmm-hmm. Eighteen calls for that. I know you’re lying.” Her eyes drift down to my calves, where the skin glows an angry red.
“What the… oh my god, Sarah, your skin!” she gasps, grabbing my leg. I feel nothing. My eyes dart to my door at the corner of my room, a figure, a shadow figure, appears to be lurking there...
Suddenly my eyelids grow too heavy to fight. I can no longer keep them open. I drift off into sleep.
