Swallowing Water

Swallowing Water

You’re in the shower, with one leg propped on the edge of the bath, shaving your legs.

“I can see you,” says a deep voice. 

“Who’s that?” you say.

When the voice doesn’t answer, you ask, “Where are you?”

“The water.”

“Yeah, right.” You roll your eyes. It’s probably your ex who left some device in your bathroom to freak you out.

“Very nice,” says the voice. “But I think you’ve missed a spot.”

You put the razor aside, sick of this BS, and place your hands on your hips. “Okay, if you’re really there, show yourself.”

Nothing happens for several seconds and you smirk at having called his bluff. But then there’s movement out of the corner of your eye. 

You turn around to find a tall column of water gathering behind you and taking shape.

“What the hell?” You try to run, but you slip.

Strong arms catch you before you fall and pull you to a hard chest. “I saved your life,” he murmurs. “Now, you belong to me.”