Chapter 6: The Shower Confession
The water was so hot it almost hurt, which was the point. Riley stood under the spray, head bowed, letting it scald her shoulders and drum against her skull. She wanted to erase the layer of feeling that clung to her skin—the phantom weight of Jordan, the dried salt of sweat and tears, the intimate musk now washed down the drain along with the lavender suds.
Her mind was a broken record.
You should have moved his hand. You should have whispered what you needed. You just laid there. You’re a terrible participant.
The steam filled the small bathroom, fogging the mirror and the window. She was a ghost in a cloud.
Headquarters was a swamp of conflicting data.
Joy had control of the shower dials, holding the temperature at a precise “cleansing but not punitive” level. “See? The heat is good! It’s a reset! It’s washing away the doubt! Let’s focus on the clean slate!”
“She’s going to prune into a raisin,” Anger grumbled, watching Riley’s fingers begin to pucker. “And she’s not resetting. She’s conducting a forensic analysis in there. And losing.”
Sadness nodded, her blue light reflecting in the droplets on the console screen. “She’s cataloging the gaps. What she felt versus what she thinks she was supposed to feel. The inventory is necessary.”
Fear was frantically cross-referencing. “Pruney skin can lead to microbial infiltration! Also, what if the hot water affects her… internal pH? That could have ramifications for next time! And there might not be a next time if he’s currently texting his friends about how passive she was!”
“He wouldn’t,” Joy said, but her sparkle dimmed. The possibility, once voiced, wriggled like a worm.
Riley squeezed shampoo into her palm. The scent was aggressively fruity, something she’d bought in a nostalgic fit. It smelled like middle school. She lathered her hair, scrubbing hard at her scalp as if she could scour the thoughts loose.
He came. I didn’t.
It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t really anyone’s fault. That was the worst part. There was no one to blame, not even herself, not logically. So the guilt had no shape and nowhere to go. It just seeped.
She rinsed, the water coursing down her back. The physical soreness was a blunt fact. A testament. Something happened here.
A buzz, sharp and electronic, cut through the white noise of the shower.
It came from the sink. Her phone, lighting up inside the foggy room.
Riley went still. The water pounded her neck.
Buzz-buzz.
Another one. A double text.
Fear shrieked. “It’s him! It has to be him! He’s ending it! Or he’s sent a ‘thanks for the sex’ meme! I’ve seen the memes! They’re brutal!”
Anger leaned forward. “If it’s a meme, I’m driving. We’re going to his house. We’re keying his car.”
“It could be a good text!” Joy insisted, wrestling a console away from Fear. “It could be a sweet text! Let’s project hopeful outcomes!”
Sadness just watched Riley’s face. “She’s afraid to look. Because the text makes it real. It’s a verdict.”
Riley turned off the water. The sudden silence was loud, broken only by the drip from the showerhead and the faint patter from her own body. She grabbed a towel, wrapped it around herself without drying off, and stepped onto the mat. The cold air hit her wet skin. She left soggy footprints on the linoleum.
The phone sat on the sink beside a tube of expired toothpaste. The screen glowed through the steam.
She wiped the screen with a corner of her towel.
Two notifications. Both from Jordan.
Her heart did a clumsy, heavy thud against her ribs. She unlocked it.
Jordan (9:14 AM): hey. last night was amazing.
Riley’s breath caught. The words were a balm and a brand. Amazing. He thought it was amazing. Did that mean he hadn’t noticed her awkwardness? Her failure?
Jordan (9:15 AM): you okay?
Two words. They unraveled her.
She wasn’t okay. She was sore and confused and guilty and adrift. But she couldn’t say that. Saying that would be dumping on his ‘amazing.’ It would be ungrateful. It would be weird.
Fear was in hysterics. “A classic pre-breakup check-in! He’s assessing liability! If she says she’s not okay, he’s obligated to provide emotional support, which he doesn’t want! If she says she’s fine, he’s off the hook! It’s a trap!”
“Just tell him the truth!” Anger yelled at the screen. “Tell him it was messy and you didn’t come and you feel like a defective product! Get it out in the open! That’s it!”
Joy was frantically pushing for a positive response. “Type ‘I’m great! It was amazing for me too!’ Add a heart! A yellow heart, not red, red is too intense!”
Sadness gently placed a hand on the console, quieting the noise. “She needs to say something that’s true enough to live with. Something that doesn’t betray her, but doesn’t push him away.”
Riley’s fingers trembled. The bathroom was too hot, too small. She typed.
Riley (9:17 AM): Yeah.
She stared at it. It was a prison of a word. Flat. Final. A door slammed shut.
Before she could think, before Fear could launch into a slide show about monosyllabic replies and relationship decay, her thumb moved again. It added two more words.
Riley (9:17 AM): You?
She hit send.
The silence in the bathroom stretched. The three dots appeared. He was typing. The dots disappeared. Came back.
Headquarters held its breath.
Jordan (9:18 AM): yeah. just making sure i didn’t dream the whole thing.
Jordan (9:18 AM): also my back is kinda sore from your bed frame lol. worth it.
A surprised puff of air escaped Riley’s lips. It wasn’t quite a laugh, but it was something. He was sore too. Not the same way, but a shared, mundane aftermath. A physical reality.
Jordan (9:19 AM): want me to bring over coffee later?
The question was simple. Normal. It was a bridge back to the before, to sitting on her floor drinking iced coffee and talking about nothing. It was an offering.
Joy glowed, a soft, hopeful gold. “Say yes. It’s coffee. It’s a return to protocol. It’s good.”
Anger crossed his arms, grudgingly satisfied. “Hmph. Coffee’s a solid move. Non-threatening. Gives her an out if she wants to bail.”
Fear was still anxious. “What if the coffee is a metaphor? What if he brings it and expects a repeat performance? What if the caffeine interacts with her post-coital neurochemistry?”
Sadness smiled a small, quiet smile. “He’s asking for coffee. Not for anything else. That’s kind.”
Riley felt the stone of guilt in her gut. It was still there. But around it, something else shifted, softened. He wasn’t running. He wasn’t asking for a performance review. He was asking about coffee and complaining about a bed frame.
Her fingers were steadier now.
Riley (9:20 AM): Sure. That’d be good.
Jordan (9:20 AM): cool. noon? i’ll get your weird oat milk thing.
Riley (9:21 AM): :)
She put the phone down. The screen went dark. In the foggy mirror, her own face was blurred, unfamiliar. But the set of her shoulders had relaxed, just a fraction.
She hadn’t fixed anything. The complicated feelings were still there, packed away like the bundled sheets in the hamper. But there was going to be coffee at noon. And for now, with her hair dripping onto the towel and the steam beginning to clear, that was a thread she could follow out of the labyrinth. A tentative, fragile smile touched her lips, reflected in the glass.