I only realised later, after I lost Alex, that it was the Shower Curtain.
It killed Alex. It wasn’t an accident, even though everyone said it was.
I think I had known, even before what happened to Alex, that the Shower Curtain in my new place was sentient.
And that it had fallen in love with me.
Oh I can hear you now. Get over yourself, pretty privilege, thinking everyone and everything is trying to get into your pants- even the frickin shower curtain?! Boo hoo, yes life is very hard for pretty young women.
Well, it is. I won’t deny my looks and body have opened a few doors for me, mostly of bars and nightclubs, but the constant harassment and toxicity more than make up for it. And not to mention the people I was actually interested in and would like to know more always seemed reluctant if not disinterested in a girl “who looks like you” as one of them once politely put it while turning me down. But, yes, it is very convenient, indeed necessary that I could marry well after everything with Alex was cleared up, and now I live in a proper house with a regular bathtub and sliding glass doors.
But this is Shower Curtain’s story.
I guess it was the first time I took a shower in my new apartment. I barely noticed Shower Curtain- who does? Hanging folds of white plastic with some generic blue and green pattern. I was in a rush, I threw my clothes in pile on the floor and stepped naked into the steaming shower.
How could it not fall in love? The mirror tells me how beautiful my body is, and my wet skin is so dazzlingly wonderful to my own touch, that really, when I think about it, is it any wonder that I could impart sentience and love to anything, let alone something that was so close to me at my most uninhibited and private moments?
I still remember that first shower. It reached out and lapped its green and blue plastic folds along my curving foam-covered body, as I twisted and turned, reaching up and down and in and over under the stream of hot water. I made a few irritated movements to bat it away, but as I said, I was in a rush.
I grunted with annoyance and now I think that must have made the game even more delightful, as the Shower Curtain obligingly retreated, only to sneak up on me as I closed my eyes and lathered up my hair, draping itself comfortably along the expanse of my thigh. I squealed and tried to peel it back, and then gave up, and left for work.
And now my memories go back to even deeper place. With a shudder, I remember all those times- I didn’t do it often, well at least not as often as Shower Curtain would have probably liked - when I leaned back against the blue tiled wall of the shower, closed my eyes and pleasured myself. The aroma of sexuality together with argan oil and coconut shampoo and my favourite neroli and magnolia body wash would mingle with the steam, a heady mixture straight from the open arms of Venus herself, and I would let myself be transported to a sensuous realm far away.
But even in the throes of ecstasy, I remember feeling that alien unwanted sensation creeping up my legs, stomach, and chest. I would cry out, a mixture of joy and fear as my eyes jerked open, only to see Shower Curtain daringly draped itself as far it could up on my body, the plastic reaching for my breasts. Grunting in frustration, I’d peel the damn thing off me, and go off to bed to finish the job.
Gradually I pleasured myself less and less in the shower, which was annoying, since it was one my favourite stress-relief places, as I am sure, if you have shower and use it, you would know. If you are blessed with an inanimate shower curtain, that is. Unlike poor me, who found myself avoiding the shower more and more, without even realising why.
I suppose my Shower Curtain, being after all a shower curtain, had seen of course a wide range of human behaviour in the shower. I had glimpsed the tenant before me as he moved out: an unhealthy-looking high-strung heavying man and I can understand that although he must have masturbated frequently in the shower, it would never be with the delicate touch of my free roaming hands, lovingly tweaking and pinching and caressing myself as the water splashed over me. He more looked like the type who could pull his dick right off in the fury and agony of his private needs.
Oh poor Alex. We got together so randomly. We were well-matched in terms of physical looks- there could be no question about which of us was “lucky” or any of that nonsense. We were that couple that everyone turns their head to look at when we walked down the street together, the couple that arouses furious jealousy and admiration in equal parts.
Not that we ever had the chance to do much of walking around, or anything else, for that matter.
It was the very first time we were planning to be alone together, an uncharacteristically warm fall afternoon. Foolishly, we went back to my place, laughing as we only laugh with a new love. We almost danced in, and I still can’t believe that it was I who suggested: “it’s so hot, I’m dying. Let’s take a shower together and cool off!” In my defence, as I mentioned, I had been taking showers more and more infrequently, and certainly wasn’t about to let a new lover come close to my privates without a proper clean up.
Looking back, I swear I remember Shower Curtain already shivering with emotion when we stepped into the bathroom, but I was so caught in the sweep and feel of Alex’s hair and hands on my body that I could barely focus on anything else.
We tore off our clothes, and I turned away for an instant, bending over to fiddle with the faucets. I remember the green and blue plastic swaying past me.
Then I heard Alex’s terrible cry, muffled almost as quickly as it rose.
I turned around and with horrified eyes saw my lover fall, tripped over in folds of plastic and banging against the rim of the toilet seat on the way down.
I screamed in terror. Alex lay motionless in a fast-growing pool of blood, wrapped in plastic from head to toe.
I shall never shower again.