Sweet Salvation

"March 28."

She stood, somehow managing to maintain the upright position when all she wanted to do was collapse. Three months ago! Three months and he'd said nothing. "I can't believe it." She couldn't.

He shrugged uncomfortably. "You want to know why?" He paused, awaiting a response she was incapable of providing. "It was so simple, really. That day, I just looked at you…and felt nothing. No love. No hate. Just…absence of feeling. I didn't think it really meant anything…that time. But now I look back on it and I know that I knew. It was over."

It was over. It sounded so unreal. Perhaps that was why she could remain standing instead of in the tight, heartbroken ball that by all rights she should be in—it didn't seem real! It wasn't real. She'd misheard him. She was imagining the whole thing, from his shuffle into the room, not meeting her confused eyes, to his sudden announcement that he was moving out. It was all a masochistic daydream she'd invented for herself, not unlike so many of her others. It was funny, really, how the mind could create such bizarre fancies. She laughed and turned to share her amusement at her crazy brain with him—only to find he was long since gone. She laughed even harder at that, until the tears started to flow and she succumbed to that urge to collapse.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Day 7. All of the friends had been notified and had sworn revenge, but that was only satisfying for one night of castration plotting, far too temporary to heal. Today she sat, listless and dry-eyed, staring at her bedroom wall. Though any pictures that showed him or reminded her of him—all of them—were removed, along with more than a little paint from furious nail removal, their images remained imprinted in her mind. Last summer at some amusement park, which ended up closing due to gross safety violations, where he'd tossed her, shrieking in laughter, over his shoulder. Christmas at his parents' place, with both of them, snuggling and smiling broadly, on the couch. He was wearing a Santa hat in that one, she remembered. A candid shot of him yelling to one of his friends from their apartment door. She knew them all by heart, or whatever was left in its place now. She heard a loud knock, and it suddenly occurred to her that she'd been hearing it for quite some time now. She wished it would go away; it didn't. Silent prayers didn't work. Cursing didn't work. Finally, she just gave up and went to the front door.

"This had better be damned good," she muttered as she stumbled across the living room. Perhaps it was him! She envisioned opening the door to find him, on his knees, crying, and repentant. He'd admit that he had no idea what he was saying, could she ever forgive him? He would, of course, be carrying conciliatory roses and strawberries, sweep her off her feet and up to her room, lay her on the bed, and proceed to make tender love to her. A sudden surge to her loins especially anticipated that part. Almost eager now, she opened the door. A package deliveryman gawked at her. Great.

"B-Beth Leason?" he stammered.

"Yes, that's me," she sighed, suddenly losing interest and energy again. He held a clipboard out to her with a paper for her signature, which she provided halfheartedly. As she signed, Beth noticed the deliveryman's sidelong glances at her, which puzzled her until she glanced down at herself. All she was wearing was a very old tee shirt of the band he used to be the bass player in; it barely made it past her curvy hips. Her very pale legs protruded almost obscenely. That combined with her uncombed, limp brown hair and her rather distinctive body odor made for a very interesting display indeed. Sighing in disgust, Beth grabbed the package and spun back inside her living room, slamming the door behind her.

Throwing the box down without a thought, she almost raced upstairs to the bathroom. 'What the hell was I thinking? I don't remember having bathed once since we broke up!' she chastised herself furiously as the bath water ran. She tore the shirt off her body in her haste to be clean. The water was almost scalding on her skin as she slipped her legs into the tub, but she didn't care in the least. Beth very gingerly lowered into the water, hissing a little as it passed her waist. 'Well, maybe I do care,' she thought wryly. Still, the pain was welcome after all the apathy she'd been "feeling" for the past seven days.

She sat, almost purring, feeling every muscle relax under the intense heat. For the moment, all her anguish was forgotten, lost to the sensual pleasure of the moment. Reality intruded only far enough to remind Beth that dirt needed to be scrubbed, not just soaked. She grabbed her sponge, drizzled some strawberry body wash onto it, and proceeded to lather herself up. Holding her hair up with one hand, she ran the sponge from one side of her neck to the other. She sighed at the pleasant tingly sensation and closed her eyes, letting her mind drift. In her imagination, he was behind her, holding the sponge, rubbing it across her neck, her chest.

He held the sponge suspended above one of her perky breasts and squeezed, letting suds slide down over her nipple. She moaned a little at the feeling, and, encouraged, he let the sponge itself drift across the same nipple. It immediately came to attention, pleading for more touches. He repeated the stroking motion until she was sobbing in pleasure, feeling her own moisture beginning to flow into the bathwater, and then he switched to the other nipple. 'Please,' she begged him, but he only smiled and continued his sweet torture.

Beth felt her level of desire rise until she was panting, writhing under the sponge's ministrations. Her stomach clenched and her hips unconsciously began thrusting toward the cock she wished were in front of her. Sensing her distress, he took pity on her and reached the hand not holding the sponge down between her legs. He teased her thighs for a moment, but she growled impatiently and he swiftly brought his fingers up to her pussy. Instantly she moaned and felt a flood of arousal seep out of her pussy, which felt like it was on fire. His fingers stroked her clit softly but insistently, applying as little pressure as possible while maintaining full sensation. She bit her lip and whined; it was so teasing and she wanted to come so badly.

Slowly, while still circling her clit with his thumb, he inserted the tip of his index finger into her slick pussy, setting off a new series of nerves. She tossed her head back and moaned loudly. Never letting up a bit, he continued his triple assault: the rough sponge on her nipples, his teasing thumb on her clit, and his finger in her pussy. He now added another finger and pushed them in a little deeper. In her hyper-sensitive state, she felt rather than heard water sloshing out of the tub as she thrashed around. She was so close to coming. She pushed herself against his fingers, wanting it hard, wanting to come, begging to come. The feeling built beyond physical capacity; she inhaled sharply, screamed her release, thrusting her body against the fingers, the sponge, coming so hard she couldn't see. Slowly, she came down. And came back to reality.

The first moment was hell. The fantasy, like always, was so realistic that she almost had convinced herself of its reality, and now that it was over, she was left alone again. Her instinctive reaction was to sob hysterically, but a few deep breaths and she calmed that instinct down. Gently she stroked her sides, hugging herself, consoling herself. 'It will pass. It will pass.' Eventually, it almost did. Beth had learned something, though: the past seven days had been a waste of life. She knew now that she had to accept his loss and adjust to it. Now that she had regained sensation, she also knew that she could do it.