Emma
I lock my bedroom door the moment I enter. The click is louder than it needs to be, as if I just locked myself inside a vault.
My sneakers' damp soles leave faint tracks on the floor as I kick them off. I don’t even try to turn the light on. The curtains are still closed from the previous night and the room remains dim, chilly and comfortable.
I peel off the wet tank top and shorts, dumping them in a damp pile on the floor. As I walk by, the mirror catches my reflection. I’m flushed, my cheeks are rosy, the hair on my neck is soaked. Any sweat that may have been left behind is now plastered to my skin.
I look like I’m someone who is running from something. Or toward it. I just don’t know anymore.
I walk to the bathroom. The hot shower water burns my skin. Until my skin is pink,
