Ultramarine -- REWRITTEN

Eight. [c.h.] -- REWRITTEN

          The soap they provided smelled like memories. Memories of it in my hand as I wandered across the cool black rocks barefooted. Only my toes touched the ground. My swimsuit couldn't block out the cool midnight breeze that whispered past the two of us. The moonlight glistened against my skin, and I glanced back at him, watching as he followed close behind. The shadows danced across his skin, gliding over the muscles in his arms and chest. Our eyes met, and I smiled.

          I dragged the bar against my skin in thought, steam filling the bathroom.

          I felt his arm wrap around my waist as we arrived at the cliff. The harmony of the ocean crashing below blanketed the sounds of our breathing. The height we stood made my palms sweat, which in turn began to melt the bar of soap where scent lifted, encircling my senses as he pulled me closer. His body was warm, and goosebumps rose on my skin. His lips pressed against the top of my head, before his touch left me and he jumped. I climbed down the cliff to a smaller ridge as he teased me for being scared of heights.

          I opened my eyes and looked down at the bar of soap. My wrists were still red, but it was fading. The warm water stung the wounds and I took a deep breath.

          Cool water wrapped around my body, the bar of soap almost sliding out of my hand. The exhilaration, the adrenaline, the excitement of jumping and falling, even if it were a short distance, pulsed through my veins as our lips touched. I tasted salt and enjoyed every second of it. We bathed in the ocean, but never fully undressed. Yet I felt completely naked as my hands slowly traveled down his chest, with suds from the soap gathering at my fingertips. We stood on the rocks below out of the water, but felt occasional splashing from waves kissing the ground. Through the vibrations of the waves I could hear his heartbeat and felt it in my fingertips. He would press his lips against my shoulder blade from time to time as I dragged the bar of soap against my skin until he tasted permanently of salt. His fingers were the only ones that had touched almost every inch of my skin.

          I squeezed my eyes shut, clenching my hands. The bar of soap in turn slipped out of my grasp and fell to the bathroom floor below. I opened my eyes and took a deep breath, not allowing myself to think any more of him. It only made everything feel worse.

          I knelt down and grabbed the soap, placing it back on one of the shelves. The water that bathed me did not feel as refreshing as salt water. Harry knocked on the door, signaling that the water would turn off in five minutes. I shut my eyes and groaned, half wishing that I could stay and drown in the water before my thoughts drowned me. The pressure of the water prickled and stung, but it was better than feeling all of my negative emotions.

          I finished showering but kept the water running as I stepped out and dried my skin. It gave me more time to figure out how to pull off the vent from above while Harry thought that I was still showering. Scars were forming on my fingertips from the thin metal slicing my skin over and over again. My fingers wrapped around a towel as I flipped over the trashcan and stood on top of it. The towel protected my fingers as I wrapped them around the edges of the vent. With my weight, I pulled down, and heard a faint scraping sound from above. The vent was slowly but surely loosening. As I tried again, the shower turned off. I grimaced, wondering if Harry would be able to hear me pulling out the vent cover now that the shower was off.

          Maybe another day. I was too tired to lead on a goose chase. Plus, I had other things to think about.

          I slipped into a fresh jumpsuit. Even though it was much more ill-fitting than my regular clothes, the feeling of cleanliness against my skin raised my spirits just a little bit. In this kind of environment, I needed all of the little happy moments that I could take. I brushed through my hair, taking my time to be completely alone. The comb pulled out bunches of strands of wet hair--more than usual. My hair was going to start to thin out, and I didn't doubt that it was from stress. I only sighed. There was nothing I could do about it.