Drake has a bathroom inside of his bedroom, down a small hallway and across from a huge walk in closet. I step in and begin to splash water on my face and observe that my reflection isn’t exactly as enticing as it was when I left my apartment at the beginning of the evening. I have sex hair, and my skin is flushed and red. There’s a hickey on my right shoulder, and when I turn around and look at my back in the mirror, there are definitely some faint claw marks just above my ass. I look at Drake’s shower longingly and notice that it’s the biggest shower I’ve ever seen, with a bench and jets coming out of the sides. I vow that once I get my inheritance I’m going to buy a shower just like it. Fuck it, I think, and step inside. I pull the knob over all the way to the hottest setting and let the water pour all over me, washing the juices off of my thighs and more thoroughly off of my face. When I open my eyes, I gasp, surprised to see Drake watching me with a silly smirk on his face.
“Sorry,” I call out from inside, feeling the echo bounce off the marble walls. “Do you mind?”
He responds by opening the glass door and letting himself inside, along with a burst of cold air conditioning. “Jesus fuck, it’s hot,” he says. He turns the knob a bit more toward the middle and presses something that turns the side jets on, making me gasp again. “Since you serviced me so well,” Drake says, “why don’t you let me take care of you?”
I shrug and see that he means to wash me down. He takes some liquid soap and puts it on a loofa and gently rubs it over my breasts and shoulders. He motions for me to turn around and does my back and reaches around and cleans my belly and slips his hand inside of me to wash out where I feel the dirtiest at the moment. The soap slides down my thighs and legs and pools around my feet. The way Drake is handling and pampering me I feel like a little girl. In fact, I feel exactly like I did when I was a little girl and too numb to move and Devin sometimes had to help me to take a bath and clean off the filth and corruption that was coated on me from whomever Jack’s last patron was. It’s not something I’d like to think about now, and turn to kiss Drake hard and fill my head with his tongue instead of diseased thoughts that deserve to die. “That’s the first time we’ve kissed,” I remark. “A bit backwards, I’d say.”
Drake smiles and pushes a wet strand of hair off my cheek. “I’m not very traditional,” he tells me and then kisses me again. I feel him grow hard again. Again? He disconnects the shower head and holds it between my legs and turns another knob I didn’t know about and I feel the water pressure increase. I feel my knees buckle and Drake catches me in his arms as I come and practically black out. Luckily there’s the bench, and I sit down and part my knees and hold my head in my hands as I catch my bearings. I hear Drake groan and look up and see he’s used the shower head on himself. How many times did that make, I wonder? I stand up, feeling less dizzy and give myself a final rinse and step out. There are fluffy grey towels hanging on the wall and I grab one and bury myself in it. In the mirror I look beat. My makeup has washed off and there are remaining smudges of black under my eyes. I am still flushed from my last orgasm but overall I look tired.
“Do you have clothes I could possibly wear home?” I look behind me and see Drake wrapping another towel around his waist. I need a cigarette. The air around me is almost too sterile. I couldn’t possibly spend the night with this perfect man, who I am not sure wants me to anyway, so I feel it’s best to broach the subject and make it my idea.
He doesn’t really question it either. “Might be hard to find you a pair of pants or shorts that will fit,” he says. “Let me see what I can find.”
“I’ll be on the balcony,” I tell him. I walk over to his living room and find my purse and my cigarettes. I note the clock on his oven says its 2:37 am. Holding the towel around me, I stand outside and smoke and practically choke on the humid air. When I come inside, Drake is sitting on his sofa next to a pair of faded jeans and a white t-shirt.
“Thanks,” I mumble and slip the t-shirt on. It’s an undershirt and very obvious I’m not wearing a bra but it’s better than going home topless. The jeans fit better than I expected and I realize that although Drake is well built on top, he’s very narrow from the waist down. I give them a roll at the waist and they stay up. I don’t ask for my underwear back and Drake doesn’t offer them. I would rather not put dirty underwear on anyway.
Drake drives me home. We are silent the whole way back and I am nodding off to sleep, completely spent from the evening’s activities. Drake plays music through the stereo and I realize we are listening to The Velvet Underground, which was one of Jack’s favorite bands, I remember. Weird and not at all something I’m pleased about, although I still like the band. The song playing is “Heroin”, and it’s somewhat of a perfect depiction of how I feel, which is strung out.