Текст книги "Following Me"

Автор книги: K. A. Linde

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

GARRETT DROPPED DEVON at Jenn’s Restaurant to wait for Hadley to get off work.  He was working the night shift and needed to get ready, but he felt bad about leaving Devon alone in the apartment on such a nice day.  He had given her his spare key in case she decided to go to the apartment.  She didn’t intend to though.  Devon figured she would wait until Hadley got off work, and then they could head back together.  She didn’t feel comfortable being at their apartment all by herself.  She was just a guest.

Her stomach grumbled, reminding her that she had only eaten a piece of toast and a Popsicle all day.  She and Garrett had walked for hours.  He was a great tour guide, giving her more information about buildings and events than she likely ever needed to know.  Garrett had lived in Chicago nearly his whole life, and he had only left for the four years of college.  Devon hadn’t been surprised to find out he had gone to George Washington in D.C.  Although he had money written all over him, surprisingly, he seemed down-to-earth.  She wished that combination happened more often.

Jenn’s wasn’t as busy as it had been the last time Devon had walked inside.  Everyone must have still been working at this early hour.  She suspected it would start to get crowded closer to five o’clock.

Hadley had a pretty sweet set-up at her job.  She always got off work early on Fridays.  Plus, she didn’t have to go in at all on the weekends.  Hadley had said she would be happy to show Devon around the parts of the city that Garrett had missed during the morning shift.  Devon hadn’t decided what she wanted to do, but she knew she would think of something in the meantime.

Sitting down in the same stool as she had the day before, Devon leaned her elbows heavily on the countertop and waited for someone to materialize.  She noticed a waitress helping a customer in a booth against the wall.  The woman looked like she had been working there since the place had opened forty years earlier.  Yet, she still wore the same uniform as the younger waitresses—a short black skirt, a white top unbuttoned to reveal cleavage, white tube socks, and tennis shoes.  She couldn’t be the only one working, right?

The woman scooped up the menus from the other customers and then walked toward the back door.  Looking over at Devon, she smiled with a sincerity she likely didn’t feel.  “Someone will be right with you, hon.”

She walked through the swinging door into the kitchen.  Devon wondered if she was now yelling at someone to do his job.  It was what she probably would have done when she had worked at a restaurant.  At least, she would have grumbled to herself about how she was the only one working.

During the previous summers, Devon had worked part-time as a waitress to earn a little extra cash.  She always had something she wanted to spend her money on, and she felt bad asking her parents for anything more than they had given her.  They were already paying for her education and room and board, so she didn’t feel like she could ask for more.

A minute later, a disgruntled man walked out of the back room, yelling something at the waitress behind him.  Devon had been right.  When he turned around, Devon smiled, realizing it was Brennan.  She was happy to see a familiar face in a sea of the unfamiliar.  Chicago was a huge step for her, and she had a lot of adjusting to do.

“You been helped?” Brennan moved bottles around, barely glancing up at her.

“No, I haven’t,” Devon told him, waiting for him to recognize her.

“What’ll you have?”  He ran a towel under the faucet and then mopped under the drip mat.

“I don’t know.  I haven’t seen a menu.”  She pulled out her pen from her back pocket and absentmindedly flipped it between her fingers.

He grabbed a menu for her and slapped it down on the counter.   He walked away without even asking her for her drink order.  Hadley had been right; getting Brennan’s attention was hard even when the restaurant was empty.

She watched him for a second, knowing that he wasn’t paying any attention to her.  He was bobbing his head, his dark hair moving effortlessly.  It wasn’t styled like it had been yesterday.  Today, it looked more like he had just rolled out of bed, but in a good way.  He was humming something to his own tune, but Devon couldn’t make out the song.

She knew that she shouldn’t be watching him like this.  It was rude, and surely he would notice, which would be truly embarrassing.  She was just having a hard time pulling her eyes away.

It was strange to say the least.  He was the kind of guy her sister, Dani, would fall all over herself for.  She would flaunt herself in front of him until he noticed her, and in Dani’s case, it didn’t take very much time for guys to notice her.  Her mother had joked about Devon being the difficult one, but that was only because she had boycotted cowboy boots and her Dixie nickname, but Dani was the one her mother needed to worry about.  Dani still traipsed about in too short sundresses, and she had earned the name Pearl from half the guys in school for good reason.  It was slightly disturbing since she was only seventeen and a senior in high school.  Devon was terrified of her going off to college, especially since she had chosen a big state school.

Devon wasn’t the one to get caught up in a guy’s appearance, especially with Reid back in St. Louis.  No, she didn’t even want to think about St. Louis right now.  Brennan was nice to look at, that was all.

Brennan turned around then and looked right at her.  Her cheeks instantly colored when he caught her staring.  He didn’t do anything more than smirk before she buried herself in the menu she hadn’t yet touched.

Devon felt his eyes linger on her, and the feeling wouldn’t leave.  She wasn’t used to being under scrutiny.  She pondered whether he had felt her eyes staring so heavily, if it had been that obvious.  She glanced back up when her cheeks weren’t flaming hot.

Brennan smiled at her, walked back over, and leaned both of his elbows on the bar like he had done yesterday.  “You want something to drink?”

“Just water, please,” Devon said, averting her eyes.

Brennan poured her drink and handed it over.  “Were you here yesterday?” he asked, returning to his position.

“Yeah.”  Devon nodded.  She folded her menu, removing her diversion.  “I was here with Hadley.”

“I knew you looked familiar.  You’re the little Southern belle.”

“Devon,” she corrected.

“Right.  How’d you end up with a friend like Hadley?” he asked.

“What does that mean?”  Was he insulting her roommate of two-and-a-half years?

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re a square, and she colors outside of the lines.”

Incredulously, Devon looked up at him.  “How could I not take that the wrong way?”

“Because I told you in advance not to,” Brennan said, shrugging.

“Telling me in advance implies that I’m going to take it the wrong way.  It totally negates everything you say after that,” she told him, narrowing her eyes.

“It’s too early to be negating this and implying that.  I’m a bartender.  Order a shot,” Brennan said.

He didn’t back away as she glared at him.

“I think you can imply and negate with the rest of us.”  Devon flipped her pen between her fingers faster.

“Can and will are different things,” he said, stepping back.  He walked over to the bar, pulled out two shot glasses, and filled them with tequila.  After he passed one over to her, he set a napkin on the countertop and placed two limes on it.  “You keep flipping your pen like that, you’re going to cause a nervous breakdown.  Now, drink up.”

Devon sighed.  This was a bad idea, especially after last night.  But the shot didn’t feel like it came with a choice.  Rather, it felt like a challenge.

“Salt?” she asked.  If she was going to do it, she was going to do it right.

Brennan placed the salt on the counter.  She licked the skin in between her thumb and forefinger and held her hand out to him.  He smirked at her, and then without any further prompting, he poured some salt onto the spot.  He did the same to himself.

“Are we toasting to anything?” Devon asked because she couldn’t help herself.

“Nope,” Brennan said, picking up his shot.

She did the same, clinked her glass against his, and then tipped back the tequila.  Devon gagged as the burning liquid rushed down her throat.  She reached for the lime and sucked on it until the fire cooled.

Brennan chuckled softly as he tossed his lime and cleaned up the shots.  “Now, what do you want to eat?”

Devon flipped her pen around.  When she realized she was doing it again, she placed the pen on the counter.  “I’m not picky.  Anything without mayo.  Whatever you like.”

“Huh,” he said, taking her menu.

“What?”  She licked her lips and eyed him apprehensively.

“Nothing.”

“Okay.”

What was his angle?  She couldn’t figure it out.  That was the second time he had seemed to assess her in some way that she couldn’t figure out.

Brennan walked back into the kitchen.  When he didn’t reappear, she wondered what he was doing back there.  Was he goofing off with the waitress?  It didn’t seem likely.  It wasn’t that she expected him to stay out here and talk to her or anything.  She had hated forced conversations with her customers, but she hadn’t thought their conversation was forced.

Shrugging, she pulled out her notebook and flipped it open to the page she had been working on when she’d been at The Bean with Garrett.  It had flowed so easily then.  She wished writing was always like that.  Sometimes, it felt like she was trying to force her way out of quicksand.

As much as writing was a release, she kind of hated it.  She felt like she relied on it to express herself.  When she thought about it, she figured it kept her voice subdued.  She didn’t need to yell or scream or cry out at anyone when she could do all that on paper.  She could pour every emotion onto paper until she felt like she was bleeding.  It wasn’t enough.  It was never enough, but it helped.  It helped keep her walls up.

More than anything, she wished she didn’t have the same skill as her parents.  Because when the words flowed out of her, they weren’t a perfect flowing script, a well-crafted novel, or even something as simple as a journal.  They were lyrics.  All of her writing came out in the form of a song.  What made it even worse was that she could never, would never sing.  She didn’t like other people to hear her voice because she felt like it was just too personal, so she would never sing her own stuff.

How could she sing between the tears?

Mulling over the words in her notebook, she rearranged the lines that formed the chorus.  She could imagine someone great singing her songs with smooth perfect vocals that rose and fell in time with the music, but she didn’t think she could ever follow through.  Hearing her pain all over the radio wasn’t exactly her style.

A few minutes later, Brennan walked out and placed her food in front of her.  It was just a burger.  She was surprised.  She had thought he would have come out with something creative.

“Best thing on the menu,” he told her, refilling her water.

She hadn’t even noticed that she had drained it.  She guessed the hangover had dehydrated her more than she knew.

“Thanks.”  Devon added ketchup to the burger and then dug in.  “Wow!  This is great!”  She had never been a burger fan, but this was outstanding.

Brennan nodded his head, like he knew she would like it, as he leaned back against the bar.  “How long are you in town for?”

“Just the week,” she said before taking another bite of her burger.

“Gonna be hanging out at my bar while you’re here?”

Devon looked up at him, trying to figure him out.  Did he want her there or was he hoping she wouldn’t be there?  Or was he simply making conversation?  “Probably,” she answered.

“Alright.”

“Why?” she asked curiously.

“Didn’t know how much tequila I should keep in stock,” he said without even cracking a smile.

Devon, however, laughed at him.  She preferred his humor to him assessing her.  “I’d keep it handy.”

“I’m thinking I’m going to have to.”

“You think you’re going to have to do what?”  Hadley walked up behind them, intercepting the end of the conversation.

“Hadley!” Devon turned around to greet her friend with a smile.

“Hey, good to see Brennan is taking care of you for me.  I see he’s feeding you the burger,” she said with a shake of her head.  “He thinks it’s the best thing on the menu.  He’s wrong.  It’s the chicken.”

“Hadley, always so opinionated,” Brennan said, straightening as she approached.  He started pouring her a drink.

“Is it really opinion when it’s obviously fact?” Hadley asked, taking the seat next to Devon.

“She thinks all of her opinions are facts,” Brennan told Devon, pushing the drink toward Hadley.

“Aren’t they?” Devon asked with a smirk.

“Oh, so you’re on her side then?”

“Was there ever a doubt?” Hadley asked.

“I tend to doubt everything.”

“And I tend to disagree with everything you doubt,” Hadley told him with a shrug.

“Just drink up and stop disagreeing with me,” he said with a smile.

Hadley shrugged again, sipped on her drink, and turned to face Devon.  “So, how was your day?  Did Garrett show you around the city?”

“Yeah.  We had a great time before he had to go to work.  The city is beautiful.  Why haven’t I been here before?” Devon asked.

“I don’t know.  It’s not like I haven’t asked you to visit.”

“Just had that little thing called school,” Devon told her.

“School.  Psh!  Who needs that?”  Hadley’s lips quirked up.  She glanced down at Devon’s notebook and tapped it twice.  “You still writing?”

“I haven’t changed that much since you left,” Devon said.

“Can I read your latest?”  Hadley reached for the notebook with a knowing smile.

“No,” Devon responded quickly, pulling the notebook off the bar and stuffing it back into her bag.  She picked up the pen again and began flipping it between her fingers absentmindedly.

Hadley laughed and shook her head.  “You really haven’t changed.  You should let more people read your songs.  They’re really good, Dev.”

Devon blushed and looked back down at her food.  She didn’t want to have this conversation, especially not in public.  She had too many emotions locked in her notebook.  There was no way she was just going to open it up.

“Brennan could even play guitar for your lyrics,” Hadley offered without Brennan’s approval.

“What’s that?” he asked, leaning forward.

Hadley glanced at Devon as if asking for permission to continue.  Devon rolled her eyes, knowing she didn’t have much choice now that Hadley had already started.

“You play guitar?” Devon asked, being quicker on the draw.

Brennan seemed artsy enough, but she wasn’t sure if he actually fit the bill.  She had grown up around musicians, and while he seemed to have the whole desperate bartending routine down, there seemed to be something more to him.  Her distaste for her own lyrics bled over to people who thought they could play instruments.  She was too accustomed to how musicians acted and how they thought they ruled the world.  They weren’t exactly her speed.

“Devon writes lyrics,” Hadley interrupted.

“Yeah, I play,” he said, locking eyes with Devon.  “You write?  I wouldn’t have pegged you.”

“A little,” she said with a shrug.  She liked proving his judgments wrong.  “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a musician.”

“I’m a struggling musician.”

“What are you doing in Chicago if you’re a musician?”

“I said I was struggling.”

“And by struggling, you mean you have no talent?” Devon asked arching an eyebrow.

“I have talent,” he said, off hand like it didn’t matter what she thought.  It likely didn’t.  “I just find I should spend more time on my bartending talent while I continue to fail the entrance exams to get into med school.”

Devon swallowed, her mind immediately going to Reid.  She felt really bad that she hadn’t told him the truth.  He was going through such a hard time, applying to medical school himself, and she had just left him to go through it alone.

Maybe she should call him.

No.

She couldn’t do that without telling him that she had lied, without telling him that she wasn’t in Paris for the summer.  Then, she would have to go back to St. Louis, and she just wasn’t ready for that.

“He has talent,” Hadley said as if it were the most painful thing for her to admit.  “I’ve heard him play.  Do you have an open mic gig this week?  We could stop by.”

“Nah,” Brennan said, shaking his head as a large group walked into the bar.  “I don’t have anything for a couple weeks.”

“Bummer,” Hadley muttered.  “They’re so much fun.  We’ll have to take you up to the bar at the John Hancock building before you leave.  That will be fun.  I was up there once.  It was snowing on the ninety-ninth floor, but it wasn’t even raining on the bottom floor.  When are you off, Brennan?  You could come with?”

“You want me to go to an overpriced bar over a thousand feet off the ground when I work at a bar?” he asked.

“Yep!” Hadley said with a big smile.

“I have Monday off, but I’m busy.  What about next Sunday?”

“Are you going to be here next Sunday?” Hadley asked Devon.

“Uh…yeah.  Next Sunday works for me.”

“Great!  Next Sunday it is then,” Hadley said.  “It can be Devon’s going-away party.”

“Yeah,” Devon said dejectedly.

She didn’t want to spend only one week in the city.  She would need to find a place to stay for the rest of the summer or else she would have to fess up to Reid and her family sooner rather than later.

And that was something she just couldn’t do.

DEVON WALKED ACROSS Brookings Quad in the early summer air mingled with the scent of blooming flowers.  The Quad at Wash U was surrounded on all sides by Gothic-style buildings.  The one directly in front of her was Brookings Hall, and it served as the face of the campus.  It primarily housed high-ranking university officials as well as the big colleges, so she rarely visited the building, but the walkways surrounding it were pretty.  Devon much preferred the openness of the area to the other parts of campus.  She was probably biased though because the social work building, Brown Hall, was right next door to Brookings.

Devon would have taken the shortcut to Brown Hall, but the weather was so nice that she wanted to delay the inevitable.  She nearly reached the archway through Brookings when she felt eyes on her back.

Strange.  She hadn’t remembered seeing anyone else on the Quad.

It was such a beautiful day that she thought others would be out there studying, tanning, goofing off, and generally, enjoying the sunshine.  But it was the summer session, and few people remained on campus, so it wasn’t all that surprising.

Trying to push away the nagging feeling that someone was watching her, Devon quickened her pace and walked through the archway.  She didn’t like being in there anymore than she liked being out in the open on the Quad, but at least in the Quad, she could see whoever was following behind her.  It wasn’t likely that whoever the person was would do anything in the middle of the day at the heart of campus.

But the archway at Brookings was different.  While it was still a very public place, connecting the Quad and Hoyt Drive, it bottlenecked through the corridor.  She felt suddenly trapped even though it wasn’t a far distance.  The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, and the blood coursed through her body.  She could feel her pulse beating rapidly in each of her fingers, and she swallowed back the cotton balls lodged in her throat.

Devon glanced back over her shoulder, her blonde hair spinning out around her face, as she hoped to catch a glimpse of the person behind her.  But no one was there.  She didn’t even hear footsteps or anything.  Yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling.  Whoever was following her was rather adept at not being seen.  The only way she would see the person was when he wanted to be seen, and that unnerved her even more.

Dashing through the archway, Devon crossed to the other side, unharmed.  Her eyes shifted left and right, looking for anyone waiting to ambush her on the other side.  No one was there.  In fact, no one was anywhere.

There were no cars on the usually busy Hoyt Drive or Brookings Drive, which led into campus.  Cars sat idly by in parking spaces along the road, but she couldn’t see anyone in them.  Even on the best day, incoming freshmen flocked the school to make their final decisions about enrollment.  Despite her annoyance with them, Devon wanted to know where they were.

She didn’t have more time to think about it.  Someone was tailing her and almost instinctively, she knew he was getting closer.  Without a backward glance, she barreled down the stairs leading to the street.  Devon had walked up and down the soft sloping and seemingly endless staircase more times than she could count, but today, the descent felt excruciatingly long.

Finally reaching the sidewalk on Hoyt, she immediately turned right toward Brown Hall.  She had a strong desire to be inside a familiar environment.  Plus, she knew the entire faculty, and someone had to be there.  Professor Turner was there every day.  She had spent countless hours in his office going over assignments and catching up.  She never had to make appointments since he was always just there.  If no one else were on campus, he would still be there in his loosened tie staring at his Mac.  She could get to him.  She could make it.

It wasn’t a long walk.  It was literally right around the corner.  Why hadn’t she taken the shortcut through Busch Hall?  All she would have had to do was taken a right before the Quad, walk straight through the Humanities department, and Brown would be standing right in front of her.  Instead, Devon had wanted to enjoy the weather, but she wasn’t enjoying the weather right now.

She jogged up the sidewalk, feeling eyes on her from every direction.  She felt completely ambushed.  They were coming for her.  They were closing in.  They would get her.

No.  She had to be strong and push herself harder.  Someone would be inside Brown Hall.  If not Professor Turner, then another professor or even a student would have to be there.  Devon would make this work.  She had to.

Reaching the double doors, she wrenched one open as fast as she could and rushed inside.  It smelled exactly as it always had, like too many cleaning supplies had been used to mask the dusty smell of the old building.  She padded down the familiar hallways, navigating the corridors like an expert.  Professor Turner’s office was on the fourth floor of the building.  She knew it was a bad move to run all the way up the stairs.  She would be trapping herself in the stairwell, but she didn’t have another choice.

Jerking the door open, she took the stairs two at a time.  Her breathing was ragged by the time she reached the top floor, but at least she didn’t feel eyes on her now.  Her pursuer must not have known where she went.

Cautiously, she strode down the corridor, searching for Professor Turner’s office.  Halfway down the hall, she heard a door click.  Her heart leapt out of her chest, she spun around to see if someone was behind her, but no one was there. Although she didn’t get that nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach, telling her someone was watching, she felt like she was in the wrong place, like she had made the wrong move.  She felt as if she had accidentally placed her guarding Bishop in front of her opponent’s Queen.

Having no other choice, she moved in front of Professor Turner’s office and knocked softly.  “Professor,” she whispered, “are you in there?”

No response.

“Professor, it’s urgent!  I know it’s not during school hours, but I must speak with you.  There are things I need to tell you.”

Still no response.

“Professor!  Someone is following me!”  She knocked again, anxious to get out of the open hallway and into the safety of his office.

Yet, no response came.

Devon swallowed back her rising anxiety, and she did what she never would have normally done.  She reached out her hand for the door handle, knowing that it wasn’t smart, knowing that it would lead to her downfall, but she had to get away.  Whoever was chasing her was forcing her hand.

She twisted the knob and slowly eased it open to a seemingly empty room.

“Professor,” she murmured softly, glancing around.

“Devon,” someone called out.

But she didn’t know who it was or even where the voice came from.

Just then, a hand clamped down on her wrist.

“DEVON.  DEVON,” SOMEONE called out to her, shaking her shoulder.

Gasping in air, her eyes shot open, and she stared up at Hadley.  She couldn’t breathe, and her heart was racing.  No matter what she did, she just kept sucking in dry dead air.

“Hey, it’s alright.  It’s just me,” Hadley said, rubbing her shoulder reassuringly.  “Are you okay?”

Devon tried to get herself under control, but she was having considerable trouble.  Her skin was cold and sticky, and her shirt was soaked through.  She pulled in a shuddering breath, and her chest expanded appreciatively as oxygen filled her lungs.  She slowly released the air.  The movements became easier with time.  As she brushed her fingertips under her eyes, she felt her eyelashes were wet.

God, can you cry in your sleep? she wondered.

“Seriously, Devon, you look like a ghost.  Do you need me to get you something?” Hadley asked with concern written across her pretty face.

Devon ran a hand back through her matted blonde hair.  Great, she would have to take another shower.  “Yeah, I’m alright,” she whispered, her voice strained.

“You sure?” Hadley asked, her eyes wide.  “I’m going to get you some water.  Be right back.”

Hadley disappeared, and Devon was grateful.  She was grateful for the silence and the light that streamed in through the window, signifying it was still daytime.  Her bottom lip quivered as she scooted up against the headboard, letting the chills work their way out of her body.

She had been having nightmares all week, the most vivid ones she had ever had in her entire life.  Every morning, she had woken up more exhausted than when she had went to bed, like she had been running a marathon instead of sleeping for eight hours.  She felt beyond dehydrated, and her head constantly ached.

Devon had taken to napping during the day, so she could sleep less at night to avoid dreaming.  Until today, the nightmares had never come for her while she was napping.

Hadley reappeared in the doorway with a glass of water.  She carefully handed it to Devon, looking really freaked out.  Devon felt bad about the whole situation.  She took a few sips of the water, feeling the ice-cold liquid slide down her throat and coat her stomach.

“Sooo…are you okay?” Hadley asked, repeating her question.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Devon said reflexively.

“Bad dream?” Hadley asked, clearly not buying her statement.

“I don’t know.  I don’t remember,” Devon lied.  She couldn’t tell Hadley what she had been seeing day in and day out; that would only raise questions.  Devon didn’t know what all the dreams were about, but she had a clue.  And if she had a clue, Hadley could fathom a guess as well.

Hadley gave her a perplexed look.  With a sigh, she nodded.  “Alright.  If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine.  I’ve just never seen you like this.  You’ve never had nightmares before, did you?”

What could Devon say?  Hadley had lived with her for two-and-a-half years, and Hadley knew her like no one else.  Devon could only hold up pretenses for so long.

“No,” Devon finally answered.  “I didn’t have them before.  They’re new.”

“When did they start?” Hadley asked like an overindulgent parent.

“I don’t know,” Devon said, looking down.  She knew perfectly well when they had started, but she wasn’t about to spill.

“Well, I hope they stop.  It’s not healthy,” Hadley said, standing.  She seemed resigned to let Devon off the hook.

“I hope they stop, too,” Devon agreed with a tentative smile.

“We’re leaving for the party soon.  I was about to get dressed.  See you in a bit.”  Hadley walked out of the room, leaving Devon in peace.

Devon sighed, sitting back against the headboard.  She closed her eyes, submitting to the darkness.  How could this keep happening?  When she had left, she thought the dreams would go away.  She had hoped that maybe she made the right decision, so they would stop entirely.  Instead, they had done the opposite.

Peeling her eyes open, she finished off the rest of the water Hadley had given her and walked into the bathroom.  She stripped off her clothes, tossing them into a basket next to the toilet, and then she turned on the shower as hot as it would go.  She ran a brush through her tangled hair until it was free of knots as the room thickened with steam.  All she wanted to do was scald away the memories of someone’s eyes on her, the desperation of the chase, and the nauseating feel of the person’s grip on her arm.

She stepped into the water, hissing as it touched her skin.  The water felt like needles piercing through her skin wherever it touched her.  It hurt.  She couldn’t deny that it hurt, but the pain felt like home.  And so, instead of turning down the heat, she succumbed to it.

Her hair soaked through as she finally edged her body back into the blistering water.  Closing her eyes, she let the water slowly rake over her face, rush down her front, and pool at her feet.  At least in here, she only felt the pain from the water.  A pain she could endure.

Devon turned, facing the stream of water.  She pressed her forehead against the cool ceramic shower wall, and she let the water flow down her back as rivulets from her wet hair ran over her chest.  She sighed and allowed her mind to forget.

Her hand trailed down her front to the heat between her legs.  She tentatively brushed her fingers up against herself, testing to see how sensitive the heated water made her.  Her body jerked lightly at the touch…even more sensitive than she would have thought.  It was a welcome touch.  Her body hadn’t had any release in a long time…too long.

Devon bit her lip as she slid her finger across the wet surface, spreading and delving in.  Her mind raced as her finger came out slick and ready.  Her body tightened fractionally as she moved across the soft area, one digit slipping in and out teasingly.