I picture you on your knees in the tub in front of me, drenched by the hot river of soap streaming off my body. Your hair is sopping wet, but you look up at the sound of my voice and shake your head till the droplets fly all around us, spattering the wall and the steamed-up shower screen.
“Open your mouth,” I gasp, through the curtain of water covering my face. It’s that oddest of things, a muffled, echoing splash of noise, but you nod solemnly and move closer, your eyes scrunched shut and your lips parted in anticipation.
I wait, and watch your skin gleam white in the gathering mist.