A Dark and Drowning Tide

by Allison Saft

Lorelei’s mouth suddenly felt quite dry. She fumbled to remove her gloves, but they caught on her skin, damp with river water and sweat. Despite the draft stealing in through the window, it had gotten terribly hot in here, and it was making her irritable. She splashed her face with water from the washbasin. As quickly as she could, she changed into a sleeping shirt and slid into bed. The covers were thin and scratchy, and they made her painfully aware of every inch of her skin. For a few moments, she lay stiff beneath the linens with her eyes trained on the ceiling. Footsteps padded lightly against the floorboards. There was a shush of breath, followed by a flood of darkness as the candle went out. The creak of springs as Sylvia climbed into bed. Lorelei lay awake, listening to the wild thrum of her own heart, to the slide of sheets over skin. She’d found Sylvia napping in sunny spots in the library and on campus so many times, she knew the exact cadence of her breath as she slept. She listened for it now, the moment she would surrender. Neither of them slept for several hours.