Chapter 2: The Morning Tide

Grace woke up with the distinct and horrifying feeling that she had died of embarrassment and was now navigating her own personal hell. The morning light filtering through her blinds felt accusatory. Her first conscious thought was a full-body cringe so powerful it was a miracle she didn't implode.

The deluge.

The memory crashed over her, more vivid and mortifying than the event itself. The shattering pleasure, followed by the impossible gush of fluid, and then the click of the lock. And Angie. Angie standing in the doorway, taking the brunt of the final… spray.

Grace buried her face in her pillow, groaning. It wasn't the nakedness, or even the act itself. It was the sheer, baffling weirdness of the outcome. People didn't do that. Not like that. Not a flood. It was like a fire hydrant had gone off in their living room.

And Angie’s reaction. That was the part her brain kept snagging on, replaying in a torturous loop. No disgust, no shock, not even anger. Just a slow blink, a quiet observation, and then… that tiny, infuriating twitch at the corner of her lips. A smirk. Grace was sure it was a smirk. And her hand, going to that silver ring she always twisted when she was thinking hard. What had she been thinking? My roommate is a freak? Our sofa is ruined?

The need to stay in her room forever was overwhelming. She could feasibly live off the emergency granola bars she had stashed in her desk drawer. But sooner or later, she’d have to use the bathroom. She’d have to face the music.

Taking a deep breath, she swung her legs out of bed. The floorboards were cold under her feet. She pulled on an oversized college sweatshirt and a pair of worn-out pajama bottoms, armor for the awkward battlefield that awaited her.

She cracked her door open and peered out. The apartment was quiet except for the gurgle of the coffee pot. The little black dress from last night was no longer on the armchair; it was folded neatly on the corner of the seat, a silent, mocking testament to her failure. The sofa… Grace’s eyes widened. The cushions were flipped. The throw blanket was gone, vanished as if it had never existed. The floor was dry.

It was almost as if nothing had happened. The normalcy of it was more terrifying than walking out to a disaster zone.

Angie was in the kitchen, her back to the living room, humming softly as she poured coffee into two mugs. She was dressed in her usual effortless style—a soft grey hoodie and black leggings—and moved with an athletic grace that made Grace feel like a shambling collection of elbows and knees.

“Morning, G,” Angie said, not turning around. Her voice was infuriatingly cheerful.

Grace’s own voice came out as a squeak. “Morning.”

She shuffled to the counter, keeping her eyes fixed on the salt shaker as if it held the secrets to the universe. This was it. The apology. Just spit it out. I’m sorry I turned our living room into a water park with my orgasm. Her stomach churned.

“Angie, I…” she began, her cheeks already scorching hot. “About last night. I am so, so, unbelievably sorry. For the… you know. The mess. Your clothes. The… everything.”

Angie finally turned, leaning her hips against the opposite counter. She pushed a mug of black coffee across the granite towards Grace. Her hazel eyes were bright, dancing with an unreadable light.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “Laundry’s a miracle worker. And the couch has seen worse, trust me.” She took a sip of her coffee, her gaze unwavering over the rim of the mug. Then she lowered it, and her lips curved into that same, knowing smirk from the night before. She gave a tiny, almost imperceptible wink. “Besides,” she added, her voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial murmur. “Looked like you were having a good time. Can’t be mad at that.”

Grace’s brain short-circuited. The directness of the comment, the playful teasing in Angie’s tone—it was the exact opposite of the horrified disgust she had braced herself for. A tidal wave of heat rushed up her neck and flooded her face. She was flustered, confused, and strangely… thrilled.

She grabbed her glass of water from the counter, needing something to do with her hands. As her fingers tightened around the cool glass, her embarrassment peaked. She stared down into the water, her thoughts a chaotic jumble.

The water’s surface, previously still, began to tremble.

Tiny, concentric ripples spread out from the center of the glass, shimmering in the morning light. Grace froze, her breath catching in her throat. She wasn’t moving. The counter wasn’t shaking. But the water was dancing, vibrating with the frantic, mortified energy coursing through her.

Her head snapped up to look at Angie. Had she seen?

Angie’s smirk was gone. Her expression was one of intense focus. Her eyes flicked from Grace’s face, down to the trembling water in the glass, and back up again. It was a glance that lasted no more than a second, but it was filled with a shocking amount of… recognition. As if she had been waiting for this. The secretive smile returned, softer this time, but no less knowing.

“You okay, G?” Angie asked, her voice deliberately casual. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I… I’m fine,” Grace stammered, setting the glass down with a clatter. “Just… tired.”

She needed to escape. “I’m gonna go grab a shower.”

She practically fled, her heart hammering against her ribs. She locked the bathroom door behind her, leaning against the cool wood and trying to get her breathing under control. What was that? The rippling water. Angie’s look. It was all too weird.

Shaking her head, she turned to the shower, hoping the hot water would wash away the weirdness and the lingering shame. She twisted the knob, and a spray of frigid water hit the tiled wall. She shivered, cranking the handle further toward hot. Still cold. With a frustrated sigh, she closed her eyes, wishing the stupid water heater would just work for once. All she wanted was a perfect, hot shower. Just get hot, dammit!

The water temperature changed instantly. A plume of steam billowed out of the shower stall as the water became scaldingly hot in a split second. Grace yelped, jumping back as if she’d been burned.

“Ow! Too hot, too hot!” she whispered frantically. Her mind raced. Colder!

The steam vanished. The sound of the water changed, the pressure seeming to lessen as it turned shockingly, bitingly icy. Goosebumps erupted all over her arms.

This time, it wasn’t an accident. She stared at the showerhead, a strange mix of terror and awe creeping into her chest. Her heart was pounding, but it was from more than just fear. It was a wild, thrilling disbelief.

Slowly, deliberately, she focused on the stream of water. She didn’t think about temperature. She just pictured it being… perfect. The ideal warmth for a long, soothing shower.

The jet of water softened. The temperature shifted, settling into a flawless, comforting warmth that enveloped her skin like a hug.

Grace stood there for a full minute, her hand held out in the perfectly warm stream, her mind reeling. The orgasm. The flood. The rippling glass. The shower. It wasn't a fluke. It was her. Somehow, this was her. And it was connected to water.

She finished her shower in a daze, her thoughts moving from mortification to a growing, gnawing anxiety. When she emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, Angie was walking down the hallway. She paused, her head tilted. That perceptive gaze swept over Grace, and the knowing smile played on her lips once more.

“Everything okay in there?” Angie asked, her tone light and breezy. “Sounded a little dramatic.”

Grace just stared at her roommate. The playful teasing no longer felt harmless. It felt like a cover. The knowing smiles weren’t just about the awkward sexual encounter anymore. They were about something much, much deeper.

Angie knew. Grace didn’t know what she knew, but as she watched her roommate turn and disappear into her own room, twisting that silver ring on her finger, one chilling certainty settled in Grace’s soul.

Angie knew everything.