She slides down in the tub, letting the steaming water rise over her collarbone, her toes curling as she stretches beneath the surface, muscles lengthening and loosening in the heat. Heady-scented fizz and foam swirl around her throat to the thrum of the rushing water.
She closes her eyes, lids heavy and dull, inhaling deeply as the memories come.
This time, she welcomes them.
They bubble up in the darkness, gently at first, tickling her chin, teasing her lips, brushing her ears and neck. The smell of them, so sweet and familiar, blush the scalding pink of her skin to crimson. Their cascading current sends tremors along her back, and she sinks lower to meet their touch.
The water rushes on, churning the depths of her memories into effervescent clouds that encircle her face, steadily rising until a liquid crown envelops her hair, until the water runs out, until the steam fades, until memories are all that is left.
This story is part of No Novel November, a daily microfiction challenge. If you'd like to know more and/or join in, click here.