Mr.Embersons Bath

Mr.Emberson’s bath was built directly over the guest room of his house. What a glorious bath it was. Designed with fish on the stone cold base, and an open sky window atop looking up at the stars. Fourteen ready towels at its side, and two sinks for one man, with the occasional guest.
Mr.Emberson head ached from the hardcover copy of “The Joy of Cooking” that his mother had given him last Christmas. He tried turned on what was meant to be a steaming geyser of relaxation, but the damn thing didn’t work. So he lay there silently.

The bath was in such a place that he heard Ginger, his now two-week girlfriend, packing below him. She was twenty years younger than him, as is custom to a man his type. He heard her clunking about, crying, and occasionally throwing a vase or a plate at the wall. Nothing he hadn’t ever seen.

He told himself to go down and try the usual apology, but he was weary from the buying stocks, and calls from his Ma. Anyway he was too rich to do it, he could gain another young girlfriend in an instant. Its odd, how a person can be too rich. He was lying down in the most peculiar position, head almost covered in water at the bottom of the bath. It was uncomfortable but what could he do? Moving takes energy. His head lay directly beneath the faucet and hot water dripped on his forehead quite frantically. A little irritating. Drip, drop, drip, drop.

He lay there and drank his martini; Ginger screamed and cried below. “She just wants me to go down so I can get another book in the head, she’s not that upset,” he thought to himself. “Don’t beat yourself up honey!” he yelled. Then there was a particularly large crash as she threw something big. When it broke, he was frightened and spilled the martini all in the bath. “Look what you did!” he bellowed.

I guess you could say a lot of women hated Mr.Emberson. What can he say, their fault. They’re not coming to him for a real relationship: what do they expect from him. “Where do they get these ideas in there head about love?” Mr.Emberson thought to himself. There was a brief silence below, followed by faint sobs. “Now,” he thought, “I can finally get some peace.”
The faucet kept on dripping on his head, and he would just begin to relax and bam, a shriek of pain. Drip, drop, drip, drop. The water from the martini had turned read. Sickening he thought. When he tried to think of his money or house, his mind would drift. The water would fall on his head and he would feel something, not just pain. Drip, drop, drip, drop.

Ginger was crying frantically. She knew it was going to happen, I mean what did she expect? She was used, pretty much, she didn’t really mind. She thought she was in love and then he mistreated her… whenever she thought about what he had done to her, her mind just said, “blah, blah, blah, we’ve heard it all.” But to be classic she decided to go up to his room and say a last good bye. She walked up the stairs, trying to get herself to cry. She had thrown a few things, but really what did it matter? As she walked up the stairs tears began to swell. And even if it wasn’t about Mr.Emberson cheating on her, or the fact that he didn’t care, she began to cry. Drip, drop, drip, drop.

She put her face side to the door, trying to scream as much as she could, but she was getting a sore throat, and had no cough drops, so she thought the next best thing to do would be whimper. “I’m leaving now John, and I will not be coming back. I hope you’re happy, you ruined my life! Why don’t you just go and forget me! Because I’ll forget you! You son of a bitch! I thought it was love but you treat me like that! I hope you never forget me, I’ll haunt you John!”

There was no answer from beyond the door. No sound of water running, or Mr.Emberson breathing, just that small drip from the faucet: drip, drop, drip, drop. “ANSWER ME goddamn you! You selfish asshole, ANSWER ME!” But he wouldn’t answer. Ginger barged through the door. There floated Mr.Emberson, limply moving, with his eyes wide open. The water dripped on his head. His hand holding a bright shining razor; red water all around him. Funny how guilt happens, you care nothing about anything, until it comes down drip by drip, each time it hits you the surge grows stronger.
For Mr.Emberson there was finally
silence.