Steam & Silence

The door hisses shut.
Heavy. Sealed.
Steam rising in waves thick enough to cloud everything —
except thought.
The bench is warm.
Wood pressed against skin I don’t often show.
Naked, except for the things I can’t leave behind.

There’s chatter outside the glass.
Weights clank. Music thumps.
Someone’s laughing — probably Dean,
teasing someone into a new PR set.
But in here,
there’s silence.
Steam.
And memory.

I close my eyes,
and for one breath too long,
they come back.
All of them.

Lindy.
Compact power.
She touched me under the table,
smiled like she knew exactly what I needed —
and gave it to me with filthy confidence
and soft surrender.
She lit something in me.
Not just lust.
Permission.

Melany.
Elegance in a storm.
She watched me from across the table
and waited for me to come find her.
She never said it,
but she knew —
what I’d do,
where I’d touch,
how deep I’d go.
And she wanted it.
Not because she needed it.
Because she didn’t think anyone could reach her.
She was almost right.

Aubrey.
Quiet. Whole. Broken.
She looked at me like I was still human.
Like I wasn’t just built to endure.
She let me taste something
I haven’t let myself want in years.
Softness.
And it broke me.
In the best and worst way.

The door creaks faintly.
Someone walks past.
I breathe through my nose, steady,
pretending I’m not falling apart
between these cedar walls.
No one notices in a public gym.
They see the abs, the sweat, the face.
Not the war behind the eyes.
And that’s how I like it.

I’ve been to three cities since that night.
Signed two contracts.
Had dinner with a woman who said all the right things.
But none of them
were her.
None of them smelled like Stellenbosch wine
and whispered chaos.
None of them said nothing —
and still left me speechless.

The steam thickens.
I lean forward, elbows on knees,
and whisper a truth I’d never say out loud:
I haven’t touched anyone since.
Not really.
Not like that.
Not like them.

They didn’t just wake something up in me.
They exposed it.
And somehow… didn’t run.

Lindy wanted to win me.
Melany wanted to understand me.
Aubrey wanted to hold me.
And all I wanted was to let them.
Just for the weekend.

I’m not built for this.
I’m built for spreadsheets.
And golf swings.
And disappearing behind charm when things get too raw.

But something stayed behind —
in that bed.
That car.
That boat.
Something I can’t unpack with logic.
And that scares the hell out of me.

The timer beeps softly.
Twenty minutes.
Enough.

I stand slowly.
Muscles heavy. Breath low.
The door opens.
Cool air rushes in. Voices return.

I walk back into the noise,
towel around my waist,
expression unreadable.

Outside,
I’m still Christopher Schwartz.
But inside,
something has changed.