Steam still swirls in the air as I drag a comb through my damp hair.
The giant tub tried calling my name, but the idea of lounging naked, waiting for someone to maybe come knock on the door, took all the appeal out of taking a bath. So, I settled for cleaning off in the giant shower stall.
I had been tempted to just pull on the comfy clothes in the privacy of the dark closet and crawl under the covers, but I felt too disgusting to sleep.
As someone who’s often covered in paint, you’d think I wouldn’t be such a clean freak, but I can’t stand the feeling of dried sweat on my skin. So, I dragged the big armchair into the bathroom and wedged it behind the door, as an extra level of protection between my nakedness and King.
I know he’d still be able to get through if he wanted to, but it made me feel better. And the fact that there’s not one of those little finger pad things, but rather a regular locking handle, on the bathroom door, made me feel a little bit better too.
Once I figured out how to turn everything on, I showered quickly but thoroughly. Not lingering over the fact that all his shower items smelled all sexy and masculine. Then, after I turned the water off, I quickly retrieved the towel I’d found, drying and dressing behind the privacy of the frosted glass.
It was weird to be dressed in a strange man’s clothes, after using the same man’s soap, but at this point, we’re kinda past boundaries. So, when the first drawer next to the sink offered up a comb, I used it.
Dropping the comb on the counter, I twist a fresh towel around my hair and decide to dig through the rest of his things.
The next cabinet door reveals an electric toothbrush and toothpaste.
I bite my lip. What’s worse––dirty teeth or using someone else’s toothbrush?
With no clear answer to that question, I open the next cupboard, and the next, until every door and drawer is open, like the bathroom is haunted by a poltergeist.
With a small turn of luck, I find a pack of new toothbrush heads, so I rip it open and replace the old one with a new one and brush my teeth while I catalog everything else.
More internal debate plays out before I use a piece of the torn-up cardboard from the toothbrush head packaging to scrape the top layer off of King’s deodorant then reach under my borrowed shirt and rub it onto my armpits. He also has some expensive looking face creams, so I shamelessly apply those as well before untwisting my hair and massaging delicious smelling hair oil into my scalp.
If I’m going to be held prisoner, and possibly end up being murdered by the end of the weekend, I might as well enjoy the small things.
My hair has a natural wave to it and I’d love to braid it before going to bed, but I didn’t come across any hair ties in my snooping. A stupid foolish corner of my brain preens at that, happy that there’s no evidence of other women in this room.
Other women. As though I am his woman now.
Slamming the door on that line of thinking, I drag the big armchair away from the door and exit the bathroom.
With nothing left to do, I climb into bed.
I’m usually a blackout-blinds type of girl, but the darkness doesn’t feel safe right now. So, I leave the lights on and shuffle under the covers. The second, still sealed, bottle of water tips over when I jostle the mattress, landing on the bag of jerky with a crinkle.
Reminded of the food available, I sit up and drag the tray to the head of the bed.
My mouth still has that minty taste in it, so I stare at the array of snacks, debating. But decide that the only thing worse than dying, would be dying hungry.
