My fingers are pruning, my toes wrinkling, and still, I find no strength to even sit up straight.
I can hardly make sense of it.
The truth, the realisation, it has turned my brain to a static mush.
I just stare at the shower curtain. It dances softly in the rushed air sucking up into the fans in the ceiling, swallowing up all the moisture and steam.
I watch the curtain dance—until a shadow stretches up the pallor of it.
A faint knock comes on the tiled partition.
“Hello?” A girl’s voice lifts over the patter of the shower rain. “Are you alright in there?”
There’s no answer in me.
I am numb, mush, static.
The shadow tilts, weight shifting from one foot to another. “Do you need a towel? I… I saw you didn’t bring one in with you.”
The shadow’s head turns.
Straight hair cuts over slender shoulders, as though the girl is looking around the bathroom. “I can leave it here for you—on the floor?”
I blink, and water falls from my lashes, then rains down my slick cheeks.
I think the tears dried up some time ago, or maybe they still fall and blend in with the water.
“I’ll put it on the hook for you, ok?”
The curtain rustles before a hand pokes through the gap—and in its fisted grip is a white cotton towel.
It bobs around the tiled partition, hand and towel, feeling for the hook.
I just watch until the curtains part a bit more, and I see the girl, her cheek turned to me, to give me privacy.
The towel latches onto the hook.
Her hand starts to slip away—but before she can disappear, my words come out in a croak, “I know you.”
She stills.
Whether by my words or the hoarse and strangled sound of my voice, she hesitates, then turns her familiar face to me.
Her unease settles once she sees I’m not naked.
The uncomfortable clinging of the boxers and t-shirt stick to my wet skin, but I’ve made no move to shed them.
“Camila,” she introduces herself, her voice as soft as her smile. Then after a beat, she adds her surname, “Damalas.”
My voice sounds distant to my own ears, “I’ve seen you around.”
Even in my haze, I place her—as the junior Oliver has been checking out… and it feels like a lifetime ago.
I dismiss her. “Thanks for the towel.”
Her smile returns, swift, and then the curtain closes on it. The shadow disappears—and I’m left to soak to the hot water and steam of the shower.
Hopefully I soak too much and rot.
