I hightail it the fuck out of there with about a dozen questions and a complex.
Kit
The shower feelssogood. I don’t remember the cabin having this kind of water pressure before, or water this hot. It feels heavenly beating against my back, and I stand there for a while just soaking it up. When you live in a van, every shower is a cherished event for real.
I scrub clean, then scrub again. Wash my hair twice just to make sure it's squeaky. It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I used his stuff that was in the shower the first go around, then stood under the spray like a deer caught in headlights because I smelled likehim.Musk and cedar and delicious.
I smell like my own stuff by the time I get out, after my second scrub. I dry off with a plush black towel that I found in the cupboard.
A cupboard that was full of…stuff.
Pain meds, rubbing alcohol, band-aids. There were Q-Tips, lotion, and shaving stuff. A stack of these new-looking towels on the bottom shelf, wash clothes. Toilet paper.
Normal bathroom stuff, I guess.
Butwhy is it here?
Ian said he comes a couple of times a week.
There were…things, lying all around the cabin when I walked through to the bathroom. A mug on the counter that I don’t remember. An air fryer!
The old, forest-themed lamps were replaced with simple, modern styles. The old patchwork couch replaced by a soft brown one.
It smelled like him first. The smell of the cabin I remember second.
I feel like I’m going crazy.
Truth is, I made it pretty clear early on that I couldn’t handle hearing about what was going on back home. I didn’t want to hear what I was missing. What Tucker was doing. What Bowen was doing. I didn’t want to know. It was like a flashing arrow pointing at their accomplishments while I was clawing my way through every day. Which is dramatic as all hell, I realize thatnow. But two years ago, I wanted to cover my ears and blah blah over my parents talking about anything that wasn’t surface level.
Was I alive? Yes.
Was I safe? Yes.
Perfect, love you, bye.
That’s about all I could handle.
Now they handle me with kid gloves, and it's my own fucking fault.
It’s my own fault that Bowen appears to be living in our lake cabin, and I had no idea.
After I’m shaved and dressed, I gather all my stuff back in my toiletries bag, ball up my dirty clothes, and swing open the door to Bowen standing on the other side, leaning back against the wall.
Hazel eyes clash with blue so vivid I nearly choke.
I drop my gaze to his lips. His beard. His Adam’s apple.
“You can’t sleep in the van.” Smooth and cold like steel.
“You smell like beer. And why is the small cabin off limits?”
His jaw ticks, and he doesn’t say anything for so long, I don’t think he will. But eventually he says, “Because it is. You can sleep in the guest room.”
I would rather sleep with the bugs outside, thanks.
“It’s fine. I’ll just leave the door cracked in the van and—”
“Just stop talking, Meyer.”
