Who the hell was this man?
Shoving the question aside for later, she explored the different bottles, looking at each label, all the scents—jasmine, coconut, blossom, citrus, and the list went on. She picked the one that said ‘peaches and cream’ and poured a dollop on her hand, bringing it up to her nose.
Oh, she liked it. It smelled really nice.
Slathering it over her body, she scrubbed herself clean, taking the longest, most relaxing shower of her life. Using the same scent for the shampoo and conditioner, she spent a few glorious minutes enjoying the hot water, marveling that she could. In the complex, in all the houses she’d been in, showers had been communal, so finding any semblance of time and privacy had been out of question. This was such a novel experience for her that she took her time, staying under the cascade until her stomach growled.
Shutting off the water, she grabbed a towel from a stand outside and dried herself, wrapping it around and walking to the mirror. Fresh-faced and rested, she looked better than she had in months, though still too thin. The weight she’d lost over the months was visible in her protruding collarbones, and even on her face which had lost some of its roundness. Her shoulder length hair, though jagged, was much quicker to dry. Leaving it as it was, she left the bathroom, noticing the lights automatically turning off behind her.
She picked up the blanket from the floor and dropped it on the bed before turning right. Going to the closet, she explored, trying to find something comfortable she could wear, like a tank top or sleep shorts, but she couldn’t find any. Hesitating, she bit her lip and looked around the wardrobe. There was no way she was going to sleep in any of the pricy clothes hanging there. No way. But what the hell was she going to wear otherwise?
Her eyes fell on a t-shirt he’d left folded at the bottom on his side, probably because it had wrinkles. Taking it out, she shook it open and quickly put it on. Foregoing any underwear—it wasn’t like underwear was given a lot of priority in her experience—she found a hamper in the corner and left the towel in.
Barefoot, clean and dressed, she headed out of the room. The house was dark except for a few night lights. She quietly made her way to the kitchen, lights coming on as she passed by. It was so cool. but it took some getting used to. Automatic lights weren’t a thing she had experienced. Good old switches to turn them on and off.
The kitchen, like everything in the house, was spacious and clean and modern, a lot of black and white decor interspersed with chrome. She went to the double-door refrigerator to see what it had, never really knowing how she’d cook anything because she hadn’t ever cooked. The girls had been given sparse meals like rations throughout the day. She’d never even boiled water for tea. Did she even like tea? She’d never tasted it, so she didn’t know.
But now that the thought was in her head, she went investigating. Going on her toes, she opened the cabinets one by one, her hunger sidelined for a moment. The first cabinet had neat jars with labels for each thing—flour, rice, pasta, and so on. It was the raw ingredient cabinet. The second one had all kinds of seasonings one could imagine. The third had plates and bowls and glasses on different shelves. But none had any tea.
Dejected, she rested back on her feet, her hands opening drawers and looking inside a little more frantically. So much stuff, but no tea.
It was the same with every single place she opened up. Stuff, stuff, more stuff.
But she needed the tea. She needed to know if she liked it, needed to prove to herself that she could boil water and brew it, that she wasn’t completely useless.
Her lips quivered, and she gripped the counter, taking a deep breath to try to understand why she was feeling this, this odd tightness in her chest, this ball of emotion in her throat, so tight it felt like it would explode and destroy everything. Her arms began to shake with the strain of holding the counter, her breaths becoming choppy as her mind tried to make sense of this. Was this a lingering after-effect of the drugs? Or was she breaking down? But why? Why over tea, of all things? Nothing had happened to her. She was in a beautiful place and there wasn’t a sense of prevailing danger. Why then did her entire body feel like it would collapse in itself?
Her knees buckled, and she went down, her body shaking as the ball in her throat got heavier. Her nose started to burn, her eyes watering, her mind both mindless and mindful of every single second.
She didn’t understand what was happening, and it was scaring her. This wasn’t the black hole, this was something else, something unfamiliar.
She lay down on the floor, the cold marble comforting against her heated cheeks, shaking, sobbing, shivering, and she succumbed to blessed oblivion.