The Debt

6) High Fashion

Dani practically stomped all the way to a vacant room and pushed the door open. I don't think she realizes she walks like an angry giant.

  "Here," she gestured into the room. "Bathroom's right there," she pointed to a door on the left, "closet's right there," she pointed to another door on the right, "don't break anything," she looked at me boredly and slammed the door shut.

(A/N: Okay so, is boredly a word? I'm probably still gonna use it even if it's not, because I write in the POVs of teens and I want them to think like it, but is it a word, lmao?)

  I looked around the room. "Well okay then," I mumbled.

I immediately went towards the door Danny said was the bathroom, the events of the day finally settling onto my shoulders and into my skin like grime. . . Along with the actual sweat and grime that I get from a day's work.

I quickly stripped down and hopped into the shower after spending five minutes messing with the knobs and blasting myself with scorching hot and freezing cold water at least three times each.

After I got it to a happy, near scolding temperature, just the way I like it, I started washing myself while surveying the bathroom.

It's nice.

There's a black and white theme with alternating shiny tiles on the wall, white on the floor and black in the shower.

It's all very modern and sleek throughout the whole spacious bathroom.

Well, spacious compared to the supply closet with a toilet and shower that we have at home.

Still, this place is impressive for somewhere meant for taking a shit.

  I hummed a tune as I rinsed off and sighed in relief, spending a little more time than necessary enjoying the hot water. Once I had my fill, I went to open the glass door, but froze when I noticed something was missing.

  My clothes.

  I frowned when I realized whoever took them got a practically clear view of me through the foggy glass perimeter of the shower.

  I tried to ignore that knowledge, praying they sent Danny or a gay guy or something and not a dude.

  Call me crazy, but something tells me the men around here wouldn't be so courteous as to look away.

  I grabbed a towel and hurried to cover up, the thought of being so exposed and not even knowing it is making my skin crawl.

  So am I expected to sleep naked?

  Dreaded thoughts ran through my head as I exited the bathroom. For a split second they subsided when I saw something that looked like clothes on the bed. They fired right back up though, when I realized they really did just look like clothes.

  They were not.

  At least no modest, sane person would think so.

  A lacy, practically see through, tank top laid on the bed, along with a pair of booty shorts that in no universe cover even half of my ass.

  I'd dare call it lingerie.

  I took a deep breath.

  Calm down, Sunny. It's just to sleep in. I'm sure they'll bring clothes for tomorrow.

  Ugh, but the person that does is gonna get an eye full if I kick off the blankets or something.

  I'll just have to sleep with a tight grip on the covers.