La Douleur Exquise

Nineteen

I have a sister, so I'm used to living with a girl. However, Larkyn had her own bathroom when she lived at home; I never had to contend with all her crap. I was, until now, blissfully unaware of what girls needed in order to survive but sharing a personal space with Darcie was a steep learning curve that I was sure I could live without. 

The counter in the ensuite bathroom was strewn with copious amounts of products that I had never seen before, let alone know what they're for. There was the generic shampoo, conditioner, sunblock, toothbrush and toothpaste as well as a cosmetic bag filled with make up. Hairspray, bows, and ribbons were also accounted for, along with bobby pins and tons of hair elastics that matched the shade of Darcie's raven colored hair. A bottle of face wash, body wash, and deodorant were neatly placed in front of the mirror on one side, while on the other a first aid kit was surrounded by various medication, including Tylenol, Motrin, Aleve, IcyHot and-

"Contraceptive pill?" I mumble, picking up the prescription medication from the counter. Immediately regretting being so nosey, I put the box of pills back in the gap between the q-tips and the tissues packet, trying to forget what I'd seen. 

Knowing that Darcie had also placed items in the cupboard under the sink counter, I pull open the door and peek inside. There was Darcie's hair dryer, straighteners, and curling irons as well as a pack of... girly stuff. 

Shivering, I closed the cupboard door and stood up, taking a long look at myself in the mirror. If this was the mess living with a girl brought, Mia and I would need separate bathrooms when we move in together. 

"Campbell, are you done?" Darcie's mildly annoyed voice called from the other side of the bathroom door. "I need to get ready for the first cheer practice."

Unlike the football team who had the rest of today off before the torture began in the morning, the cheer squad was being thrown head first into their first practice. Feeling uncomfortable in the bathroom having spied through Darcie's belongings, I willingly exit and walk straight into Darcie. 

"Jesus Christ," I blaspheme. With arms flailing wildly, I manage to grasp Darcie by her waist as I work doubly hard to balance us both. When we were both steady on our feet, I quickly realized that instead of touching fabric, the palms of my hands were touching the bare skin of Darcie Scott. 

"Take your hands off me," Darcie's voice, cold and unfeeling, commanded. Knowing when she was moments from turning homicidal, I did as I was told and promptly moved away from her, my hands by my side. In an unprecedented move, Darcie said, "Thank you."

Too stunned to speak, I simply watch as she slinks past me in a pair of short, printed practice shorts and a revealing sports bra. With Darcie's long legs on display, it was hard not to stare, and boy, did I feel dirty for doing it.