Song: I'm Gonna Be by Sleeping at Last
***
This is so embarrassing, I think to myself as I dig through this strange girl's drawers for a pair of underwear. Her drawers are all so unorganized, and it drives me crazy, because her desk is almost entirely clean.
After gathering all of my necessities I head for the shower, for the second time today. The water warms instantly when I turn it on, which is a luxury I'm not used to.
I take off my grimy shirt, tossing it in the floor. As I slip off my pants, I hear a knock at the door. "What?" I holler over the noise of the shower.
Mitchell's voice is barely audible from behind the door. "The girly shampoo is on the lower shelf!" he yells. "And if you need any, uh, girl stuff, it's in the drawer under the sink!" he adds.
I feel my face heat up, and it's not from the heat of the shower steaming up the room. "Oh, uh, okay, thanks!" I shout, and finish undressing.
The shower water just feels more pure than the gym's. It's been a week since shampoo has even touched my head, and the feeling is heavenly.
I know that I could get used to this, but I can't allow myself to do so because I know that I can't stay here. Even if I can't run away he'll turn me in eventually. And honestly, I can't blame him. If I were in his position I would have turned "me" in a long time ago.
I finish showering and dry off, combing out my now short, brown hair. I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss being a blonde, and I especially miss my longer locks.
I quickly change into the tank top, pants, and robe I was given and leave the bathroom. I scoop up my dirty clothes and trudge down the hallway until I find Mitchell's room. His door is a hideous navy blue, starkly contrasting the neutral tones of the rest of the house. I raise my fist and lightly rap on his door three times.
"Just a minute!" he hollers. I turn and lean against the wall beside his door and close my eyes, allowing exhaustion from the day's events to seep in. A few moments pass before I hear his door open, and I open my eyes. "Did you need something?" he asks, and I thrust my dirty clothes towards him. In my attempts to become more observant, I note that he's changed into sleepwear: a T-shirt and plaid pants.
"What should I do with these?" I ask and to my surprise, he takes them, tossing them into a hamper in his room. I watch as they disappear from sight, seeming to just fall right through the floor. I gasp, and he seems to sense my shock.
"Don't worry, automatic laundry system," he says, jabbing his thumb towards the hamper.
I nod in approval and yawn, covering my mouth with my hand. "Sorry, I'm a little tired," I say with an airy laugh, suddenly aware of the heavy weight of my eyelids.
"I don't blame you," he says, leaning against his doorframe. "You've had quite a busy day. Are you ready for bed?" he asks.
"Mhm," I mumble, forcing away another yawn. Out of nowhere a thought hits me, waking me up like a shot of espresso: where on earth am I going to sleep? I predict the living room couch. After sleeping in a car for a week, anything soft and cushiony will be like heaven, so I can't complain.
"No offense, but I don't think my parents or my sister would appreciate having a stranger sleep in either of their beds," Mitchell quips.
I glance over my shoulder and down the stairs towards the living room. "I can just go down-" I start.
He interrupts me, a strange look on his face. "No, I don't want you down there. Too many windows, if you know what I mean," he says, and I nod in understanding. "And again, no offense, but I don't trust you in a room on your own," he adds.
