LOCKDOWN

Chapter 7

PEYTON'S POV

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Showering in someone else's shower is always weird, but showering in someone's shower that you thoroughly dislike - that's even weirder. Her bathroom was so...neat. All of her products were lined up neatly on the shower shelf. Her towels were hung neatly on the towel rack. Her mirror was clear of water and toothpaste splatter. The shower tiles were pristine clean, not a single stray hair or dollop of spilt product in sight. She even had a candle and a vase on the windowsill, containing a single white orchid. Classic Zara.

I used her shower products, placing them haphazardly back on the shelf. The scent of coconut and vanilla filled my nostrils as I scrubbed the body wash over my skin and let the conditioner soak through my hair. It smelt divine; totally different to the products I used at home. I closed my eyes and let the hot water run over my body, revelling in the familiar smell. Familiar...

I snapped my eyes open, cursing as the conditioner ran into my eyes. I rinsed it out as best as I could. I smelt like her. Like Zara! I couldn't believe that I had just openly admitted, albeit to myself, that Zara smelt divine. I shook the thought from my head - just because the girl smelt nice...and had a great body...and a beautiful face, that didn't mean I don't still dislike her. Like I said, she is everything I aspire not to be.

I grabbed one of the towels and wrapped it around my body, taking another and drying my hair with it as best as I could. I wasn't the type to twist my towel up onto my head to let my hair dry, because in all seriousness...does that actually work? I dropped both towels on the floor and pulled out a change of underwear from my gym bag, then changing into the clothes that Zara had given me. They smelt like her too. Ugh.

I took my cologne and deodorant from my bag and sprayed myself incessantly, trying to drown out the smell of her. It worked, sort of. The entire bathroom now smelt like Rexona's 'sport fresh' and Calvin Klein's 'one summer', with a hint of her. When I was finally satisfied with the smell, I trudged out of the bathroom and downstairs once again, the overpowering smell of my cologne and deodorant suddenly replaced by the smell of food. It wasn't until then that I realised just how hungry I was. Seeing Zara sitting silently at the dining room table, I became suddenly aware at how awful I must've looked, my hair a complete birds nest having been tousled by the towel.

"Do you have a comb?" I asked from the foot of the stairs.

My presence must've shocked her, as she jumped slightly and her misted gaze suddenly snapped towards me. Her eyes dropped towards my chest and I had half a mind to ask her what exactly she was staring at before I realise it wasn't my chest she was staring at, but the shirt.

"Sorry?" she spoke, her voice cracking slightly. I crossed my arms across my body, hiding as much of the shirt as I could.

"A comb. Do you have one?"

"Oh," she nodded, "there should be one in the top drawer of the bathroom cabinet."

She quickly stood up from the table and rushed into the kitchen, her absence quickly followed by clanging of pots and pans. I climbed the stairs and located the comb, finding it exactly where she told me it would be - and of course, it just had to be bright pink. After untangling the mess that was my hair, I twisted it into a bun on top of my head and went back downstairs, finding Zara placing two plates down on the dining room table. She saw me walking into the dining room but paid me no attention, disappearing again into the kitchen and returning with two glasses of water.