Chapter 5 #2
The old carpet is hard underneath my palm, and the thought of it not being washed in who knows how long has me yanking my hand away, only using my legs to push myself into a standing position.
A loud kick has me jump as the air conditioning under the window shakes to life, spewing fresh air into the room. I moan as the coolness dries the sweat on my skin. I’m not sure how I’m going to find the energy to move, let alone shower.
I could just fall into bed, uncaring if I get it dirty. My gaze lingers on the floral comforter, and intrusive thoughts take over.
What if the sheets aren’t washed?
What if there are bed bugs?
What if the pillows are flat?
“I don’t even care. Just shower and let this day be over.” The fibers of the carpet dig into the bottoms of my feet, scratching the delicate skin as I drag them with little energy.
Staring at my reflection in the cracked, oversized mirror, all I see is someone who is done caring—for the time being. There are bags under my eyes, mud caked everywhere on me, including my hair. I lean against the small vanity, trying to push my emotions down.
My phone dings again, and when I see Oklahoma’s name, I smile. He’s the only happiness I’ve felt since I saw him last night.
Oklahoma: Sorry, that was a joke too. I’d never talk to your brother. Not without you being okay with it. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m not good at this, am I? I’ve done nothing but make an ass out of myself in front of you.
Oklahoma: And forgive me for saying ass. I shouldn’t talk like that around you. You deserve better.
The tension in my neck and shoulders releases, and a small smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.
Me: Sorry. I’m getting ready to shower all this mud off. And I really don’t mind bad language. I use it every day. I suppose that means I’m not very ladylike?
I don’t bother trying to change my appearance. There’s no making this look good after the night I’ve had. I lift the phone and pose by lifting my arm above my head and using the remaining energy to smile for Oklahoma as I snap a picture.
Me: See? Not ladylike at all. How many ladies do you know who chase tornadoes?
A few bubbles appear and then vanish.
“Oh.” I frown, rereading my message just in case I said something wrong.
Stripping off my clothes, I toss them to the side, chunks of hardened mud dusting the floor. I grimace. I’m just as filthy. I flick the switch on the wall, but the dim yellow bulb isn’t casting enough brightness. I might as well be showering in the dark.
The cool air coming through the vent makes me shiver, a phantom wrapping around my body that has me rushing to turn the knobs on the shower.
A groan comes from behind the wall, and with wide eyes, I take a step back when a wild, unrealistic thought enters my mind.
What if the wall explodes?
It’s completely unrealistic, but the image of water spewing from an old pipe has me take another step away until the towel rack presses into my back.
“Nariko, snap out of it.” I rub my eyes again, tired of the way I exhaust myself mentally.
Steam rises from the shower, letting me know the water is warm and ready. Smelling all the towels they left, I’m pleased when they don’t smell like cigarette smoke or are rough to the touch. They smell fresh like linen and lavender and are much softer than the carpet.
A win is a win.
My phone buzzes, and I nearly trip over my own two feet to get to it because I know it’s Oklahoma. My heart lurches from my chest quicker than I can move my legs. I catch myself with one hand on the wall, my legs spread, and the other hand gripping the edge of the countertop.
Naked.
Gathering my dignity and composure, I clear my throat and snag my phone.
Oklahoma: You’re gorgeous doing what you love. I’m sorry, Nariko. I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that you’re a storm chaser.
Me: Does that mean you don’t want to go out anymore or are you saying, “Wow, I can’t believe you’re a storm chaser?”
Oklahoma: A little bit of both. I know I’m being hot and cold.
Me: It’s fine. We owe each other nothing.
We’re strangers. There’s no need to apologize.
It was nice meeting you. I think it’s best if we stop talking now, then.
I don’t have time for uncertainty. My time is too valuable to be wasted.
I know you have a lot to do as well, so let’s not waste any more time trying to make something happen that can’t.
Bubbles pop-up on his end, once, twice, three times, and I power down my phone. I need a break. The men in my life are playing tug of war with me—in different ways—I’m sick of it.
It’s time to cut off the outside world and have some time to myself. Stepping into the shower, the hot water rushes down my body, instantly warming me.
Spinning around, I hang my head, the water spraying down my body. I’m not sure how long I’ve stayed like this. My wrist cramps from leaning against the stall.
I watch the brownish water swirl down the drain along with my thoughts. When my body is loose and exhausted, I wash from head to toe, scrubbing the mud off until my skin protests.
Next, I start from the bottom of my long hair, washing the ends a few times before I make my way to the roots.
Rinsing and turning off the water, I step out, snagging two towels. I dry off, wrap one around my body, then squeeze the water from my hair with the other.
I’ll regret not brushing my hair when I wake up, but I’m too tired to care. With just a towel wrapped around me, I tuck myself into the unforgiving bed. The springs squeak and poke against my side, but I don’t care.
I’ve never been more thankful for a flat surface.
Closing my eyes, I ignore the one tear rolling down my cheek from Oklahoma’s last message.
His moods give me a headache. I won’t let a man ruin one of the best storm-chasing seasons this state has ever seen.
Even as I shut my eyes and his face comes to view, I don’t believe a word I say to myself.
I have a feeling everything is changing.
And it’s all his fault.