Chapter 19 Thorn #2
I count the tiles on the floor, navy blue and white and egg-yolk yellow, while she turns on the water.
I try not to count the spiderwebs, or the spiders themselves.
I dutifully hand over small silicone bottles of body wash and shampoo and conditioner, trying to focus on how matching and organized her toiletry bag is and not, say, the water dripping from her bare skin whenever she stretches her arm out for whatever she needs from me next.
“Are you taking a shower in lava or what?” I ask a few minutes later when the steam is so thick I’ve started to sweat.
“Nothing is hot enough to wash off the ick of this bathroom,” she replies, her voice echoing off the tile.
I run my thumb over the soft lavender leather of her toiletry bag, the gold zipper keeping it all together. The bag itself, and everything inside, tells the story of someone who enjoys beauty and order…the precise opposite of this run-down bathroom.
“I’m really proud of you for taking a shower in here at all,” I tell her. “I know this is new territory for you.”
“Thank you, Thorn,” she says. “That means a—aaauuuuuuggghhhhhh!”
Sadie’s piercing shriek is still bouncing off the walls when she scrambles out of the stall, dripping wet, clutching the shower curtain to cover as much of herself as she can. The curtain rod falls to the ground with a resounding clank.
“What happened?” I ask, looking around wildly for an explanation.
I don’t have to look for long: a vibrant green lizard races out of the shower, running across Sadie’s foot in the process before disappearing into a crack over near the sink.
“Ew, ew, ew,” she says, with quick little steps as if to shake off the memory of the lizard’s touch—but in the process, her foot slips in the puddle of water she brought out of the shower with her, and she’s losing her balance—right into me.
I brace myself as Sadie falls, instinct taking over as I wrap my arms around her, pulling her in close until we’re both steady. All the stuff she trusted me to hold drops to my feet, right into a puddle, but I can’t say I’m sorry: she was one slick step away from seriously injuring herself.
Her eyes meet mine as I hold her, my hands slippery on her bare back and the shower curtain crumpled between us. She’s shaking, shivering despite the steam, her hair long and dark and wet, and she smells like a flower shop.
“You’re okay,” I say as she tucks her head against my chest. “You’re good.”
I feel her breathing start to settle. The longer we stay like this, the more aware I am of how close we are—how she’s still extremely naked under the shower curtain—but I am committed to being the safe place she needs right now.
“Have I mentioned I’m terrified of lizards?” she mumbles into my shirt.
I laugh. “I got that impression, yeah.”
When she pulls back, her gaze flickers down to my lips.
It’s all I can do to keep myself from kissing her right now.
“Hate to break it to you,” I say instead, “but I kind of dropped all your stuff.”
The corner of her mouth turns up. “You had one job,” she says with a playful pout. “I guess I’ll forgive you, though, since the alternative was me cracking my head open.”
She bends down to pluck her soaked pajamas from the pool of water at our feet, keeping herself carefully covered by the shower curtain.
“One second,” I say, peeling out of the hoodie I’ve been wearing ever since we got to camp this evening. It’s wet, but the shirt I have on underneath is perfectly dry—I unbutton it and hold it out for her. “Take this?”
The way her eyes linger on my bare chest makes me really glad I’ve been consistent with my push-up regimen this year—I’m stronger than ever, even though no one usually sees what’s under my shirt. That’s never been the point, but at the moment, it definitely doesn’t hurt.
“You sure?” she asks.
I grin. “I mean, unless you’d rather wear soaking-wet clothes that have gotten up close and personal with this bathroom floor?”
“You make a good point,” she says with an exaggerated shudder as she accepts my shirt offering. I turn around, giving her the privacy she needs to change, zipping back into my own hoodie while I wait.
“All clear,” she says.
I’m not prepared for how beautiful she looks when I turn back around: with her wet hair clinging to her shoulders and the way my shirt looks more like a minidress—its sleeves too long and half the buttons undone and the bottom hem grazing the tops of her thighs, covering just enough for her to not show everything.
“Thorn?” she says, a smile creeping over her face as she tucks a section of loose hair behind one ear.
I snap back to reality.
We head back to camp, the smell of campfire smoke and s’mores swirling on the night air, mixing with the wildflowers in the field and the scent of Sadie’s shampoo. In the darkness, she darts to her pack for a change of clothes before anyone else sees she’s come back wearing nothing but my shirt.
When she rejoins the group, wearing a fresh pair of pajamas that haven’t spent quality time with the bathroom tile, no one but me knows where we’ve been.
It didn’t start as a secret, but it sure feels like one now.
“S’more?” I say, handing her a perfectly charred marshmallow with a special square of melted dark chocolate I picked out just for her, the kind with raspberries I told her about on one of our first nights. I know she’ll love it.
She grins and takes it, stars and firelight dancing in her eyes.
I am so far in over my head.