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I scratch my head again, which, of course, only serves to trigger more itchiness. I need to shower.
Pretend.
I just have to makethembelieve I can follow through with whatever their plan for me is.
That’s all this is, a means to an end.
A way back to the city and to help.
I’m notactuallygoing to seduce Dante’s father, because it’s never going to get that far … right?
Not really believing myself, I get up and make my way over to the bathroom. I may be trapped here against my will, but that doesn’t mean I have to live with an itchy scalp, too.
I stare at the shower for several long minutes.
You can do this, Evelyn.
It’s just a shower … and I really do need one after only using the sink to scrub myself down the past couple days.
I don’t move to undress for another minute as I turn to stare at the bedroom door, as if it’ll fly open thesecondthat I’m completely naked.
I shake my head at this thought. It’s now or never. The longer I wait, the more likely someone is to barge in on me.
I still pause a second longer as I try to steel myself for courage to shower.
Come on, Evelyn. Hurry up before you literally create the situation you’re dreading.
Slipping out of the shirt and underwear, I place them on the bathroom counter before quickly making my way into the shower.
Turning on the faucet, I let the nearly-scalding water pour down on me. If only water could wash away all your problems the same way it can the dirt and grime of the day.
I close my eyes for a few seconds of relief as I allow myself to briefly savor the moment before I open them and turn to watch the door again.
Grabbing a nearby soap, I begin scrubbing it vigorously over my body as I keep my eyes trained for any sudden interruptions. Next, I wash my hair, taking careful measures to massage the shampoo over every inch of my scalp before rinsing it out.
Twice.
It’s only after I finish rinsing the shampoo out for the second time that I realize there’s no conditioner to be found anywhere. Great, I can already imagine the literal bird’s nest my hair is going to resemble when it finally dries.
I don’t know how men get away with it and still end up with great hair.
After allowing myself a few more seconds in the steamy shower, I shut off the water and grab a fluffy towel to wrap around myself as I step out.
Reaching for the shirt and underwear, I hesitate. The last thing I want to do is put on worn clothes now that I’ve cleaned myself so thoroughly.
Would Dante mind terribly if I were to get a fresh shirt and pair of underwear from his wardrobe?
I snort at myself.
“They’re just clothes,” I chide myself before crossing the room to enter the walk-in closet. “Now all I have to do is figure out how to get to his shirts.”
