Two inches of water shimmer in it—clean water, clear water. Bowen points to the sink next. A toothbrush and travel-size toothpaste are on the counter beside a full water bottle. And a comb.
“The water’s not warm, or anything …,” he says, rubbing his hand over the bald patch above his ear
“Does this place have running water?” I ask, staring at the grimy sink.
He shakes his head and his tan cheeks flush, a hint of pink beneath the healthy gold glow. “While you were sleeping I gathered water from the toilet tanks in the hotel and carried it here in water bottles. It’s not dirty or anything … I thought you’d like to get clean.”
More than anything, I’d like to get clean. I stare at Bowen, and my heart grows too big for my chest. A sudden assault of tears blurs my eyes.
Bowen, seeing the tears, turns to leave but pauses in the doorway, not looking at my face. “There’s stuff in those suitcases that should fit you, too.” He shuts the door.
I peel off my grimy things, unwind the tattered binding from my breasts, and climb into the tepid water. When I sit, it only reaches halfway up my thighs. Even so, the water is heaven.
On the side of the tub are a little soap packet, a tiny bottle of shampoo, and a tiny bottle of conditioner. I lie back and scrub my scalp with the entire bottle of shampoo, then work the conditioner into my hair. By the time I’ve soaped every square inch of my body, the water is brown and I am too disgusted to sit in it any longer. I drain the tub and climb out.
Hot summer air whisks the moisture from my skin. Facing the mirror, I brush my teeth, then run the comb through my short, ugly hair, parting my long bangs to the side so my entire face shows.
The face in the mirror is odd, nearly a stranger’s. Only my brown eyes are the same, set above unfamiliar, angled cheekbones and a mouth full of white teeth.
I rummage through the suitcases and find purple cotton underwear, a white camisole tank top, and a pink sundress. I pull the clothes over my clean body and twirl in front of the mirror. I feel like a girl again—almost like the old me. With a goofy smile plastered to my grown-up face, I leave the bathroom.
When I come out, Bowen stands looking out the window at the evening sky, his dark brows drawn together, completely lost in thought.
“All clean,” I say, blushing.
He turns from the window, the beginning of a smile on his lips, and his face goes blank. And then he frowns. His eyes move all the way down to my bare feet and back up, lingering on my obviously female chest before returning to my eyes.
“No,” he says. “You cannot wear that.”
I look down at the sundress. “What’s wrong with it?”
He drags a hand over his weary face. “You look like a … woman. It’s not safe.”
I think of the raiders and look back down at the dress. “When we leave, I’ll change,” I say. “But for now, it’s comfortable. I feel like the old me.”
Bowen presses his hands to his temples and looks back out the window. “Fo, you’re not safe from me.”
I stare at his back for a long moment, at the gun slung over his shoulder, the Taser on his belt. “You’re going to shoot me for wearing a sundress?”
He turns his head and looks at me with danger-filled eyes. In three steps he’s in front of me, his hands on my bare shoulders, fingers digging into my skin. “Fo, I’m a man, and you’re a beautiful woman. But you’re also a Level Ten, and when I look at you, especially when you’re dressed like this, I can’t think straight, because even though my brain tells me you’re the most dangerous thing I’ve ever encountered, my heart … my body—” His mouth snaps shut and he stares deep into my eyes.
I get it, what his heart and body are doing, because mine are doing it, too. I ache for Dreyden Bowen, for everything about him. His smell, his touch, the sound of his voice, his presence. I tilt my head to the side and trail my fingers over his freshly shaved jaw line. He shuts his eyes and leans into my touch.
“I’m sorry, Dreyden. I’ll change into something else,” I whisper, letting my hand drop. His eyes open.
“I’m sorry. It’s just,