This Is Falling(3)

This late at night, the bathrooms are dark, minus a few panels left on so students can find their way in and out. It’s all part of cutting down on energy use—being green. There are suggested hours, but I’d rather be alone. The hallway lights are dim, but bright enough I can see if I use the stall closest to the door. This is the part that worried me most—showering in public. Most of the girls will probably shower in the morning, though, so I plan on taking mine late at night—in the dark.

Cass and Paige went out for the evening. Cass tried to get me to join them, but I convinced her I was exhausted from our trip. Not everyone is on campus yet, but a lot of the freshmen have arrived, and there are a few parties at the apartments on the outskirts of town. I’m not ready for parties.

The water doesn’t take long to warm, so after looking around the room once more, and peeking out the door, I decide it’s safe enough to undress. There are a lot of showerheads in the open, and I can’t imagine being comfortable enough in my own skin to actually walk around naked. Even if my side wasn’t riddled with scars, I don’t think I would be the kind of woman who could show everyone her goods and bits.

I stack my clothes carefully on the small bench right outside the shower stall and step inside, pulling the curtain closed behind me. My heart is racing so fast I have to remind myself to breathe—long and deep—just to slow it down. I miss my shower at home, in my parents’ bathroom, behind two doors that locked. I miss the hum of the fan, and the way it interrupted my thoughts. It’s quiet in here, and it makes me shower fast, rushing through the shampoo and conditioner, barely running the shower gel over my skin before twisting the shower handle to off and wrapping myself in my towel.

I quickly pull my sleep-shirt over my head and let the towel drop; I’m stepping into my underwear when I notice the sound of the water pipes still vibrating. The thought that I’m not alone sends a wave of panic through my veins; I feel light-headed. I sit on the bench and clutch my dirty clothes and towel to my body, leaning forward enough so my eyes can scan the other stalls in search of feet.

But I’m alone. The pipe sound stops seconds later; I figure the water was probably coming from the floor above. I finish getting dressed, pulling on my cotton shorts and slipping my feet into my flip-flops before I enter the hall.

“Evenin’,” he says, scaring me so badly I drop all of my things and push myself flush against the wall. I look like a jailbird in one of those old black-and-white movies, trying to step out of the spotlight during a breakout. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you, but I figured if I didn’t say anything, and you just saw me in the dark, it would be worse.”

He’s picking up my things for me, and somehow I manage to calm my pulse down enough to realize he’s manhandling my underwear. Oh god! I grasp at my belongings, but my hands get tangled with his, which only makes me panic more and drop everything again.

“Boy, I scared you good, huh?” he chuckles. All I can focus on is gathering up my things and making my way back to my room—that, and the slight southern accent when he talks. “Hey, are you okay?”

It’s not until his hand is gripping my arm that I finally look up at him. I’m not prepared for my reaction at all, and I’m sure I’m amusing him, because I blush so quickly I would have a better chance playing off a can of paint being dumped over my head. He’s cute. He’s more than cute; he’s the exact boy I fantasized about when I was fourteen and dreaming of going off to college with my best friend Betsy. Brown hair just long enough on the top to flop over his forehead and eyebrows, blue eyes that hide under dark lashes and a half-shaven look that reminds me instantly that he isn’t a boy at all. No, I’m standing in front of a man. It’s been so long since I’ve been in the presence of a male; I somehow skipped over that moment in-between. He’s like one giant, walking, shirtless symbol of my life before everything I loved went away. Before Betsy was gone. And before my first—and only—boyfriend left with her.

I have to speak. He clearly lives on my floor, and if I walk away from this without saying a word, it’s only going to be more awkward when I run into him in the elevator, at the stairs, in a class.

“Sorry, adrenaline still working its way through me, had a hard time getting my words out,” I say, reminding myself to fill my lungs. That’s what Ross, my counselor, tells me to do when I feel the world closing in on me. Stop. Breathe deeply. Ross is a thousand miles away, but I’m supposed to call him twice a month. I’m starting to think twice a week might be necessary for a while.

“Understandable.” Southern accent. Dimples. Smile. “So, you live…down there?” he asks, gesturing down the long hallway that leads to my room.

“Room three thirty-three,” I say. Why in the hell did I tell him what room I’m in? That’s completely unlike me, and it feels…unsafe.

“Ah, well…nice to meet you, three thirty-three. I’m three fifty-seven.” He gives me his hand, and I shake it, feeling every cell of his fingers spark against mine. The feeling is foreign, and scary, and amazing all at once.

“You going to any of the parties tonight, Thirty-three?” I like it when he calls me by my number, and the fact that he’s suddenly given me this nickname makes my stomach feel warm, regardless of how trivial and meaningless it probably is to him. It also makes me realize that I never gave him my name. I should do that. Shouldn’t I do that?