“I’m gonna jump in the shower real quick,” Annie says after closing the door. “I need to wash today off me,” she adds in a mutter as she walks away.

I take in the apartment again.

The tiny living room is basically also the kitchen and dining area, and it has a single window which leads to the rusty fire escape I’d seen from the outside.

There is a ratty couch, no TV or stereo, and I have a clear view of the doorless bedroom from here.

In said doorless bedroom, Annie unbuttons her shirt and dumps it on her bed, and in her bra and skirt, she picks up her towel (from the floor) and enters the (from the little I see) super tiny bathroom.

I notice that I don’t hear the click of a lock behind her, and I wonder if that’s because the door lacks one, or because Annie is one of those weirdos who don’t feel the need to lock the bathroom door, even when there’s a stranger with them in the house.

More curious than I can bear, I [Observe] the door.

A cheap door in a cheap apartment currently rented by Annie Springfield.

Has a lock.

So Annie’s the weirdo then.

Duly noted.

“Ugh!” I hear from the bathroom. “Son of a…” muttered unintelligible curses follow.

“Is everything okay?” I ask.

“Stupid shower’s broken again,” Annie says, then, with a squeak, I hear a tap come on.

Ah. I suppose that makes sense, building like this. Honestly, I’m surprised the damn thing hasn’t come down on all our heads already.

I spend the rest of Annie’s ‘shower’ at the window, taking in the gloomy ambience of Goth city, and trying not to let the creepy gargoyle on the opposite rooftop notice that I’m watching it.

[Observe] tells me that it’s just a regular statue; nothing special about it, it says, but I don’t buy that for a second.

See, the building opposite us is an apartment building, and no one, and I mean no one puts a gargoyle statue on the rooftop of an apartment building.

Not even in Goth(I)am.

“Yeah, that statue’s super creepy,” Annie says, coming up behind me. “Sometimes, I get the feeling that it’s watching me.”

“It’s Gotham,” I say. “It probably is.”

Annie looks at me, damp hair hanging across her face like a waterfall of gold as she tries to wipe it dry with a towel. “Is the universe telling you something?” she asks.

“That’s it’s a perfectly normal statue,” I say.

“That’s good, right?”

“Hm,” I hum in agreement. “But that doesn’t stop it from being creepy.”

“True that.”

We watch the creepy gargoyle for several seconds more, then finally, Annie says; “You can go bathe if you want. The shower’s out, so you’ll have to use a bucket, and there’s no hot water, but…” she shrugs.

I don’t need to bathe. Not anymore. I don’t sweat, I don’t stink, I don’t lose skin cells. But, like Annie said, I do need to wash the day off me.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“I don’t mind cold water,” I say.

“Um, you don’t mind sharing a towel, right?” Annie asks, handing me the damp towel she was using on her hair. “And soap?”

I take the towel. “No. Thanks.”

“Uh, I’ll try to find you something to wear,” she says.

“No need,” I say, and, with a thought, my simple [Outfit] of jeans and a t-shirt turns into a deep blue three-piece suit.

I change it back.

Annie gapes. “Okay, that’s just unfair,” she says enviously, but with good humour.

“Some guys got all the luck,” I laugh, entering the bathroom.

My bath is quick and cold. But despite that, and the fact that I was hardly dirty to begin with, I feel refreshed when I step out.

I customize my [Outfit] into Batman pajamas and look to see Annie sitting on her bed.

She’s changed out of the towel she had wrapped around herself after her bath. Now she’s wearing an old t-shirt several sizes too big, and her hair is done up in that messy bun that beautiful blondes do which often looks better than some professionally done hairstyle.

I drink her in, trying to not be creepy about it, but completely distracted by the realization that, from how much of her thighs I can see right now, Annie has to be wearing nothing but underwear with that shirt.

Annie takes me in too, and I have not felt my lack of CHARM like I do in this moment.

I mean, I was never Stephan James handsome, but goddamn it, I was at least passably attractive.

Now I just feel like Quasimodo next to Esmeralda.

Annie’s lips dip in a smile. “Batman pj’s? Bold.”

I customize a Batman cowl onto my pj’s, and hold up the cape to cover the lower half of my face.

“Fear me,” I say I’m my Batman voice. “I’m Batman.”

Annie laughs.

The cape and cowl disappears.

“You got a spare pillow I can use?” I ask.

“Actually,” Annie says, watching me carefully, “I was thinking we could share the bed.”

My eyebrows climb.

“Oh.”

Um… she’s not implying what I think she’s implying, right?

I mean, she can’t possibly be. Right?

This is a woman who was raped barely two hours ago. That’s the kind of thing some women never come back from.

…Wait. Is this maybe her attempt at thanking me for helping her? Because, if that’s the case then she really doesn’t need to.

And that’s not me being humble or whatever either. I’m serious, she shouldn’t be thanking me.

All I did was distract Keith. If anything I should be thanking her. She saved my life.

Keith would have killed me.

But then again, maybe this isn’t some kind of attempt to thank me. Maybe this is just her trying to remind herself that sex can be fun and pleasurable with the only available male who’s shown himself to be relatively trustworthy.

In the drawn out silence without my answer, Annie is starting to look a little uncomfortable.

“Sharing the bed sounds nice,” I say, deciding to go with the flow for now and seeing where it leads me. “Besides, no offense, but your couch looks like I’ll wake up with springs permanently lodged into my spine if I sleep on it.”

“None taken,” Annie says.

She makes space for me on the bed, and I get in.

Annie turns off the lights, leaving the room in near pitch-dark.

I feel her settle onto the small bed beside me.

She smells like lavender.

As do I.

“Thank you for this,” I say in the darkness. “Putting a roof over my head. It’s no small thing.”

“It’s nothing,” Annie says. “Not after what you did. Many men in your place would have walked away.”

“True,” I allow. “But then many women in your place would have run away.”

I feel her confusion in the dark, and I explain.

“I couldn’t fight Keith. If you hadn’t done what you did. If you’d run. I’d be dead.”

“Only because you tried to help me,” she argues.

I smile. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“No.”

I laugh. “Fine then, let’s agree to disagree.”

Silence settles in for the next few minutes, and I assume that Annie must have fallen asleep.

Maybe I should go to sleep myself. I can if I want to, it would be like turning off a light, awake one moment and asleep in the next.

With a strangled scream, Annie sits up in bed, panting and shuddering.

“Hey, it’s okay,” I say, sitting up too. “You’re safe. You’re fine. Just breathe, okay?”

I notice her shadow move in the darkness a bare moment before her body collides with mine.

And for the next several minutes, Annie sobs into my chest.

When she finally cries herself out and falls asleep, I hold onto her, and it’s only now that I get why she wanted to share the bed.

I sigh.

I’m such a guy sometimes.