I stayed in his bathroom longer than necessary.
Not because I needed the time to get ready — the damage last night had done to my appearance was significant but manageable, and I'd worked with less. I stayed because the bathroom was the one room in his apartment where I could close a door behind me and exist without the awareness of him on the other side of it pressing against my skin like a second temperature.
I stood in front of the mirror and looked at myself honestly, the way I rarely allowed myself to in the mornings before I'd had enough coffee and constructed enough armor.
My mascara had migrated south overnight, settling in gray smudges beneath my eyes that gave me the particular look of someone who had made several consecutive questionable decisions. My hair was doing something
