“I mean, could I use your shower?” I ask, stumbling my way towards the socially normal way to ask that question. “Hospitals make me feel clammy and gross.”
He turns down the long hallway that leads towards the back of the house. “Follow me.”
“I can find it. You just point the way and I’ll figure it out.”
“I saw the shower at your apartment,” he says, looking back over his shoulder. “I highly doubt you’d figure mine out.”
I ignore the subtle dig and ask the obvious. “When were you in my shower?”
“You’re a heavy sleeper. Before I woke you up that night I broke in, I glanced around.”
He says it with the same ease someone else would say they perused someone’s bookshelves. Except he was doing it in the middle of the night while I was asleep, right before he came to threaten me into submis
